"Don't Wash Your Raspberries!"

Last weekend, I was sick in a way that does not nail you to bed but makes you slow and unwilling to do anything. So, to stop feeling pity for myself and to do something productive I forced myself into berry-picking. I’d found another farm, not my usual Dillon Fruit Farm in Lisbon, Ohio, but a closer farm off SR-322 on the way to Cleveland, called Ransom Sage Farm, which I'd wanted to check out for some time. I decided October 7 was a good day for it, especially because it was supposed to get much colder on Sunday and raspberries are not good at handling the cold. This could have been my last chance at berry-picking this year.

I checked the weather on the farm and it was supposed to be chilly and windy but sunny. I put my windbreaker jacket on and was excited to go because the farm boasted to have three different types of raspberries (golden, red, and pink) and several types of grapes. Lots of apples, too, but I was still good on apples from my last trip to the Dillon Fruit Farm a couple of weeks before.

Ransom Sage is a little over an hour drive from my place. As I was approaching the farm, it started to drizzle. On the farm, they have tractors with carts taking people to the parts of the farm they’d like to go. When I said I wanted raspberries, the driver looked up at the sky and said, “Well, at least they’ll be pre-washed for you.”

I found it funny because I never wash raspberries. My gradma, who taught me how to pick raspberries and make jams of them, told me once, “Don’t you ever disrespect raspberries by washing them. They are so full of medicine nothing bad can live in them.” To illustrate her point, she took some of the raspberries I just picked from her patch and washed them. They immediately sagged and lost their shape and visual appeal. “See how sad they are that I washed them? And if you cook them for jam like that, all that excess water will end up in the jam, diluting it.”

“But grandma, what if there’s a worm or a little spider in them?” I asked.

“You just check and blow them off. And even if some stay, what’s a little meat in the jam anyway?” She said it cheerfully, causing me to gag. She then laughed and added, “Seriously, it will be boiled and no one will ever notice.” Ever since then, I carefully check every berry for blemishes and insects, but I never wash my raspberries.

As I started picking pink raspberries on the Ransom Sage farm, the drizzle turned into a downpour. I ran back to the shed where a young woman managing the patch was sitting and asked if I could stay with her there. “My jacket is good for the wind but not waterproof and I don’t want to get sicker than I am already,” I explained. She said of course and checked the weather. It was supposed to clear up in 20 min so we just waited and chatted. She turned out to be a good friend of one of my best students. The world is small.

And then in about 20 minutes as promised, it suddenly cleared up and the sun came out. I ran back to the patch and picked one pint of pink raspberries and three pints of red. The golden ones were almost gone, and I gave up on them as it would have taken me a lot longer to pick them. Besides, I didn’t find them as tasty or flavorful as the other two. I also got excellent grapes there and as I was getting into my car to leave, it started to rain again.

When I came home, I put my saggy sad pre-washed red raspberries into the freezer. As I checked today, there was a lot of red excess water on the bottom of the freezer bag as the berries froze. The pink ones started to show the water damage in blemishes almost right away. I was told they were for eating only, but I've also added them to my immunity boosting herbal tea. It was really good for my raspy sore throat. Overall, I'd say the trip was a success.