My mom, Bonnie Grondahl, loved to garden and was known for her enormous geraniums and petunias, thanks to liberal infusions of Miracle-Gro. She died on June 11 in Tacoma, Wash.

Bonnie Grondahl with her dog, JoJo, who shadowed her everywhere in and around her duplex at the Eliseo senior community in Tacoma.

Bonnie Grondahl, 93, died on June 11 in Tacoma, Wash., slipping away peacefully after a series of health complications.

Bonnie and Ken Grondahl, married for 62 years, relax on the deck of their beach cabin on the Puget Sound. He died in 2017 at 88.

Bonnie Grondahl and her granddaughter, Caroline, dressed for summer fun on the deck of the family's beach cabin across from Vashon Island, circa 1999.

Family members celebrate Bonnie Grondahl's 90th birthday at Eliseo senior community center in Tacoma.

I have a memory from when I was 6 or 7, of holding my mother’s hand and climbing a steep, narrow path behind our beach cabin to where the wild blackberries grew.

My mom taught me the delicate work of blackberry picking. Reach gingerly into tangled mats of vines to avoid scratching and bloodying forearms. Gently pluck deep purple berries with middle finger, forefinger, and thumb without squishing. Drop them softly into a metal pot I carried. Only pick the plump, juiciest ones. Leave the reddish ones on the vine to ripen.

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Wild blackberries grow in cascading brambles and emit a sweet, dusky, scent that perfumed our August afternoon forays. After a half-hour or so, we had two metal pots brimming with blackberries for pies and jam. We set aside enough to spoon over vanilla ice cream. Blackberries are delicate and go bad quickly. They require special care.

I remember my mom had me wash my hands a couple times after picking. Still, the indigo stains on my fingers lingered for days, a mark of the Pacific Northwest’s bounty and........

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