#boysenberry

Potato tacos with boysenberry crema. These were amazing. Filled with mashed potatoes. Probably our #1 savory item this time.

Boysenberry sausage with boysenberry mustard, grilled peppers and crispy onions. This is elevated from past years when it was just a sausage on a roll. A winner this time!

Crispy chicken wings with boysenberry Sriracha aioli. And fried dill pickles with a Boysenberry dip. These were fine, nothing spectacular.

Savory funnel cake? Mmmhmm! Topped with powdered sugar, chili, cheddar cheese, Boysenberry crema and green onion. It actually works, but would've been better if it was served hotter with the cheese melted.

A surprise grand finale winner is this Boysenberry pineapple upsidedown cake. So dense and moist it was almost like a cheesecake.

It's Boysenberry Festival season and we tried 3 of the talked about items.

The Boysenberry carnitas fries were a disappointment with not being well cooked fries though the meat was very tender.

The Boysenberry Bulgogi was good with a kick of spice on the end, though could have used more meat in the sauce.

The winner is what they call the Boysenberry Brick which is a brioche roll that is deep fried and filled with Boysenberries then covered in boysenberry soft serve and boysenberry syrup. It was phenomenal! We couldn't finish it.

This part inquire from knott berry farm: Beary tale returns to the fair and probably Charlie and the chocolate factory like A patisserie work in the factory

https://www.deviantart.com/ginapinkiee/gallery/100260097/adele-and-the-boysenberry-factory

Guys I made a 1960s little blurb about a mixed (mexican/white) girl from Arkansas. Might be multi chapter also it was crossposted to ao3.

TW for period typical racism and bigotry

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  It's a sweltering Sunday morning. Late summers were suffocating in Arkansas, and I was ready for the year to end. The 1965-66 school year starts tomorrow. My junior year.

“C’mon kids! Church starts in an hour!” My Momma’s voice drifts up the stairs. I sit up with a groan, and drag myself out of bed. I hated going to church. The white folk stared at us funny.

I throw on my button up shirt with a grumble, and put on my skirt, which reaches my shins. My momma would never let me wear one of those city girl skirts that go to your knees. She says it's for harlots.

I brush my hair and put it up in a ponytail, wrapping a bow around it. I try to leave my glasses at home, but momma scolds me, so I put them right back on. She also makes me wear a cardigan, despite the heat. I can't be showing my arms at church. 

I sigh as she loads me, my older brother, my two younger brothers, and my baby sister into our truck. The boys sit in the truck bed, as always. My sister sits with momma, and usually I sit in the middle seat. But today, I beg her to let me sit in back with the boys.

“Please momma? Just this once? It's so hot inside the truck.” I plead.

 She sends me a mean look, her sharp eyes narrowing behind her cat-eye glasses as she clutches the pearl handle of her purse like a weapon.

“Anne Marie,” she drawls, that southern lilt turning icy, “You know darn well what them hooligans’ll do to ya if I let you back there.” She jerks a thumb toward my brother Joey, who’s sending me a mischievous look.

I give her a pleading look, and she sighs. 

“Fine. But yer cardigan stays on, or you ain’t sittin’ back there again.” She grumbles. I beam at her, and climb into the truck bed.

I move to sit beside Joey. We was the closest in age. Joe was born November of 48’, and I was born August of 49’. He was turning eighteen within the next two months, but he was still going into his senior year. 

My younger brothers Thomas and William were twins. A rarity in our little town. Ain’t nobody actually call them by their full names, though. To everyone else, they were Tommy and Will. They were the worst little troublemakers you’d meet, the inseparable twelve year olds.

They were currently pushing and shoving over a bag of peanuts. Joey rolls his eyes, and snorts. 

“Ain't y'all ever heard of sharin'?” he calls out dryly. Tommy and Will don’t even hear it.

He pulls a lighter and a pack outta his pocket. I send him a sharp glare. He responds with a wink, his freckled face a picture of trouble. 

“Put that out!” I hiss, glowering at him. “Momma is gonna whip you harder than a pig, Joe.” I snark, batting away his light.

Joey lets out a hearty laugh at my attempt to knock his lighter from his hands.

“Relax, Annie, she ain’t gon’ see nothing.” He leans back against the side of the bed, lighting the cigarette and taking a deep drag. He blows the smoke out with a satisfied sigh.

A group of girls from the middle school walk by on the street as our poppa starts up the truck. Tommy and Will turned to look at them, exchanging mischievous glances. 

I look over, and wave to them. They just glare at me. I frown. 

Down in Arkansas, if you ain't white, you ain't really in with the town. Doesn't matter if you're black, brown, asian, or otherwise. My siblings fit in just fine cuz of momma, but not me. And definitely not poppa.

My siblings were all the spitting image of momma. Light brown hair, pale skin, freckles, light eyes, lean and tall. But I was all dark and small and stout from Poppa. Tan skin, dark hair and eyes, short and chubby.

Joey leans in, his voice lower now. “Pay 'em no mind, Annie,” he says. “They just jealous 'cause they don' know what being unique is. Just keep ya chin up, yeah?”

I just scoff. 

“Yeah. I’m real unique.” I grumble

The truck starts up with a guttural rumble, and starts its roll down the road and up to the church on the hill.

I’m already sweating in my dumb cardigan, but I know better than to even try to take it off— especially when momma is staring at me through the rearview mirror.

Joey taps me on my shoulder. 

“Hey…” He murmurs, nodding. “Look who it is.”

I squint. I can't see nobody. “Who?” I ask. I was oblivious as a sheep somedays.

Joey nudges my shoulder, nodding in the direction of a lean, blond-haired boy sitting on top of a mailbox down the street. He's surrounded by a small group of other white kids.

“That's Jimmy Taylor,” Joey tells me, a hint of disdain in his voice. “He used to go to school with me, 'fore he dropped out last spring. He's trouble.”

Jimmy had this look about him. You could tell he was trouble from a glance, but he always had this lonely air— despite being surrounded by his lackeys. His hair was blonde, but in a unique way, almost like spun gold. He was fair, but he spent a lotta time outside, so he was a little golden brown too, ‘nd he had the prettiest green eyes.

“Oh, ain't he the buddy you got in a fight with? I thought he called you a greaser cuz poppa is Mexican, and you whipped him real good.” I say, leaning to peer over at the boy.

Joey barks out a laugh, sharp and proud. “Damn right I did! That boy won't be callin' nobody nothin' for a long time.” He flexes his knuckles absently, the memory making him smirk.

But then Jimmy spots us, specifically Joey. His face twists into something ugly as he hops off the mailbox and starts stalking toward us. One of his buddies grabs at his sleeve like he's trying to stop him, but Jimmy jerks away hard enough to send the kid stumbling.

Joey’s expression goes from smug to uncertain. I falter.

“Uh..s’he walkin’ over to us?” I squeak out. Joey straightens up.

“What d’you think?” He mutters under his breath.

“Poppa, drive faster.” I choke out. He does, but barely so. Poppa always drives slower than most. He'd get in more trouble for speeding than a white man.

“Long time no see, Joe-seff,” Jimmy says, his southern drawl dripping with condescension.

I stay quiet, shuffling closer to the inside of the truck. I could see momma through the side mirror. She was stressing too.

Joey gives Jimmy a tight-lipped smile. “Nice to see ya, Jim-boy.”

“You done anythin' useful with yourself besides pickin' strawberries?” Jimmy calls, a cruel smirk on his face. 

Joey immediately tenses, ready to hop outta the truck right this instant, but he doesn’t need to.

“JAMES!” A woman calls, presumably his mom. It makes him seem a bit dorky, the way he immediately turns to respond. We’re already down the road by the time he turns his attention back to us.

But I knew I’d see him again.

I don't say a word again till we're down at the church house, and Momma asks me to hold baby Lou. 

I have Lou on my hip, and I enter the rickety old building.

The church house is packed, as usual. Momma fusses over Lou for a moment before heading over to socialize with the other ladies. It takes me about twenty minutes to navigate the crowd, avoiding conversation and small talk, before finally finding my seat.

I settle into the pew and bounce Lou on my lap, the smell of church pot roast and cheap perfume filling my nostrils. My younger siblings are all fidgeting in their seats, but I’m too distracted to care. 

My gaze scans the room, landing on the back of Jimmy Taylor's head. He's sitting with his parents right at the front.

I frown. 

‘How could someone so mean sit in the house of God?’ I think to myself.

I remove myself from the pew once more, Lou on my hip, before looking around for Joey. I see him hanging in the back with his friends. I just sigh. I didn't want to bother him.

 I return to my seat, next to Tommy and Will, who are being very rowdy. I try to scold them, but they ignore me. I sigh again, before looking down at Lou. 

“At least you'd talk to me, right?” I say down to her. She beams up at me, and I huff a laugh

Soon, the service starts. Immediately, we’re drawing stares.

Tommy and Will start having a whisper-shouting argument over whose turn it is to sit near the window. The sound of their bickering draws a sharp glare from Momma, who's sitting just a few pews ahead of us. I let out what seems like my hundredth sigh of the hour.

As the service continues, I get increasing stares. 

Everybody knew not to stare at Poppa, since Momma's father was a big businessman in town, (despite the fact that she never interacts with him, and we never get any help from him) but everyone could stare at me. Everyone could talk about me. Kids were mean.

 I shrink under their gaze.

The pastor suddenly launches into some spiel about secular music, and for some reason about how The Beatles were the work of the devil. That's unfortunate. I quite like them. Lou babbles in my lap, and I pet her hair, no longer paying attention to the sermon.

I look around the room, mostly looking for Joey. Some of the older ladies in the room nod sagely in agreement with the pastor's tirade, tutting their disapproval. They whisper amongst themselves, shooting glances in my direction. 

Meanwhile, the pastor is really getting into his rant now, his eyes wild and his face red with fervor. “And another thing,” he sputters, “These so-called 'rock stars' are corrupting our youth!”

I roll my eyes, but I catch Momma's glare, and mouth a 'sorry'.

The sermon goes on and on, the pastor's voice growing increasingly shrill and condemning. He rails on about the evils of rock and roll, the decadence of Hollywood, and the downfall of proper moral values. My Momma nods along solemnly.

At the back of the room, Joey is whispering and laughing with his friends as they pass the flask from hand to hand. His eyes are glazed over, and it's clear he's checked out of the service completely. 

I frown. When did he become such a bad kid? I focus back on the sermon.

I look at the back of Jimmy Taylor's head once more, and even he looks ready to pass out. I suddenly feel upset. Either nobody cared, or they cared too much. I felt a little alone.

As the sermon finally starts to wind down, the pastor switches gears and starts preaching on forgiveness and acceptance. Ironic, considering he's been condemning everything and everyone for the past hour.

Some people around me look relieved, while others seem disappointed that the rant is ending. The twins are starting to squirm and whine, bored out of their minds now that they're actually expected to stay still and be quiet.

My ears catch a bit of an argument at the front of the church, and I turn to see a colored family arguing with one of the church attendants, because they aren't being let in. 

They obviously ain’t from here. Their clothes are too nice. and they seem well educated.

'Nobody in Arkansas is educated, let alone well educated.’ I think with a scoff.

 There was a boy Joey's age, a boy my age, and a girl Tommy and Will's age. I peer at them curiously from over my shoulder.

I catch a few choice comments being thrown their way, some muttered by the church ladies sitting nearby, others not so quietly spoken by some of the young'uns, including Will and Tommy.

I send a death glare towards my siblings, especially since we as a family have also been discriminated against. I return my attention back to the family at the front.

The family persists, their polite requests slowly turning into frustrated arguments. The church attendant, however, is unrelenting, shaking his head and repeating that there's no room for folks like them in here. The mother of the family is trying her hardest to keep her composure, but it's clear that she's getting more and more upset.

I grimace as I watch the ordeal. My Momma looks on in distaste. She didn’t really like coloreds, despite being married to Poppa. It was something I despised about her.

Eventually, I stand up from the pew and walk over. My Momma sends me the sharpest glare, and I know I'm in for a whipping, but I can't just watch. 

“Um, excuse me.” I say, my voice small. The church attendant glares.

“The service is almost over. It wouldn't be worth it to stay.” There's a pause, “There's another service on Wednesday and on Thursday, and of course every Sunday. You could come back then?” I offer.

The family looks at me, surprise etched across their tired faces. The Father nods his head, sending regards with a mixture of gratitude and caution. The mother, trying to put on a brave expression, is clearly fighting back tears.

“Thank you. We’ll come back then.” She sighed, voice quivering. 

The attendant whirls on his heel to face me.

“This is a white church, miss,” he spits, eyein’ me with disdain. His gaze flicks over to the family. “They ain't welcome.”

“Am I white enough for you?” I snap back. My skintone spoke for itself. I was a Latin. Everybody knew, of course. Poppa was the only Latin in our community, but I stood firm in my identity.

Momma sends me the meanest look she's ever given me, but I hold strong.

The attendant's face flushes red with anger, his jaw tightening as he clenches his fists. The church falls eerily quiet.

My Momma gasps from a pew near the front, her hand flying to her mouth like she's about to scold me into next week. “Anne!” she hisses under her breath, looking utterly mortified.

“You can treat people with basic human decency.” I spit at the church attendant. 

My Momma jumps up from her seat, and drags me back to sit down. She scolds me harshly under her breath, but she doesn’t lay a hand on me. She never has.

I sit back in my seat with a frown. An awkward hush falls over the congregation. 

The sermon ends quickly after that. My Momma stands to socialize with her white folk friends. I slide into a corner, splitting one of the pastries some random brought with Lou.

As the crowd begins to disperse, I see Jimmy and his crew lingering by the entrance, whispering and laughing amongst themselves. From the looks they're shooting my way, it's obvious I’m the topic of conversation.

I just glare at them. Joey steps up beside me. I don’t bother looking up at him.

“I wanna go home.” I say to nobody in particular, smoothing down my skirt. Lou rubs her greasy fingers over my glasses, so I take them off. I end up taking my hair down too. I catch Jimmy staring over here. He still looks like he's itching for a fight. I look away.

Joey follows my gaze, his expression souring as he clocks Jimmy's lingering stare. His jaw tightens, and for a second I think he might actually march over there.

“Don't mind 'im,” he mutters instead, “Dumbass just don't got nothin' better to do than be bitter.” He nudges my shoulder with his.

Joey grabs Lou from my arms so that I wouldn’t have to be worried about watching her any longer. He bounces her on one hip effortlessly despite the fact that she is currently drooling all over his shirt collar.

“Thanks Joe.” I say, lifting myself up to stand. I was still curious, and a little concerned, about that family. Our town wasn’t very safe for their folk. I’d hope they got home safe, at least.

“I wonder where they were from.” I murmur to myself, putting my glasses into my skirt pocket.

Joey meets my gaze, his expression unreadable for a moment before he shrugs. “Who cares? Ain't like they're comin' back.”

“C'mon,” he mutters, “Let's go 'fore Momma starts preachin’ worse than the pastor did.”

I just frown. “I wonder.” I murmur once more, before following Joey out to the truck.

Tommy, Will, and Poppa are already there. Momma is still chatting with her white friends back up at the service. I roll my eyes.

“Does she ever get tired of this?” I wonder aloud. I was always a skeptic, even though I'd never dare say that while around Momma. She'd whip me good.

Joey barks out a laugh, shifting Lou to his other hip as he climbs into the truckbed. “Annie, she’s breathin’ this nonsense. Pretty sure it's in her blood. Y'know one o’ these days you're gonna say somethin' that makes Momma actually combust.”

I roll my eyes again. “Everything makes Momma combust. Especially when it comes t’me.” I complain, climbing into the truckbed next to him. “I dunno why she got so ticked off when I stood up for that colored family. We're technically a colored family.” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest.

Joey snorts, shaking his head.

“See, the difference is, Momma likes bein’ white enough to slide on by. I think y’re the only one who doesn’t really care.”

He bounces Lou absently on his knee as she gums at a stray peanut shell Will handed her.

I frown. 

“Why would Momma even marry Poppa if she wants to pretend we're picture perfect southerners? All of the south hates us. And we're not even fully colored.” I grumble.

His expression drops at the sight of my frown.

“Beats me,” he mutters, “But it’s jus’ how things are.”

He ruffles my hair affectionately, in a silent attempt to cheer me up. 

“At least you got me, yeah? I don't care if you're white, black, green, or polka-dotted. You're still the same pain-in-the-ass little sister to me no matter what.”

This gets me to crack a smile, and I laugh. “Stupid.” I mutter, but it's all fondness

Finally, Momma exits the church, ready to go back home, but not before sending me a mean look. My little outburst was NOT appreciated. I avoid her gaze. She takes Lou off of Joey, grumbling under her breath.

We peel out of the church parking, making our way back home. But not before I catch sight of Jimmy Taylor glaring daggers at us. I frown.

“Why's he always gotta problem?” I grumble.

Joey scoffs, giving Jimmy the evil eye right back as his face disappears in the dust of our rickety old truck.

“Ignore ‘im. Guy’s all bark ‘n no bite. ‘S why I beat him down last spring.” He grumbles.

He bumps my shoulder, and gives me a grin.

“Seriously. Don’t spend yer time worryin’ ‘bout folks like him. He ain’t worth yer brain power.”

My expression softens, but my frown doesn’t leave.

“He's kinda scary.” I admit, my body still facing where he has long vanished. “He looks like he'd attack me.”

Joey rests his arms on the bed rail, one arm behind me.

“Y’know I’d never let him harm a hair on yer head, right Annie?” He states, his expression suddenly serious. He reaches up to lightly tug on a strand of my hair.

“Plus, the kid’s a wimp. You’d prolly kick his ass.” He adds with a newfound smirk.

I roll my eyes. 

“If momma didn’t kill w’her bare hands first.” I mutter, finally turning to face him. 

We finally arrive back home. Our truck pulls up right against the curb. While Momma and Poppa fuss over something or another, I look across the street.

That colored family that was trying to get into our church were currently unpacking boxes, their windows and doors wide open. Prolly to air the place out.

Miss Grey had lived there prior to them. She was a heavy smoker long since before I was born.

Momma looks absolutely appalled, but I beam. I was glad to see new faces in the neighborhood. Maybe I’d even be able to make friends.

My siblings and I all clamber out of the truckbed. Joey gives the family an off look, but I barely catch it. Tommy and Will don’t care one bit. They rush through our house and straight into our yard.

Momma latches onto me immediately, Lou on her hip.

“Oh hell no!” Momma seethes, her southern accent more pronounced with her anger. “Who in the world do those people think they are, movin' in like that?”

“Um…probably normal human bein’s?” I mutter. She sends me a sharp glare, and drags me inside.

But not before I notice one of the boys of the family lingering outside. 

He had a nice look to him. Soft features, but a strong jaw. He looked boyish and carefree, but a little shy too. 

His skin was the deepest I’d ever seen, and he was almost shimmering bronze in the right lighting. He moves to heft up a large box from the van parked on the curb, and when he straightens out his eyes meet mine from across the way. 

They were dark. Darker than mine. But oh were they pretty. He pauses for a moment, as if trying to collect where he knew me from, but then he smiles sheepishly at me.

🥀http://instagram.com/marte_marie_forsberg