A Raspberry tale

3 June 2011

I was saved by a raspberry. Today. 

Not just one from a supermarket or in a can, not even, heaven forbid, an artificial one smothered in ice cream! No, it was a late Spring beauty from our garden. Had been working in the garden, it was hot, pushing 28° C, the chickens were doing their chicken-thing, running around avariciously in dappled shade patches of the jasmine & rosed cherry tree, competing with each other for a worm or the stray cherries that were raining down on them because some starlings had been enjoying a late Spring tuck-in. And as I bent over the raspberry bush to dump my umpteenth load of grass cuttings, I pulled my hat to the side to create a bit more shade on my face, and noticed that there were already some raspberries hanging shyly in the bush. Not having grown up here I am always intrigued by the berry fruit of Europe, but not very knowledgeable about them. So I was not expecting such sublime aromas when bending down to inspect the small pieces of pastelly mauve-pink fruit proudly sticking up their faces into the late afternoon sun’s embrace. To me they were surely not ripe yet, too soon in the season, too little colour, not bold or large enough. And I felt truly guilty (imagine!) when I picked the one that seemed the least green, that looked soft and vibrant – only to feel it release itself, almost joyously, (I swear) into my hand, it became one with my untrained, innocent finger tips. My fingers brought the raspberry to my mouth but as it came close the most insanely colourful and heady perfume swept up into my nostrils- the raspberry was breathing its message of simple beauty and hope into my nose, and directly onto the olfactory receptor neurons of my olfactory epithelium (my wine training reminding me that humans can distinguish almost 10 000 olfactory molecules). In breathing its last breath into mine, enlivening me, the raspberry sent me so many messages, the most important being that there are, after all, still some things that make a new day worth looking forward to. And when I reluctantly placed it in my mouth: it slammed a tiny taste-mirror onto my soul showing me that after a year or so of troubles, of deep and dirty sadness, when the slightest phrase or tritest TV theme melody would silence me, bring me to a swaying stop, a raspberry could show me a new way, god in its purest form! 

Today.