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July 24, 2011
I remember bolting out of bed, grabbing a bowl in the kitchen and picking up speed as I ran out of the back door, down the steps, across the concrete and up the little hill, turning a hard right between the pine trees and Grandpa’s shop and hit the raspberry patch. It was still early morning, the sun had not yet fully hit the berries to warm them. When I had picked a bowlful, and eaten a few straight off the bush (just to tide me over), I went back inside to the kitchen and poured cream over the berries.