Blackberry Cobbler

By: Avery Sopchak

My family is from Washington State and every summer we go visit. Washington is mostly known for rain and coffee, but the thing I associate with Washington the most is blackberries. The trailing blackberry is native to the state and the thorny bushes can be found everywhere: the sides of the roads, people’s backyards and along trail paths. My grandma used to have them growing in her backyard and we picked buckets of them each time we visited. My dad then made blackberry cobbler. This is his recipe.

Instructions:

4 cups fresh blackberries

½ cup sugar

3 tablespoon cornstarch

Zest of 1 lemon

1 cup flour

1 tablespoon sugar

1 ½ teaspoon baking powder

½ cup cold butter, cut into small cubes

½ cup buttermilk

Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 375°F.

Mix the first four ingredients together just to combine.

Pour into a 9-inch square glass baking pan.

Mix the flour, sugar and baking powder together in a bowl.

Add the butter and incorporate it into the dry ingredients using a fork or your fingers.

Stir in the buttermilk until a dough forms.

Drop spoonfuls of the dough over the berry mixture until it is mostly covered.

Bake in the oven until it is golden on top and the filling is bubbling for about 45 to 50 minutes.

Remove from the oven and let cool slightly before serving.

By Kathryn Kwon

My lungs first tasted bitter smoke in elementary school

Secondhand from the cigarette that hung from my Father’s mouth (my nose crinkled at the putrid smell then)

Warmth enveloped me. A haze circled me from the affection in finally spending time with him (the crisis of an unwanted daughter always falling behind a prized son) I chose to ignore how the air turned thin, choked by tobacco “Shh … it’s just a smoke break.” Don’t tell your Mom. a smile on my face for a smile on his

Acrid fumes overwhelmed me in my teenage years and breathing became a privilege (a prognosis of asthma) echoed coughs that riddled my night

As my Brother pocketed Marlboro packs and lighters hidden from watchful eyes (I have seen all)

“Shh … it’s just a smoke break.” Don’t tell Mom and Dad. a secret between a brother betraying himself to Dad’s habits and a sister deprived of kinship, eager to connect

They never told me how the smell follows scorched into my fingertips and captured in my clothes (Bitter taste and bitter feeling melding on my tongue)

How each burning breath is accompanied by a memory (of Dad’s cologne, our heavy lungs and once smiling faces) (of Brother’s words, our heavy hearts and knowing looks) of a “family” or the desperation to hold onto one

How the finished butt (flicked away out of sight) leaves a gnawing in the stomach a crushing sense of guilt (and an untimely piece of disclosure) but necessary for relief (Dad’s habits now echoing bitterly in me)

How Life becomes bold when you weigh your own on the line “Dohee, Sunghyun, I have bad news.” (the saltiness of tears stings my wounds starting at the beginning in my lungs and ending in my fingers)

How Irony catches you off guard

“Shh … it’s just a smoke break.” I promise I’ll stop soon. Lies that trickle from his lips like the smoke I once found comfort in as I pray that Time is more forgiving

(For I am not scared of Death but of Life’s wrath)