It’s a good thing colour can’t leach through the keyboard onto the blog or this post would be written in purple. I've just come in from blackberrying, and even after a good scrub with the nailbrush my fingers are still juice-stained. It’s not that we need any more jam, as we have more than enough of my summer production to last us through the winter and beyond. It’s more a case of not being able to turn my back on nature’s bounty and this year she has been inordinately generous.
As I stretched across the bramble bushes, always straining for that even more luscious cluster just out of reach (there’s a life metaphor in there somewhere….) I couldn’t remember ever having seen such profusion before. Every small shoot was weighed down by glistening berries, all ripe at the same time, thanks to this year’s late harvest, and seemingly longing to drop into my bowl almost before my fingers touched them.
|O for a macro lens and a steady hand!|
|Please note the spider making a bid for freedom|
Of course I browsed as I picked, with my purple lips matching my fingers by the time I brought my laden bowl into the kitchen. The berries are so ripe that they won’t keep, so I shall stew them gently with some of the apples from our French orchard, as a treat for DH who adores blackberry and apple. If I’m lucky there will still be plenty to be gathered over the weekend, but they are a fleeting pleasure and it won’t be long before the bushes are bare and their unmistakable rich and almost earthy flavour will just be a satisfying memory until next autumn.