A Unique Moment: Crafting the Best BlackBerry Cobbler with Grandmother

One special day in summer, when I was just about four or maybe three and a half years old, my grandmother took me to her kitchen to help her make something truly special - a blackberry cobbler. This day stands out in my memory as one of the most delightful and instructional moments of my childhood.

That day began innocuously enough. I was dressed in a little yellow dress adorned with tiny gold rings sewn across the bodice. My mother had carefully sewn these rings tight, as I had the habit of pulling them lose to wear on my fingers. My grandmother, recognizing my enthusiasm, picked me up and seated me on a stool in her kitchen, where she had a wooden spoon for me to play with.

The Exciting Process of Making the Cobbler

Together, we embarked on a collaborative endeavor. I was allowed to help with various tasks, such as sifting the flour, pouring in the sugar, and even sampling the cream to ensure it was sweet enough. Importantly, I had to taste the fresh blackberries to determine if they needed additional sugar. When I confirmed they did, I participated in rolling out the dough and helped my grandmother weave a top crust, which was a particularly impressive sight.

My task also involved watching the cobbler bake without burning the beautiful golden crust. To help pass the time, my grandmother taught me a special song to sing while we worked. It was a song we shared as she believed it could make the baking process more enjoyable and memorable for me.

The Grand Presentation

When the cobbler was ready, it was time to present it to the rest of the family for dinner. We decided to visit our family reunion, where we were greeted with the eagerly anticipated cobbler. Sadly, my grandmother’s cobbler was too heavy for me to carry, and my small stature meant that passing it through the crowd could lead to a less-than-hopeful outcome. The dogs, excited by the smell, might knock me over, making the cobbler short-lived. To avoid such a predicament, we carefully carried it to the gathering.

The journey was marred by the arrival of some boy cousins who amused us along the way. Interestingly, my sister, who was a baby at the time, and I were the only girls on the visit. My grandmother lavished me with attention, declaring me a "famous cook." She was right, as the grown-ups, including the aunts, lavished praise on the beautiful crust of the cobbler, calling it "my lady crust."

The Squabble Over the Cobbler

Childhood rivalries can be intense, and early that day, the boys had not been kind to me. This led to a bit of a conflict. However, when my father interjected, saying he would protect me from "the monsters," the boys were momentarily appeased. My cousin Gene, on the other hand, always kind to me, asked for a bite, which I readily granted. My brother-in-law John Quincy looked at me with big eyes, and I shyly hid my face in my grandmother's apron, answering with a reluctant "Fine, everyone can have a bite."

The cobbler was accompanied by homemade ice cream to go with it. We took turns swirling the ice cream machine, and the meal was a memorable feast. The cobbler, as my grandmother and I later felt, had become something of a legend thanks to that day's delicious creation. It was a cobbler that we never replicated, and the memory of its wonderful taste and aroma remains etched in my mind.

The Enduring Memory

That blackberry cobbler paved the way for a lifelong love of baking and cooking, especially with my grandmother's recipes. We never made such a beautiful cobbler again, but the memory of that day, the people, and the delicious flavors will forever be cherished. Revisiting this memory every so often, I find myself longing to revisit those golden moments shared with my grandmother in the kitchen, crafting something both unique and delicious.