Before leaving Fargo, I pick the last raspberries from my parents patch along the side of the house. It brings back memories of my grandparents farm south of Fargo where the supply seemed unlimited. As kids we would pound down raspberries until we were sick, tear around the shelterbelt with our bb guns, and then come back for more. Today I’ll just enjoy the last handfull and savor the lingering tartness as we head east to the Twin Cities.