Blackberry Tart

Blackberries always remind me of my grandmother. I love them and she always held them out to me as a treat. We could go pick them or she had them already baked in a cobbler, or ready to go with some cream. In the dead of winter, yep, there they were thawed by the sink. Grammies will do that. Or make you a quill pen to dip in her ink. So you can make squiggles and draw pictures on her notepad until it's time to go outside and explore.Let's go look. Let's go see. Maybe there's a new chick, or fresh cucumbers( you get to make toothpick animals with those), or some " pretties" in the flower beds. Or gather some eggs ( the warmest spot in the universe is under a hen) She didn't go to art school. She lived on a farm. But she was teaching a painter there from the start. So I ordered the blackberry pie , with Mary, Anndel and Bruce. We'd just been to A Very Large Array last fall. Painters on a lark. And there she was with us although long gone, my grandmother, a southern lady, in a New Mexico diner amongst the adobe, enjoying the day. When I look at this tart,she is there too. In her garden, or walking , holding my hand. The juice much sweeter, the berries full. The light a bit brighter. Come look. Come see. The twinkle in her eyes.