Summer berry-picking nostalgia

On Saturday I saw the owner of the land where the dewberries grow.

He was one of the many locals who visited the Women of Courage event in Glengary.  His wife was buying a book, and my mother and I were headed out the door.  I introduced him to Mother and then had to ask, "Is it okay to pick berries on your land again this year?"

"Of course," he said.

I then apologized for not getting him a jar of jelly this past year.  That's because last year's berries are still in the freezer waiting for me to make that jelly.  Time gets away from us with our best intentions, and that intention remained unfulfilled.

It would be a good idea to get down there and start picking on this year's crop.  If I go, I'll have to take four Border Collies to keep me safe from wild critters who might come trotting, lumbering or stalking through the wooded area.

A couple of summers ago, I was picking away on a hillside when I heard a wind-filled snort just out of sight but close enough to wonder what the heck was up there.  On the second snort, I summoned Kiwi to the car, and we moved to another area.  

Bill told me later it was probably a doe, sending out the message to stay away from her fawn.  We've encountered maternally-endowed does before here at the Lovestead, so I maintain a healthy respect for their wishes wherever I go.

People have been talking about all the bears this year, so I'll be more wary of their potential presence while picking those tasty dewberries from their prickly vines and once more rekindling some fond moments of my childhood.  

Summer July mornings were spent along the North Boyer and Woodland Drive ditches surrounding our farm and in various spots throughout our woods.  We had a few good patches of dewberries among our trees---lots of which grew near brush piles created by my dad in mini-thinning projects. 

The ditches, however, offered the best berry yield and a few obstacles. In addition to the pin-point stickers on the vines, my fingers had to wade through layers of thick roadside dust to pluck each normally dark purple berry from its leafy base. 

Like my current favorite picking spot, I worried about critters.  In this case, however,  they'd be the slithering kind.  

A garter-snake sighting could keep me away from a rich berry collection for days.  Little did I know at the time that the snake probably got the heck out the ditch with its sighting and smelling of my ragged, dirt-filled tennis shoes coming its way, allegedly threatening to squash it to smithereens. 

Snakes aside, I still found a good amount of berries on my daily runs, stretching over a period of about two weeks. By the time, I'd finished each day's picking, my jar or tin-can might be half-full of clean and dusty berries, along with all the viny residue that came along from picking quickly.  

Since those days, my berry picking has gotten a bit obsessive-compulsive.  I don't like bringing back half the woods or the roadside with my fruity bounty.  Vines, stickers, leaves and branches (when picking huckleberries) make a mess in the kitchen sink.

So, I'm obsessed with cleaning the extras from my container as the berries reach each new level.   I've noticed my family members who get appointed to pick their fair share don't share my fetish for uncluttered containers. Still, I'm happy to have their contributions.

I'm always on the look-out for new dewberry patches, and our own woods, which was eaten down by goats for years, is now renewing itself with a blanket of grass, weeds, wildflowers and berry vines.  Maybe in a few years, the ever-growing patches we're gradually discovering will provide an ample homegrown supply.

For now, I'll continue driving down to my secret patches and picking to my heart's content.  This year's dewberry harvest will be particularly important because the strawberries from our garden, which we usually enjoy on top of Meadow Gold French vanilla ice cream did NOT appear, except for about a dozen here and there.  

The raspberry plants given to us by the Dolsby's and the Meserves are just getting started, so I'm guessing this year's yield might fill a large freezer bag.  On the plus side, blueberries----on the older plants---have huge clumps of fruit hanging from their branches.  Some berries are just starting to ripen.

Since the lawn mowing can be put off another day, and my morning watering project will last just an hour, I think I'll put those doggies in the car, grab a bucket and head on down to pick my berries and send my mind into some more reminiscing about the pleasant berry-picking days of long ago.

Both situations will satisfy my stomach and my soul.