Once there was a little girl named Martha, whose hair was as red as it was curly, and who sang like a lark whenever she was happy. Which was often. The very birds in the trees would pause in their singing to listen to her, but then could not bear to be silent a moment longer and would burst into song with the child, filling the forest with music. 

Every June Martha would  put a basket on each arm, and walk into the woods, through the thicket and into a bower with a rainbow's arc of raspberry bushes. There she would fill her baskets with berries, not so many as to crush the berries, but neither so shallow as to miss the best ones. Then she would walk back home, singing all the while, weave baskets of red and white strips of paper, and fill them with berries. She would write a small card with the words "Because you are loved," and tuck it in with the berries. Martha poked her finger under her chin to think aloud about who in her town needed a basket of sweet raspberries. 

"Uncle Billy. His wife died last year of the fever, and he has not smiled since. The tears leak from his eyes when he doesn't keep them squeezed in. Yes, he needs a basket. Mrs. Anderson too, needs one. She fell and broke her arm this month, and cannot even put on her own shoes."

Then Martha would tie a bright ribbon to the handle of the baskets and secretly hang them on the doorknobs of the people she wanted to surprise. 

Every June Martha went into the woods for berries and brought them back to people who needed a reminder of love. 

By the time Martha was sixteen she began to notice a young man named Samuel, and to smile when they passed each other in town. Their smiles grew into conversations, and their conversations slid into affection. Their affection blossomed into love and on her twentieth birthday Samuel gave her a red velvet box with a ring in it, and a kiss. That spring they were married, Martha in a white eyelet dress and Samuel in his blue Sunday suit. 

The next year they were blessed with a baby girl whose hair was as red as it was curly and whose babbling sounds were as sweet as the brook. They called her Berry. That June Martha strapped her baby to her back, and with a basket on each arm set out through the woods and past the thicket and into the bower with the rainbow's arc of raspberry bushes. There she filled her baskets, not so full as to crush the berries but neither so shallow as to miss the best ones. Then she took her baby home, and wove paper baskets with red and white paper, filled them with berries and a card that said "Because you are loved". She put her finger under her chin and thought  aloud about who needed a reminder that someone cared.

"Old Mrs. Thompson. Her back is bending like a willow tree, and she can hardly look up at the sky. She needs one. And Annie. She is pregnant with twins and cannot catch her breath to carry her vegetables home from the market."

So Martha hung a basket on their door handles and slipped away.

to be continued