The check is in the

. . . not the mail, but my sister's hands.

Denise sweetly went all the way out to the fair to claim our goods. She picked up a sweater, a skein of yarn, and some marmalade for me, in addition to her award-winning jam. There were envelopes with our prizewinning ribbons in them.

And. . . checks! Apparently the powers that be aggregate your winnings and cut one check. So that sunflower bread? I won $10 . . . in addition to the free tickets and such. A nice bit of fun, that.

The sweater got $10 also -- whee! As Turltlegirl pointed out, they don't seem to care that the wondrous colors are the responsibility of the dyer, not the knitter. They did say my stitches were nice and even, though. And not a word about the horrifying seams.

I'm just delighted with it all. It seems like one of the most fun things to do in a summer.

The other one is picking blackberries, and lo how the season is upon us. In my refrigerator rests a bowl of macerating fruit, to put into jam tomorrow, and in the oven rests a blackberry silk pie -- seedless puree plus a custard. I'm already thinking of how I can alter this for future attempts. I've never felt that I had enough berries to cast away the leftover pulp, but this year? More berries than I think I've ever seen.


I have almost every day picking plans, in addition to dealing with my ongoing fascination with the idea of a harvest hovercraft and/or elastic arms. Today I realized how lucky I am to be picking fat, luscious berries without the humidity I associated with picking as a child -- Tennessee was the only place I knew you could go and pick. While we possibly could have found them in Southern California, no one I knew did that sort of thing. I'm hugely grateful to be that sort of person and to have the berries to indulge her.

Berry season again

A week ago, my sister and I went out with some of the kids to a local huckleberry spot and picked huckleberries. They're apparently a relative of blueberries, and the name "huckleberry" is a corruption of "whortleberry." Go figure.

What they are is tiny. Like their blueberry cousins, they grow on nice, thornless bushes, in little clusters that are relatively easy to pick. And until you eat them, that's the last easy thing. First you have to pick out the leaves that you inadvertently picked, and then you have to sort through the berries, one at a time, and pick off the little stems.

Once you've done that, and have a cup or so of the wee gems, you can make pancakes or muffins or just eat them out of hand. I don't have enough for jam, and even if I did, it would feel like solid gold, given the work involved. I think I'll freeze them and sprinkle them into baked goods.

I wish I were planning to watch election returns on television tonight; picking over berries would be a perfect, sort of mindless accompaniment.

Quite a Day

Another cruddy run this morning -- who knows what's what? And then I didn't quite get around to taking a shower. . . instead, I cajoled the younger Things into picking more blackberries with me. Well, I packed some toys for them (next time, I'm bringing heavy-duty snacks) and I picked while they jumped around. I could always shower later, I figured.

A harvest-hovercraft has been a fantasy of mine for a long, long time. Something you lie facedown upon, with a forehead support and arms free, to garden, weed, or in this case, pick berries, while it moves up or down, probably controlled by toe movements -- that's what I needed today. These berry bushes are high, and even with a stepstool, reaching up through very old, very brambly berries cost me in lacerations.

Speaking of lacerations? After I made a batch of way too runny jam/waffle topping (mmmmmm, blackberries and powdered sugar, anyone? Allison?), the bigger girls came home from sailing and I was just about to make lunch when the dining room erupted with screams. On my way to the bathroom following the screamer, I noticed that there was a swath of what appeared to be jam all over the floor -- in a droplet/spray pattern.

Hmm, is that jam on the floor? Nope, it was, in fact, blood, the blood of my only son. Seems he was using a butter knife in an unapproved way and laid open his index finger about 1/3 of the way around, right above a bendy spot.


Channeling my sister, I said, "Get in the car," and off we went to our friendly local hospital and its blessedly inactive emergency room. I had called our pediatrician's office to see if they'd like to suture it, but they were closed for lunch.

While it took longer than we'd hoped, and there were tears, he was a great patient through three different nerve block needles, followed by much cleaning and then three stitches. Now I have to keep him clean and dry (ha ha ha ha) for at least five days, and the stitches in for ten.

Many people in the emergency department commented on the, erm, lack of cleanliness he exhibited. Since I know some boys go through an anti-hygiene stage, I'm not usually bothered by it. When I realized that he also had mismatching socks on and had dried blackberry jam in his hair, I felt a little worse. At least I'd changed from running/berrying clothes into a Suburban Mom Secret Agent costume, so no one called any government agencies on me.

Eric came home as soon as he could, and he and I did the "hi, honey, I'm so glad you could come, bye, I'll take this one, you take those" talk. It was a real treat to have him home during the day, even if it was because of something rough. Besides, he's sunburned from yesterday and needed a rest.

So, I didn't cook tonight but treated us to wraps and soup from the local joint, and spent my "oughta be grading" time plying. Now I have this somewhat muddy-colored two ply to measure tomorrow. It's not really floating in outer space, that's just the effect of a dimly-lit room on flash photography:



And I still haven't showered and must grade some papers tonight. I am truly and fully blessed.

Don't throw me into that briar patch!

Off to my very favorite berrying place in the whole wide world so far. We'll be up the highway a bit from the windy strawberry beds, so hopefully tight ponytails won't be necessary. Today's quest is Ollalieberries -- and I have a new freezer that works in which to put them. Hooray!

I don't know who all will show up as we just put out a general call for berries, but it's always a good time, and as the children get older, fewer red berries show up in our picking flats. Thing 1 is like a professional picker, so there's always plenty of good stuff.

I even checked the weather -- it's going to be very cool. We'll have hoods and hot drinks, and hopefully it won't be too cold afterwards to stop in at one of the beaches which give me a heart attack practically on contemplation. I've decided to stop being afraid and just deal with things.

My hips are worlds better, although I'm still careful about what I'm doing. Good biomechanics and all that. I want to run badly enough not to run, if that makes sense. But before running, picking!