I believe in raspberry happiness………..
Giant. Fat. Juicy. Sour. Sweet. Red. Seedy.
When I think of raspberries, my grandmother’s garden comes to mind. A jungle of green leafy bushes and the little thorny stems. Often the best berries have to be hunted for and sought after, but when they are found they are a heavenly treat.
My grandma gives me an old ice cream bucket and we set to work. When its time to go home, grandma always gives my family half of the pickings and a few raspberry plants for our own garden. As in the picking process, life is difficult. Finding time to look for the goodness in life takes effort–the experience of life –a balance. And this is where raspberries come in. They make the bland, bleakness of life livable.
I believe in raspberry happiness.
My mom always says that when I look for the negative in life that is all that I will find. Raspberries like happy times are not always in plain view. It is when, despite the gigantic school project, the stressful work schedule, and a hidden little berry is discovered and hope is restored.
Grandma’s raspberries are not only snarffed down in the summer, but can be enjoyed year round with the help of a handy freezer. The plants that she gives my family make it possible for my raspberry cravings to live and never die. My grandma has taught me to believe in raspberry happiness because that is the only way to survive. Without happiness there would only be hardship; and without hardship there would not be the intense appreciation for the scrumptiousness of the berries.
I have my own little raspberry garden now; and I can crave, pick, and cherish the consequential delights that raspberries bring. Life needs a pick’n, and it’s up to me to do it.
This I believe.
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