Blackberry Cobbler for My Daughter's Birthday

Every year, my daughter asks for blackberry cobbler instead of birthday cake. Every year, the day before, we pick wild blackberries along the old rail trail behind our town, and every year, she eats more berries off the brambles than she puts in her bucket.

This year, she turned twelve. I thought maybe she'd outgrown it. But the night before her birthday, she came downstairs and asked, "Are we going picking tomorrow?"

We went. She came home with purple fingers and two scratches she was proud of. We made the cobbler together in our tiny kitchen, with whipped cream from scratch that she whisked by hand until her arm hurt.

When we stuck the candles into the warm crust, she looked at me and said, "This is the best tradition." I said, "We can keep doing it as long as you want." She said, "Forever, then."