tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7824638781408722483.post5490593823923819557..comments2023-06-01T08:22:02.085-04:00Comments on here still running: Blackberries or, Granny: an Introduction to Theologyjohniebhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11635403219973766022noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7824638781408722483.post-75656343875062976982008-04-27T08:54:00.000-04:002008-04-27T08:54:00.000-04:00Oh Johnie. Godde looks like my Grandma. (And she i...Oh Johnie. Godde looks like <I>my</I> Grandma. (And she is going to kick my ass!)<BR/><BR/>But aside from that, and as I think I said before, you write very gorgeously when you write about your family. (And when you write about food, too. Hmmm. Oh, I've got to stop coming up with book projects for other people, darn it!)pjhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12263601584230477201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7824638781408722483.post-43059376276451577612008-04-20T16:43:00.000-04:002008-04-20T16:43:00.000-04:00Thank you. And may yours with you.Thank you. And may yours with you.johniebhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11635403219973766022noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7824638781408722483.post-36705850571532465722008-04-20T11:57:00.000-04:002008-04-20T11:57:00.000-04:00Beautiful, JohnieB. We all seem to have recollect...Beautiful, JohnieB. We all seem to have recollections about berries. My French "aunt" (not my blood aunt, but she was my mother's best friend in childhood and I have always called her "Tante Jeannette") back when she and her husband had a tiny house in the country North of Paris used to make blackberry jam (cobbler doesn't exist in France, though there are other pleasures there) from the blackberry bushes out there and I still have memories of it. It was the most delicious jam in the world except for Momma's strawberry jam, which was she made of fresh strawberries from the street market.<BR/><BR/>Later in life, my mother grew raspberries, and before she began composting she would bury garbage around the raspberry bushes. My father and others laughed at this, but it produced the biggest, fattest, most delicious raspberries you could imagine. They never made it to jam, though. There weren't quite enough, and besides they ended up in our tummies very fast.<BR/><BR/>"I wouldna trade a farm for ya." That rivals the story of the Prodigal. What a wonderful image of Godde. May it live inside you all your days.Jane Rhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13814517077774999407noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7824638781408722483.post-65513510786696680032008-04-19T18:05:00.000-04:002008-04-19T18:05:00.000-04:00Thanks, JohnieB. I too remember blackberry cobbler...Thanks, JohnieB. I too remember blackberry cobbler. My mother would can blackberries every year. 1/2 gallon jars with lots of juice. She would drain the juice into a 9x13 inch cake pan and add sugar, and butter and heat it on the top of the stove while she made pie dough, rolled it out, cut it in squares and put berries, butter, and sugar, cinnamon and nutmeg in the middle of the square. she would pull the corners of the dough together to the middle, seal the seams and very carefully turn it over seam sides down and place it in the pan. when she had 12 of them in the pan, she would sprinkle more sugar on top, dot it with butter, and put it into the oven. When it was done, it was the best eatin' ever. All the juice had been absorbed into the dough from the outside and the berries and sugar on the inside had developed their own juice. It was so good, the only thing that could make it better was vanilla ice cream! I must stop now as my mouth is watering, and I don't have a kleenex!susan s.https://www.blogger.com/profile/03679099677585214433noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7824638781408722483.post-22911624836213376872008-04-18T19:43:00.000-04:002008-04-18T19:43:00.000-04:00This is a lovely piece of writing. I'm glad I came...This is a lovely piece of writing. I'm glad I came by.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17296223961815248113noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7824638781408722483.post-48982258408953142362008-04-18T07:46:00.000-04:002008-04-18T07:46:00.000-04:00Johnieb- this is extraordinary. You have stilled m...Johnieb- this is extraordinary. You have stilled my heart and taken my breath away with this recollection.<BR/><BR/>Thank you.<BR/><BR/>Thank Godde!Franhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07181529277715646835noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7824638781408722483.post-59747761695690837402008-04-17T05:53:00.000-04:002008-04-17T05:53:00.000-04:00JohnieB, this really speaks to me. My folks were a...JohnieB, this really speaks to me. My folks were all farmers, too, going 'way back. My dad grew up on a farm in East Texas and by the age of 11 or so was growing vegetables on his own plot and taking them into town to sell to the grocer on his way to school in the morning. If it hadn't been for the Depression and a job opportunity in the petroleum industry, maybe we would still be farming. After he retired he and Mom went back to East Texas and bought a farm and spent another 25years there. On my mom's side they were North Dakota homesteaders and Colorado farmers. My stepmother's family were ranchers in Colorado and Wyoming. I don't think we who are a generation away from those farms can ever fully grasp what they meant, but you have touched it here. What a wonderful thing to realize that somebody loved you better than a farm and all that it meant.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7824638781408722483.post-6215222201506988222008-04-16T23:21:00.000-04:002008-04-16T23:21:00.000-04:00Another great story, Johnie. Your Granny's blackbe...Another great story, Johnie. Your Granny's blackberry patch reminds me of the stand of raspberry canes that my parents planted. My sisters and I often had to pick berries for our Mom (and sample plenty in the process). I loved crawling into the spaces between and imagining I was in a castle tower.fleurmagnifiquehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10439259410397258769noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7824638781408722483.post-53006874093739459222008-04-16T16:41:00.000-04:002008-04-16T16:41:00.000-04:00Awww, Johnieb, you know how to tell a story, love....Awww, Johnieb, you know how to tell a story, love. I'll bet it's true that Godde looks like your granny. We'll find out one fine day, won't we?<BR/><BR/>Grandpère makes mighty tasty peach and blackberry cobblers. I don't know if they're as good as your granny's, but they're good. He makes a good blueberry cobbler, too, with blueberries picked on the farm where he grew up.<BR/><BR/>Keep the family stories coming.June Butlerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01723016934182800437noreply@blogger.com