I’m standing on the Head
Like I did so many times before
When I was little and staying with my Nan
Something scrapes my ankle, I look down
I’m standing in a mound of blackberry bushes

My mind goes to when I was small
To when I used to pick these tiny berries
So Nan could make a blackberry duff
A treat for me and her to eat

The berries are small, like beads, and black
It takes a while to fill a dipper
Sometimes it seems forever
They prickle my fingers, the bushes, but they don’t scratch

With dipper filled I head back home
Nan mixes flour, water, baking powder
And some brown sugar, I put the berries in
Nan put the mix in a small cloth sack
Ties it was a string

I follow her to the kitchen
There’s a pot on the stove boiling
There’s turnip, potato, cabbage, carrots
And of course, a piece of fat pork
In the pot Nan slowly drops the little sack in with the rest

When the cooking is all done
Nan takes the little sack from the pot
Turns it upside down, out comes the duff
The steam rises from the plate it drops on
And Nan slices off some pieces for us to eat

We sit in the cool of the back porch
The berries taste much better now
I know, cause I tried them when I was picking
An awful bitter taste they had when they were raw
We can’t eat it all just now

“It will taste just as good later cold
With a cup of tea,”
Nan says as she wraps the leftover duff
In some wax paper and puts it on the pantry shelf
For supper or maybe a bed lunch later

Oh, how I loved the time I spent
In this tiny cove with my Nan
Just me and her and all the wonderful things
We did together, as good as the duff was
The memories are even better.

Cyril Griffin
New Perlican, NL