Mom and the Blackberry Pie

Mom and the Blackberry Pie

One year my cousin David had to be away from his home for much of a month in the summer, and he offered his house to my parents for a vacation. Now, as his abode was right near the beach in Crescent City, CA....they kindly took him up on his graciousness.

So we packed into the car...Dad driving, Mom starting out in the passenger seat, my older brother Scott and I in the back seat with the two dogs, Gus the dachshund and Calen, my little mutt. After 45 minutes, as Mom was drifting off (as she always, always did on road trips) Dad pulled over and woke her up.

"Change places with Beth, Eileen," he said. "You're snoring already and I need a co-pilot."

My brother Scott, who had also already fallen asleep, challenged this, saying he should get the front...but Dad told him "No one who sleeps in the car sits in the front. Deal with it. I'm not going to hear whining and moaning for the next ten hours over this crap."

We got underway again. My job on road trips was to change the channels, hand Dad his coke and entertain him with talking. He has trained me for this job since I was two....and now my husband Charles reaps the benefit of having a wide-awake passenger who likes to tell stories, prepare sandwiches on the go, and hand over drinks. I don't think Charles appreciates my "the radio is mine" attitude...but really, a co-pilot has to have some advantages, right?

We finally reached Crescent City...tucked at the top of the coastline of California, found the house, unloaded the car and called it a night.

The next day...Mom got up early. And spied from the front porch a vacant lot filled with berry bushes. Blackberry bushes. Full of fruit.

Her excitement was such that she got me up at six in the morning.

Now....she had slept almost the whole ride up the day before. I had not. I did not think getting up at dawn was a great way to spend the first morning on vacation.

What I thought...didn't matter.

By 6:30 we had found buckets and were heading towards the berry bushes.

We picked berries forever. It might have gone faster if I hadn't been eating so many. (It's not like she gave me a chance to make breakfast!)

We trudged back up the hill (everything in Crescent City is on a hill)....and that afternoon, Mom made a pie.

While she was a good cook, and made wonderful cookies and breads...my mom wasn't that familiar with pies. She was a little intimidated by them at that point in time....after all, Dad's Mom and his sister made the pies at family get-togethers, and everyone always raved about those pies.

But what was she to do with two bucketfuls of berries....that demanded one make a pie, right?

She picked the prettiest berries, and made the pie crust. (She made a wonderful pie crust.) I took extra berries and put them in containers with sugar to have berries and cream the following day and she looked at me and said, "Why on earth are you sugaring those berries? They're sweet enough!"

I started to differ,and then she sent me out to talk with my Dad.

Later that night...the most beautiful pie I have ever seen appeared. It was tall, with a gorgeous crust and plump whole berries glistening under the lattice cut topping.

She set the pie down on the table reverently, and cut us each a piece...setting it before us as if each perfect berry was a gem. It smelled heavenly, our mouths watered.

My Dad and I each took a bite and looked at each other....

I couldn't swallow.....

My brother, who is challenged and says whatever comes to mind, spit his bite into the napkin and said, "This shit is sour!"

Mom's face was crestfallen. Dad and I managed to swallow our bites.

"It's not bad at all, honey, "Dad said. "A little on the tart side, but lots of flavor."

He looked at me with stern eyes.

"It's great Mom, really," as I took another bite....my taste buds screaming horrible things to me.

Mom smiled at us and frowned at Scott. "Really Scott, if your father and your sister like it, there's nothing wrong with it! After all, I put *one whole cup of sugar for the three cups of berries...and they were already sweet!*"

Then she took a bite. We watched her face contort....her eyes water. She struggled but did finally swallow the pie.

She sighed. "You're right Scott....this ...pie...is sour. Beth, let's have those berries in cream you were making earlier. And next time...warn me to put more sugar in."

We laughed about that pie for 20 years. Which makes it...in the end, the best pie I've ever had.