And then we went berry-picking. No really, actual berry-picking.
I could tell you where we went to pick blackberries, sloes and damsons but then, as the saying goes, I’d have to kill you.
While out gathering wild garlic this Spring I met a chef on the same mission.
The over-powering force of my wit and beauty charmed him into giving me the secret location of the damson trees. Sadly, I had to kill him.
Discovering the secret location was but half the adventure. The ripe damsons were in the highest branches so a volunteer was required to clamber up. Fourth baby was not kind to my pelvic floor. Her departure from my body looked like this:
Let’s just say my tree-climbing days are over. Brave Husband took up the challenge.
He threw the damsons down and I stood below catching. I have to tell you; it was more fun than shopping. Berry-picking wins.
Even Brave Husband couldn’t reach these apples.
He approached that tree from every angle but was rebuffed at every attempt. A win for the birds.
The blackberries this year are insipid.
We picked a few but had a better prize within our sights.
Sloes. These are the fruit of the blackthorn. These little suckers are bitter and astringent. I kick myself every time for being daft enough to try one. It’s like trying to eat a doughnut without licking your lips; you just can’t pick berries without eating them. Your question is; why are they such a prize?
My answer to you is; Sloe gin.
Is gin featuring too prominently on this blog? Perhaps I took Fagin’s words too much to heart. Watch this, it’s only 4 seconds of good advice.
I’ve slightly altered my theory.
Shopping gratifies the instinct to go berry-picking but that urge can only be truly satisfied by, obviously, going berry-picking.