Mt Graham Raspberries

Contrary to what Mother Nature would have us believe, Spring is right around the corner. I feel it! (or is that just wishful thinking? It snowed again today.) Ok, so I’m more hoping then anything else. I can honestly say I’m thankful for a global economy and Chilean farmers who work hard to send us produce in the winter. If it wasn’t for them, we wouldn’t have most of the produce we see in our supermarkets. If only they could give me fresh watermelon or pumpkins all year long, I’d be very, very happy.

The other day I’m at work and a customer asked for a bowl of raspberries, because the server, in his infinite wisdom, or the lack thereof, told the customer we had some. Now, normally my response would be somewhere along the lines of, “If it’s not on the menu, we don’t have it.” Unfortunately, we had a pint left over from a banquet the day before and unfortunately, I knew that. So I resigned myself to the fact that some people have to be babysat and got some raspberries for the customer.

I couldn’t help myself. I rarely can when it comes to raspberries. I have to have a nibble. I popped one into my mouth. If it wasn’t for great restraint and will-power (yeah, laugh if you will) I would have eaten the whole pint and the customer would have gotten nothing. (Maybe I should have thought of that before!)

The memories! Well, memory at least. Since the early 1900’s my family has owned a cabin on Turkey Flat, high up on Mount Graham, Southeast of Phoenix. We used to go there at least once a year. It was the ultimate retreat.

It didn’t seem to matter what time of year we went, it was all heaven. In April, you can drive farther up the mountain, about half-way between Turkey Flat and Riggs Lake and hike up to a place called Lady Bug Saddle. When you hike up there in April, the rocks and trees take on an almost eerie red hue. Lady bugs. By the millions.

Sometimes we’d go for the 4th of July. If we were lucky the monsoons would come early that year. They usually aren’t due until end of July, early August, but it’s all the same no matter when you go. Every afternoon at 4, like clockwork, the thunder explodes as close as a hundred yards away and the torrential rain sends everyone huddling around the fireplace inside the cabin. That smell of rain mixed with pine is intoxicating.

But there’s one more place, though, the memory of which always comes back to me because of one thing…Raspberries. Wild Raspberries to be precise. The cabin sits on a large flat ridge in the middle of a ravine. There was a trail that led down to the bottom of the ravine and up and along the other side, through a dry river bed and eventually to the main road, coming out to an abandoned building that used to be the old General Store. All along this trail and along the main road are wild strawberries and raspberries. I like strawberries but it’s the raspberries I loved. Sweet and tangy. Perfectly ripe in the summer. I’d pick them all…if my sisters didn’t get to them first.