Off and on over the last few years, that I was working pretty much full time, I worked in the funeral and cemetery industries. For the most part I enjoyed it. It was very satisfying to assist people make their final arrangements and help them do so without their over-spending.

The joy sort of went out of the business for me when the national corporations began buying up the local funeral homes and cemeteries. They were more concerned with making a quick buck than in helping clients. At least that is how it seemed to me and the fun and enjoyment rapidly disappeared.

Most people view those working in the funeral and cemetery industries as solemn, staid and reserved without much of a sense of humor. Movies and television have done much to foster this image of funeral directors and morticians but I found them to be quite the opposite.  Almost without exception they have a wonderful sense of humor and are fond of sharing funny stories. It didn’t matter whether the situation involved them or others, if it was funny, it was shared.

The following is one of my favorite stories from that time and no matter how many times I hear it, I chuckle.

A young preacher was asked by the local funeral director to conduct a graveside burial service for a man who had no family or friends. The preacher left early for the cemetery but quickly got lost, having made several wrong turns.

Eventually, a half hour late, he saw a backhoe and its crew, but the hearse was nowhere in sight. Nearby a few workmen were eating lunch. The diligent young pastor went to the open grave and found the vault lid already in place. Taking out his book, he read a passage. Feeling guilty because of his tardiness, he preached an impassioned and lengthy service, sending the deceased in style to the great beyond.

As he returned to his car, the preacher overheard one of the workmen say, “I’ve been putting in septic tanks for 20 years, and I ain’t never seen anything like that.”

Dorie and I (and Kashi, of course) drove out to Heikes Farms yesterday and bought some blueberries, marionberries and raspberries and sweet cherries. How I love this time of the year and the fact that we live in the middle of so much bounty.

This area has an abundance of fruit crops including peaches, apricots, many varieties of apples, blackberries and the best flavored strawberries grown anywhere. But my favorite are the raspberries.  There just is nothing that tastes of summer so much as a ripe, sweet raspberry fresh picked and still warm from the sun.

Raspberries bring back memories to me of summers spent on Grandmas farm in Montana. She grew strawberries, raspberries, currants and gooseberries and canned and made preserves with much of it.

Ravalli County had an experimental farm quite close and we also went there to pick cherries and other fruit. One summer I tried to earn a little spending money picking fruit at the county farm. I can remember going there and working most of the day climbing up and down fruit ladders but cannot recall what type of fruit I actually picked. Since I was in grade school at the time I am sure whatever it was I didn’t pick much of it or earn much money.

It seemed that Grandma’s root cellar was always lined with shimmering jars of fruit of all kinds. The jars shined with bright colors of peaches, apricots, pears, plums, sweet cherries and pie cherries and my favorites were the raspberries and raspberry juice. I am not sure how she made the juice but she seemed to put it up as a special treat. Poured in a glass with a little water and some ice cubes it made a summer cooler that was unbeatable. It was a real treat on a hot day.

Like most farm families, we all enjoyed our food. Fried chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy followed by shortcake heaped high with strawberries has to be high on the list. But raspberries were, and still are my favorite.

Many years later all I have to do to bring back pleasant memories of my grandmother and the summers at her farm is to plop a nice, ripe, juicy sweet raspberry in my mouth – or even just smell one.