Berry-picking time has almost come and gone for the season. We made a good haul this year. The wild blackberries were small but sweet and four gallons are processed, cleaned, and frozen in the icebox. There are enough berries to last till next year.

I love berry-picking. It’s family time. Three generations of people wading through the stickles to pluck the dainty fruit from wicked vines means my son will now recall an event that ties together multiple threads of collective memory that stretches across centuries.

Traditions are built around simple acts and I enjoy this one. For the first time ever, this year I think we might go traipsing through the cranberry bogs and collect some of those berries. What kinds of family traditions do you find yourself continuing?