Grandma had these brown bowls with darker brown speckles, like inverted eggs of some wild bird maybe or maybe like handmade paper. We would take them out to Grandpa’s garden and pick raspberries right off the bushes. Here’s how little we were then: We reached up to pick the berries from the canes that arched over us. The berries were a little warm from the sun. When our bowls were full, we took them into the kitchen and sat at the big wooden table on the tall backed chairs, and Grandma poured cream from the refrigerator over the warm berries. We sat, legs dangling, and ate the cream drenched berries with our spoons.