The Raspberrie Essays

Fallon R. Raspberrie, first Gomeii of record, lives in the bottom right-hand corner of a rare document, through inscription.   Our ancient forebear’s signature shines above the initials M. R. F., as if standing watch over the monogram.  Guardian of another name? The undecipherable lettering is one of the most fascinating mysteries tied to the secret map of Bramblevine Mountain’s Inner-World.

Although I was still a soffian (1) when the map was excavated, the memory rings clear today.  Leaning on the lower part of the bridge arc peering over, I watched as Sweetbriar knelt down a few feet away from the water’s edge.  He had donned his scarlet cleric’s robe, which is reserved for sacred ceremonies out of the ordinary–new birth and other like celebrations–though never the robbing of a grave.  Reaching in, he extricated the little bundle from its lovely tomb.  With a great tenderness, he lifted out a red leather drawstring sack.  Brushing away a few crumbs of soil, he stroked the pouch as if it was a living thing, and observed, “The leather of a three-horned Sambionne (2).”  A moment of silence to duly study its exterior. “Soaked in Raspberrie rose oil.  Brushed with a floumb (3) to preserve the softness of the grain. ”

Sweetbriar gazed at the ornament for near a full minute (measured in human time) and I, having a clear view from where I stood bent, on the west end of the river stone bridge, kept gazing too.

Tarrying no longer, he loosened the drawstring and removed the contents.  A little brown parcel wrapped in scarlet.  He gave the slender silk band a little tug, undoing the loops. The ribbon slipped out of its knot and dropped away, the brown wrap fell open, and now the parchment was exposed.  Some extraordinary ancient present had just been unwrapped.  Rising to his feet again, Sweetbriar looked at Roseleaf, who happened to be standing nearest him.  Stepping forth, he laid it in her hands.  “Will you represent our tribe today, opening this on behalf of the Raspberries?” he asked.  Those vestal river lights which Roseleaf is known for danced in her eyes as she unfolded the mystery of its quarters, revealing the secret map.   Bramblevine Mountain’s Inner-World!  A stunning recovery.  The formal ceremony was over, and a great clamoring took place, all of us crowding around to glimpse the magic unearthed on that magnanimous day.

The design of Bramblevine Mountain’s Inner-World lay buried under stone before its sacred burial place was uncovered.  The map displayed amazingly well considering its antiquity.  How old exactly?  Our oldest living descendant–our ripestone Sweetbriar–could give no account of it.  Not a vague remembrance of the map’s existence ever mentioned among any of the Gomeii legends celebrated and passed down through the centuries.  The map was that secret; and that old.   Its little place of rest had sustained it well.  Remarkably, the map’s Gomeiic symbols displayed legibly, making it easy enough on the eye for the translation that would follow.

The remarkable life of Fallon R. Raspberrie is worthy of its own discourse. That will occur soon enough. For now, our grand forebear’s cartographic invention and all that it stands for is our given subject and merits further exploration until its import is amply rendered.

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(1) A Raspberrie during the age of youth.

(2) Small creature that inhabits the back bush. Life span of less than one-hundred years.  Friendly to Raspberries.  Sheds its velvety leather coat in the hour preceding its death.

(3) Instrument used to cure Sambionne leather.

copyright © by Smidgen Raspberrie 2008.  All rights reserved.