It’s been strange but welcome summer, the weather, wet, warm with sunny periods allowing the gardens and hedgerows to flourish. I take my daily walk with the dog around the local park which has wilder areas along its perimeter. I watch with anticipation for the ripening of the blackberries, relishing them even more because their harvest has been poor the last two dry summers. Oddly enough while many of the bushes are only just setting berries, other bushes are offering rich, plump black berries. There aren’t enough in number to make anything other than a blackberry and apple crumble, but I find myself watching the laden bushes for signs of ripening fruit each passing day with relish.
Anticipation is something rare in the days of next day delivery and instant gratification, it seems a somewhat old fashioned idea, to watch and wait. However, we all remember as children, the passing of each day in December in the run up to Christmas, the traditions that mark the passing days being large in our memories more than the gifts we received. The arrival of the Advent calendars, Christingles with their oranges and sweets, the Christmas carols and the school plays. As children we had a sense of wonder, as we watched and waited. It all seems lost as adults, our Decembers are filled with shopping lists and to dos, organising who is going where and writing cards more out of duty than of love. Adults bemoan the arrival of Christmas preparation in our stores because it all seems to rush by in a blur…
So as I watch the blackberry bushes ripen slowly, that anticipation takes me back to childhood wonder, alongside precious moments with my children collecting natures bounty. Our companionable chatter as we negotiated the brambles. Our labour of love made our jam more delicious because it was work of our own hands.
On reflection I am pleased there is no next day delivery in nature, I have learned patience which makes me relish those seasonal pleasures, the elderflowers in spring heralding my elderflower cordial making, the strawberries ripe with the summer sun are captured in my compotes to be savoured on a winters morning breakfast. The blackberries herald the end of summer days and the season of Autumn harvests.
We are not great jam eaters, I hope to make some blackberry mead, but for the time being it remains a tantilising dream as I watch the ripening fruit with wonder.
Fred the Needle 