the farm

In August we make trips to the farm to pick blackberries.  We pick and pick and pick some would say obsessively.  Picking fruit can be very zen. The focus.  The here and now.  Thinking only of berries, examiningberries to see if they are ripe to pick, searching under leaves for the biggest ones.

When I was a kid we went blackberry picking in the evenings after we had dinner.  The best spots were along old mine roads and coke heaps, places where cows roamed.  The berry bushes were wild and had thorns so in the middle of August we had to wear long sleeves and pants.  It was hot but we filled buckets.  My mom would make blackberry jelly (topped with wax) that would last us for the winter.  I don’t make jelly from my berries.  I eat them straight, sometimes I make a cobbler.  But mostly we just eat them fresh with some yogurt.  Yummy.

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