Over the past few weeks I've been following posts from my new friends over at Plurk. The most mouth-watering tidbits have concerned recipes, and berry picking. The ones that especially caught my eye were the posts about blackberries.No, not the phone (although I tend to be fascinated with those as well), the fruit. That deep purple, prickly little gem that grows off the beaten path in amongst the poison ivy and the garter snakes and the Queen Anne's lace.
I spent my childhood summers in southern West Virginia, visiting my cousins and various aunts and uncles, and for a while, both of my grandmothers. I was born and raised here in Florida but I was the only one. My parents had grown up in neighboring towns, and so we made the journey back every summer as soon as school was out. Both sets of families were about as diverse as could be: my dad's side was from the poor side of the tracks, literally; my mom's was from the more affluent yet modest side. They dated all through high school - the football player and the cheerleader, a vision of my mother that I still find hard to accept!
When my dad's mother was still alive, way back in the late 1950's, we would visit and my cousin and I would venture up the hill behind the ramshackle old house. We would follow the worn path in the high grass to the chicken coop, and I can vaguely remember feeding the chickens. There was a pig pen a little further on, but the most I remember of that was the smell. On the way back to the house she showed me where the blackberries were and how to find the ones that were just right.
I'm sure it's no surprise to learn that very few (if any) of the berries ever made it back to the porch. I may have been all of five years old, but I can still see the tall grass and feel my heart beat as I, the city girl, was led on a purely country adventure.
The house became our summer home when I was in Junior High. The weeds and my grandmother were long gone, as were the pigs, the chickens, and yes - the blackberries. Yet the memories are there, and I can close my eyes and remember them any time I wish.
Last, I'll share a recipe that my late sister gave me many years ago. If you make it? Send up a word of thanks to Harriet.
Berry Cobbler
Preheat oven to 325F
1 stick butter (melted)
2 cups berries (or a 12 oz. pkg of frozen berries)
1 cup milk
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 cup self-rising flour (don't cheat, all purpose flour won't work!)
- Sprinkle 1/2 cup sugar over the berries and set aside.
- In mixing bowl, combine flour and 1 cup sugar. Add milk and beat until smooth. (I use a whisk)
- Melt butter in 10" baking dish in 325F oven
- Pour batter over butter, do not mix. (Batter will magically cover the top as it bakes)
- Spoon berries on top.
- Bake 45 minutes or until top crust loses its shine, or when toothpick inserted in center comes out clean.
Best served warm with vanilla ice cream!
