I’ve had an interesting afternoon so far. First, I re-read Nina Jones and the Temple of Gloom, to do the revisions and line edits. And I made myself cry, on the third-to-last page. My husband thinks this is proof positive that I’m mad as a box of frogs. “But you already know what happens!” he says.
Well, yes. But…
Anyway, after that I promptly climbed up on the roof of the shed to pick blackberries. I’m now stained purple and scratched red, but I have enough for a small crumble.
Meanwhile, I’m blogging at Romancing the Blog today about reading tastes and how they change.
I think it’s funny to hear about picking blackberries this time of year… ours were ripe on the 4th of July! But fresh blackberry cobbler… yum!
Ahh, I think this is about normal for blackberries here, maybe a bit late? I don’t have quite enough blackberries so I’m going to have to mix in some blueberries…what a hardship.
For something so small those blackberries really make you work for it
It’s like they need a blood offering – evil little round fruit.
And did I mention that while I was getting off the shed roof I spilled half of them and had to pick them up off the grass and then rinse them individually about a dozen times?
But the crumble was absolutely delicious…with thick Guernsey cream…mmmmm.
Twice a year, when my blackberries are in season, I pick them all and turn them into jelly. This requires squeezing the juice out of them by hand, which is outdated and messy, but more fun than you can imagine. Of course, I look like I’ve taken a revolving door to my arms for a couple weeks after, but it’s so worth it.