Last week was a blur. I spent every day bar one trotting back and forth to work, collecting every extra hour I could. I had visits from the chap and lovely sister. I enjoyed a meal out at Wetherspoons to celebrate a twentieth birthday. I cooked and cleaned. I washed and dressed. I tried to catch up on sleep. But then I realised it’s four weeks until the start of term and there are not enough hours in the day.
When your mind is on fire with duties, deadlines and dates, it’s often the simplest activity that quells it. It was time to be amongst nature. Sunday evening was perfect for a stroll. The rain had passed but a breeze had picked up, a whisper of autumnal weather. With a basket in one hand and a crook in the other, I returned to the laden blackberry bushes.
The slow ritual of seeking plump fruit and gently tumbling them into a basket was very calming. I spent a good hour collecting purple jewels, just as the sun was setting. I didn’t think whilst picking, I cut the engine on my pulsating brain and felt at peace. Performing such a traditional task in sublime conditions was good for me.
I came home with a bumper crop, 650g in all! I’m often so envious of the home grown produce that I see on fellow blogs. It all looks so delicious and healthy. I’m so pleased that I can join in with the fun.
In tune with my rationing-style of eating (still going strong!), I’m trying to eat seasonably. Using this calendar here, I’m trying to only buy what’s in season each month. To ensure I can have lovely fruit even when the weather turns, I thoroughly washed my berries and bagged them up for the freezer. A fridge freezer was not a well known commodity in the 1940s, but my eating takes inspiration from the era, not a re-enactment. So, my fresh blackberries will be waiting for me in the depths of winter, ready for porridge or crumble. I like being a squirrel.
PS Don’t add frozen blackberries to a flapjack mix. It tastes delicious, but the darn thing won’t stick at all! Blackberry-flapjack-mush it is – waste not, want not!