I used my day off on Friday to drive an hour to my favorite U-pick berry farm. And my morning was filled with disappointment. First, I found the owners had pulled out all the gooseberry and currant plants – which was my major motivation for visiting that specific farm. Second, I usually try to bring home a flat of raspberries, as it’s usually a couple hours’ of easy picking to fill all 8 quarts. Wrong again. After two hours of hunting for berries with the drive and dedication of the Swamp Fox looking for Redcoats (Is that red a ripe berry? No, dang it. The other side of it is orange), I managed two bare quarts, hoping for enough to make homemade jam. And many of the berries I did find were sporting significant damage.
Happy Independence Day! I’ve laid out my thoughts on celebrating and how important it is to do so in this week’s podcast episode. (Head over to the podcast website, or listen to the Vintage Americana podcast on your favorite app).
For a lot of reasons, we’re staying closer to home this year. Our small-town fireworks were canceled – since no one knew if they would be permitted to take place back when the City had to commit to their purchase. But I do still have some good pictures from a few years ago, when I set up my camera and tripod. I’ll share.
Last weekend I braved a rather cold, rainy Summer afternoon to go berry picking – because I’d never had honeyberries OR Saskatoon berries and I wanted to give them a try. The season for both is pretty short, and I was afraid I might miss them entirely if I waited another week. That turned out to be a wise decision, since this weekend has been even soggier!
An hour and a half or so of picking got me 5 very full pints of each kind of berry. Also a job offer as a berry-picker. The Saskatoons were much easier picking than the honeyberries. Then, I made jam. And pie.
Since scrolling down for an hour before the recipe/instructions is a blog trope I’m very unfond of, let’s do that part first. And the pretty pictures afterward.
It has decided (finally) to be winter.
I admit to being a wee bit salty last night, when both of my daughters’ schools pre-emptively canceled class for today. Even moreso this morning, when I got up to scrape a mere four inches of snow off the front steps. What, did we move to Atlanta?
But by 10 AM, the snow squalls were rolling in off the Lake in their unpredictable glory. My husband went out to get a few groceries, and declared on his return that he wasn’t leaving the house, again.