Growing up, the woods around my house were filled with wild raspberries, enough that you could actually take a decent-sized bowl and go on a little picking expedition, returning with more than enough for the whole family.
Nothing against Mr. and Mrs. Driscoll, but to me there is nothing that compares to fresh picked raspberries, a little sharper and more tangy than store-bought, with a great and pure underlying sweetness, and of course consumed just a few minutes - sometimes a few seconds - after being liberated from their orange star-shaped launching pads.
I noticed early this spring an explosion of wild raspberry bushes in the greenery lining our yard, and the first few of the season were ready to be picked last weekend. An abbreviated harvest, to be sure, nothing like the bounty I remember from childhood, but more than enough for everyone to get a little taste. And, based on the look of the plants and the bud volume, we'll be happily eating on these welcome little treats for at least the next couple of weeks.