So much work! So worth it. The blackberry patch at the farm was prolific this year. Branches were covered in sweet-deep-purple-blackness.
Now for the rest of it. Poison ivy. Everywhere. Heat and humidity. Pervasive. Gnats, mosquitos, buzzing, whining. Check. Purple-stained fingernails for days. Ugh. Sharp thorns leaving puncture wounds in the hands and arms. Did I say heat?
I picked berries one evening only. Mike picked all the rest of the time, and he has my undying gratitude for his fortitude. It’s been one of the few perks of having a new hip, that I was not up to the challenge of hours bent over berry bushes.
The sun and the moon and the breeze and the good green earth grew the berries. Mike harvested the berries, and I ‘processed’ them. ‘Processed’ is kitchen-speak for all manner of procedures: freezing, drying, sorting, washing, storing, and baking.
But first, there’s basking in them. This involves standing in front of the baskets, hands clasped together in delight. Also required to be a true bask-er-of-berries, is the eating of them, preferably one at a time, feet planted on the lane, breeze cooling the back of the neck, and all sweetness savored. The Alexander Technique community would call this ‘good use.’ Yes, and living the good life. Have yourself a berry day. Find whatever brings you sweetness—–