Someone mentioned Blackberries...

When I was a little girl we used to pick tons of blackberries(and strawberries, and raspberries, and any other kind of berry we could get our small fingers on), and then spend all weekend in the kitchen with mom making and canning preserves. I miss canning. The house always smelled wonderful, and the steam would make the kitchen walls sweat. We little girls, so eager to help out, were probably more in the way than actually of assistance. We'd make ourselves almost sick with the continuous tasting of the jam, and licking of cooled spoons. Once it was finished, and the sun would be dipping down on the horizon, the family would gather on the front porch in the cooling evening, and together we would pray the family's daily rosary, and say the childrens' night-time prayers. Waving hello to the couples taking evening strolls, we'd shout our goodnights to the neighbors and children about in that small Kansas town, and head up stairs to bed while the grown-ups (usually my mother and grandmother, and occasionally my father and perhaps an uncle or two) would stay up late, getting in their time for peace and quiet, and adult conversation.