We went to pick berries at my cousins. He and his wife live on the farmstead where my Maternal Grandfather was born and raised. I always call it Great Grandmas place..because she was the one that farmed there.. for many years she also took care of my Great Grandfather who had rheumatoid arthritis. He died before I was born so I always associate Great Grandma with that farmstead.
Picking berries in one of my Great Grandmother’s fields I always listen for sounds. Sounds that she may have heard..the Red Winged Blackbirds..children laughing..then there was this clop clop swish swish sound and then an aroma. I was intent on picking my containers full as fast as possible in the midday sun. Sweat was rolling off my nose in huge plops. I held the container almost at arms length so I could pick with one hand and steady the container with the other and not ruin any of the berries with sweat. I want to eat them next winter!
The clop clop swish swish with aroma..that aroma is what my cousins children call “buggy poop.” It was the Amish and their every other Sunday…they were either going or coming from church.
I wished that I had brought my camera into the raspberry patch…I didn’t ..but I did get some photos on the way home.
The swish swish sound was the buggy tires on the loose gravel that was on one side of the road.
The berries were plentiful. I am not convinced that we have enough for the whole winter yet. I may have to go back again on a cooler day.
I don’t make jam and I don’t make sauce. I freeze them in single layers on cookie sheets and then package them up into servings. They will be great next winter:)
