“A good berry picker moves with her hands, not her feet.” The words have been emblazoned into my mind from years of driving up the dirt road to the berry patch at Macomber Farm. I can still see Mr. Macomber whizzing down the path on his clunky mountain bike, all wheels and spokes, a cloud of dust trailing behind him to meet me by the fence and the “Pick UR Own” sign. Strewn on the picnic table, an inviting stack of green paper baskets would be waiting to be filled to the brim with the ripe berries of the moment.
Even today, as I approach a different farmer, questions dart through my mind: Will he have any strawberries left? Are the raspberries ripe yet? When do the blueberries usually come in, again? How many berries is too many to eat in the field? Damn it, did I leave my sun hat in the car? Yes, I am sure I did…
My favorite mezcal cocktail is the Raspberry Frezcal. I know it sounds Seussian, but it’s the name that’s stuck, summer after summer, when the fresh berries come in. Frezcal is like the older sister of frosé (yes, that’s frozen blended rose) that only leaves the house in kitten heels – vibrant, pink, frothy, and a bit of an ice queen. I love Raspberry Frezcal….
For the Raspberry Frezcal recipe & the full article visit: www.puddingstonepost.com
Many thanks to Sweet Berry Farm, Kat Cummings, baby Amon, & Emelyn Daly
for playing the muse!
❤ Little Bitte