The only raspberries I remember eating when I was a girl were growing in Mamaw and Papaw Wilson’s backyard. I loved standing by them and eating the sweet goodness as fast as I could. I don’t think the berries were wild, but they might have been.
After Mamaw died Papaw moved in with my uncle Ray and uncle Henry’s family moved into the tiny house. Eventually they built a new larger house behind it and tore down Mamaw and Papaw’s old house.
I don’t know what happened to the raspberries, but guess they died out. Henry loved to garden and I know he would have nurtured them in the many years they lived in the little house if they were still there.
The majority of fruit we ate when I was a girl were apples. In fact like many older people in Appalachia Granny and Pap often called apples fruit especially once Granny made them into applesauce.
In the summer we’d have watermelon and sometimes cantaloupe. Often in the spring Granny would buy strawberries once they began to be shipped here from farther south. She’d make jelly, jam, cakes, and pies. If peaches came her way she’d buy them to can for winter eating as well as cobbler making. We had a small white peach tree Granny started from a pit and sometimes it would produce.
Out back of the house there were several huckleberry bushes and us kids would feast on them when they ripened. Summer brought a plethora of blackberries for jelly, cobblers, and eating out of hand.
Granny bought bananas from the grocery store and grapes every once in a while, but I don’t recall her buying any raspberries.
After my brother Steve married his wife Kim they lived in a little rented house over in Martins Creek for a while. In the early 90s Pap helped them build the house they raised their children in and that Austin and Corie live in today.
The driveway to their house was pushed in alongside the pond I learned to swim in. Many years later the pond was filled in for progress and the small dirt driveway now also leads to our house and Paul’s.
One day I was down there fooling around. I might have been helping Pap in the big garden or in the new ground he’d hewn out alongside Steve’s driveway for a small garden area.
On the bank of the road towards Granny and Pap’s I found black raspberries growing. All my memories of Mamaw’s raspberries came rushing back. I was tickled to death!
I ran and got Pap to show him. He was proud of them mostly because I got so excited over finding them.
But I failed to tell Steve I’d found them. He’s always been one to keep everything neat as a pin around his yard and driveway and he weed-eated them down.
I’m sure they came back out and likely even produced raspberries the following year, but I was about to get married and Pap was going to help build our house and I never thought about the raspberries again.
Last summer Matt was helping Corie and Austin work on their house and on one of the trips back and forth between our houses I noticed what I thought were blackberries on the bank just before Paul’s garage.
I got out for a closer look because I was puzzled that the blackberries were ripe before the ones up the hill at our house.
Oh the joy! They weren’t blackberries, they were black raspberries!
I’m sure the berries are part of the same ones I found so long ago since they are in the same general area. And I’m sure they’ve been growing right there every summer as I drove by them each time I left the house.
Wild raspberries have briars but they aren’t near as mean as blackberry briars so they are easier to pick, although the fruit is more fragile.
Katie helped me pick some of the raspberries over the weekend. I told her the story of how I found them so long ago and as I did my mind recalled the way the landscape of the holler looked then and even before then.
When Pap and Granny built their house the only other abodes in the holler were Mamaw and Papaw’s little house and a single wide trailer just below them that my uncle lived in. Much has changed since then.
I feel a longing for those early days, but I can’t feel too sad about the changes. What a glorious thing that the Wilson family has increased and that today many of Papaw and Mamaw’s descendants call this mountain holler home.
Tipper
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My grandmother’s yard was filled with berries, fruit and nuts. Red raspberries, 2 kinds of gooseberries, elderberries, blueberries, currants, apples, pears, peaches, chestnuts, hazelnuts. it was good eating all summer. Its a shame that we got away from planting things to eat in our yards and plant more for looks.
One of my best memories of berries took place on Mt. Mitchell. A girlfriend and I were visiting my mom, and we took advantage of an unusually clear day to drive up the Parkway to Mt. Mitchell. My friend and I trekked up to the top for the magnificent view while my mom and grandma waited below. We were delighted to find a few berries along the trail and generously collected a few extras to share with them. Lo and behold, when we got back, there were Mom and Grandma sitting on a bench smack in the middle of a big blackberry patch they hadn’t even noticed. We picked and ate berries to our hearts’ content, and I can honestly say that’s the one time in my life that I actually had enough berries!
I remember when I was a girl my mom my brother and me would pick wild blackberries.My mom would make icecream out of them. It was soo good. Except for the seeds but we ate and enjoyed it anyway. We sure wasn’t going to waste it.
I very much enjoyed reading about all your childhood memories and the fruits you ate when you were a kid. I don’t remember raspberries. I do remember walking down the railroad track with my parents and siblings picking wild strawberries. They were so small, especially when compared to the huge strawberries you get at the grocery store today. Mama and dad made wonderful vanilla ice cream with strawberries in it. We had fresh milk and cream from our cow, Lucy, and we had an electric ice cream maker. I remember waiting on the ice cream patiently and how delicious it was. Mama also made delicious strawberry cakes. She put the strawberries in the batter. These were dense cakes that were moist and delicious. We also had lots of elderberry bushes near our house and mama made the most wonderful jelly. We picked blackberries and apples and pears to put up for winter. Your sweet memories brought back many of my own. Thank you.
Enjoyed reading your story today. One thing I remember about blackberry picking was to wear long sleeves!! There’s nothing better than a blackberry cobbler with Mayfield vanilla bean ice cream.
Reading some of the comments, makes me think of how blessed I am. I have lived my entire life (71 years) on the same 35 acres of land my maternal grandparents and parents owned. It has already been deeded to my son. The land has been in my family for over a hundred years. 5 acres was sold about 55 years ago so now it is 35 acres. I have been able to enjoy this land along with being able to hunt or roam around on many acres of my neighbors land. My wife’s family lived 5 miles away and her Grandaddy owned 150 acres of land GIVEN to him by the country doctor back in 1952. He and his family had sharecropped this land for the doctor for many years, all he had was the doctor’s word and promise the land would be given to him when he died. The doctor kept his promise, this was back in the time when a man’s word was good as a contract. The memories I had made throughout my life on all of this land doing things with family and neighbors are worth more than anything I may have had by moving away and living somewhere else. How I wish it was possible to go back and relive those memories. My double wide mobile home is sitting on the exact spot of my grandparents home that burned down.
Your post today made me think of how long continuance in one place makes “tracks and trails” on the landscape of memories here and there and of now and of then, some byways of the mind, but of the heart to. You might say the land gets “quilted” with good memories. I don’t know how to say even half of what I mean. But I know kindred spirits read the meanings just the same. Maybe a quirky way to say it is that it’s not so much about the raspberries as it is about roots?
I SO enjoyed this walk down your memory lane, Tipper! I especially loved the fact your family has all gathered in your own little holler. My grandparents on my dad’s side lived in a holler but all their children scattered to different states. Blessed you surely are that you have so many memories of Pap, but also you can see all the houses he helped build for you and your siblings!
I have such fond memories of picking the red raspberries that grew along my Grandma Jessie’s backyard property line. We would get out there as soon as they were ready and would probably eat more than we took in to her. I have some wild ones at the back of my yard, I am looking forward to them ripening this year to pick with my Grandson. Thank you Tipper for sharing so many great memories, it is beautiful to connect your part of Appalachia with my suburban world in Northern Illinois.
Good morning, Tipper. Aren’t childhood memories just the best. 🙂 As I have mentioned a few times, my childhood consisted of gardening- growing our food – and that included a variety of berries, including raspberries. We didn’t have a lot of land, but every inch was made use of. I enjoyed todays reading. Tipper, you are definitely a weaver of words – you bring your memories to ‘life’ for each reader. 🙂 Blessings to you & yours. May Granny also be enjoying each day. Praying. P.S. for your words of wisdom collection – one you may have heard a few times: “Waste not – use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.” Growing up that was lived out. Now we live in a throw away world – which, sadly, can often apply to people not just things.
The one thing I miss from my five years in Oregon are the tayberries. They’re a pretty recent kind of berry, being developed in Scotland in 1979. They are a cross between a red raspberry and a blackberry. The taste is wonderful!
What a wonderful story! I agree with Laura. It made me feel like I was right there with you all. Tipper, you really should write a book about your life in Wilson Holler. Thanks for sharing!!
When I was a kid apples were apples too, just like you, but once they they were cooked they became fruit, unless you took the extra step and made apple butter. Fruit was also one of several things my mother had to can 100 quarts of, otherwise she considered herself a failure.
When I was growing up, our next door neighbor grew raspberries and they were so good. We ate local watermelons and cantaloupe in the summer. Virginia strawberries came in at the last of May and early June. And fresh blackberries were so good.
I’d love to hear the history of your family settling on your land & the changes through the years. I hear you talking about old homesteads nearby. How far into the woods does your property go? Are you guys safe from developers coming close to you?
m’liss, Matt and I only have an acre but are surrounded by family land and by a huge cattle farm too 🙂
When I was a boy I spent a lot of time with my grandparents. They had a large farm with cows, chickens and pigs. My grandmother made butter from her cow’s milk and canned all kinds of things. Down the dirt road from their home I found a large patch of wild plums and they were just getting ripe. I ate several and excitedly went and told my grandmother. She told me to go back and pick some and that she’d make us some plum jam. I picked a large basket full and proudly took my treasure to her. She had what she called her canning kitchen with a large wood stove. With supper that night we had plum jam and her wonderful biscuits. I don’t think I’d ever eaten anything so fine. Your berry story brought back that sweet childhood memory.
Larry, what a great memory!
When I was around ten years old or so growing up in northeastern Ohio, I picked raspberries at a nearby farm one summer. I was paid ten cents a quart and enjoyed eating them as I put them into the basket and probably ate at least a quart. We had wild blackberries growing around our property and I picked those for Mom to make cobblers and pies. I sometimes was chased off by daddy’s bees. He had several hives, and the berries grew near them. Personally, I don’t care for berries being cooked, only like to eat fresh ones, but I’ve made the pies and cobblers for family. I do enjoy blueberry muffins, and we had some bushes that I picked for mom to make cobblers and other desserts. I really enjoyed going outdoors in the early morning picking and eating big, sweet dewberries. We also had gooseberry bushes that the previous owners had planted. I didn’t care for them, they were grape-sized light green sour balls when unripe and pinkish and very sweet when ripe. We only had two small bushes, so we and the neighbor kids ate them straight from the bushes.
I had never seen or even heard of black raspberries until the last year when you posted about finding those close to Paul’s house. I’m sure you told about the taste of them then, but I can’t remember. Do they taste similar to the raspberries we buy at the grocery store (I’m sure the wild ones are 10 times better!) or is the taste more like a blackberry?
What nice memories, Tipper! It was fun to remember with you and then think of my days of picking blackberries with my mom and grandma. I was about 5 years old and I remember grandma would come to our house for picking. She brought a tiny galvanized pail along and mom would take some twine and tie the pail around my waist. I asked why they didn’t tie one onto themselves too, and grandma said it was because I could pick more with two of my tiny hands and not worry about dropping the pail. We’d go out into the woods across the road and I was cautioned to stay right close to them because the bears would be out looking for berries, too. Mom looked for bear tracks and when she didn’t see any, we’d continue. Sweet blackberries were too delicious to resist eating. Grandma would say I was already sweet enough so I should try to fill my pail and mom could make jelly. I declared that if a bear came by, I would share my berries with it. Mom said that if she heard or smelled a bear, we would have to run home right away. I was told not to talk so I could listen for breaking branches. Mom and grandma were very quiet too. The next summer we couldn’t go berry picking because there were reports of bears coming down from Canada due to their drought. We never got to berry pick again as we had to move to the city. So thanks for the memories, Tipper.
I have planted a raspberry bush, four blueberry bushes and three blackberry bushes this spring and they have all ready given blueberries and raspberries. I feel since grandmother has passed away in 2019, our family is not together or a whole family anymore. Everybody’s gathering out my aunts do things for their family my uncle with his family it’s just not the same like when grandmother was alive. Makes me sad and I miss the old days. I have two aunts in two different nursing homes. Having a sad couple days lately.
Lisa, I’m sorry. I pray you feel better and that your family can reconnect.
What a beautiful post today! It was such a joy to read about your fond memories of past time. Those memories will forever be in your mind & heart & will be passed down to your children & grandchildren to carry on in the Appalachian way. Thank you for sharing that bit of your childhood days with us.
I love wild black raspberries and wish I had some growing. I will see if I can some and get a start.
Years ago while visiting my aunt and uncle in Oregon a friend of theirs invited us to come pick some of the wild blackberries that grew on their property. That night for dessert we had the best blackberry cobbler I’ve ever eaten.
Wild Blackberries and raspberries are quite wonderful tasting and they are loaded with antioxidants and all sorts of healthy benefits not the least of which is digestion. I’d “mug ya” for a gallon of nice blackberries or raspberries either one. They’re quite worth the risk you know and which hillbilly kids of say 40 years ago wouldn’t have feasted on the berries and played most of the day with plenty of snacks close by. Oh the memories and taste never change and may an actually improve through the years… God bless you all today and may health and good eats be yours!!!
We love raspberries and blackberries and we have both growing on our property. The blackberries came from a neighbor 25 years or more ago and are thornless. The raspberries are wild ones that we transplanted into the same row as the blackberries. We have them fenced in and they are doing really well. We’ve been picking the raspberries this week and today I’m going to bake a pie with them. They will be really good to eat!
I don’t remember any raspberries around here. Back years ago my grandparents, mother along with me and a couple of neighbors would make a “party’ out of getting together on a day and picking wild blackberries together on our and some of the neighbors property. They would take a snack (cold biscuit) with them and drink water out of the creeks. Horse apples, our own strawberries, wild plums and muscadines, grapes and blackberries were the fruits used most often by my family for jelly and making pies. Some of my uncles that lived in Spartanburg County would always bring several bushels of peaches to us each year. In my humble opinion, you have never ate a really good fried apple pie or a cobbler pie until you eat one made from dried horse apples fried in hog lard and a cast iron griddle pan or a cobbler pie cooked in a deep side white enamel pan, that is juicy and has “dumplings” in it. The cobbler pies of today “ain’t the same.” Notice none of the fruits I mentioned were bought, except for the peaches bought by my uncle and gave to us. Another example of growing it yourself or doing without when most all of our food was either grown or raised by my family.
Your post this morning reminded me of my childhood home where in our back yard on one hillside many blackberry bushes grew each spring. Us kids would pick them so mom could bake us a blackberry cobbler. Oh yes, sweet memories of days gone by.
Such wonderful memories!! I, too, long for some of those days gone by in our family’s holler.
My cousins still live in that same holler that’s been in our family for many, many generations. The original old homeplace was torn down when I was a teenager.
It’s funny how hearing another’s story brings up so many of them for one’s self. Thank you!
I just love hearing your stories. Makes me feel like I’m right there with you and Pap and Granny.