We learned to move slowly around the bramble. Slow was practical; quickness left scratches. We learned to wear long sleeves even when the heat told us not to, and to bring a bowl for the ones we would save. Aleise taught me to flip each berry gently between thumb and forefinger—if it gave easily, it was ripe; if it resisted, let it be. Once in a while a stubborn green dot sat in the middle of a cluster, and she’d point to it as if showing me a small, private fault. “Leave that one,” she’d say. “It’ll catch up next time.”
