During those summers after my mother had passed on, we spent weekends together at her parents' (my grandparents') farm, at the invitation of her nephew who inherited the property. We took advantage of the fruit growing there. First the rhubarb would be ripe, then the blueberries, and finally the apples would be dropping from the trees. There were raspberries, chokecherries, cherries, plums, blackberries, gooseberries and some strawberries. It was a summer feast!
We cooked on the wood stove which had served the family for years, and I realized that not much changes except the type of fruit used. Whatever fruit was in season, went into the dish, whether it was a pie, an upside down cake, a grunt, or whatever.
Take a little dash of water cold
And a little leaven of prayer
And a little bit of morning gold
Dissolved in the morning air;
Add to your meal some merriment And a thought for kith and kin
And then, as a prime ingredient,
A plenty of work thrown in.
Spice it all with the essence of love
And a little whiff of play.
Let a wise old book and a glance above
Complete the well-made day.
Found in Aunt Grace's personal cookbook