Late July and August used to be referred to as the dog days of summer, not least if there was day after day of hot, sunny weather. It could well be related to the French word canicule, which describes a period of intense, hot weather (going back to the latin for dog, canis). This year is proving to be exceptional in terms of sunshine and heat, and it is affecting all sorts of things. Our eating grapes that grow on the side of the house are ripening, as are the Victoria plums. Apple trees are shedding fruit, and not in a good way - some are burnt by the sun and then discarded by the tree to concentrate on undamaged fruit.
This week I have been picking blackberries.
There are quite a lot (probably too many) brambles growing down the edge of the Meadow that gives on to the neighbouring farmer's field. They shelter us from the wind to some extent, if it comes from the East, and give haven to birds and small animals, as well as a bit of food. The ones that face west seem to provide the best fruit too, quite large and sweet. Today I picked perhaps half a kilo - this is just one punnet.
As John was doing a bit of strimming (before midday and with a good dollop of water if he set off a spark, as is the only way to do these things at the moment), I was able to wander around picking and bury myself in my own thoughts.
When I was back in England in June, I met up with an old school friend. We found a secluded café in Hythe and talked solidly for two hours - the maximum time she could get away from caring duties. One area we touched on was blackberrying. She was out with a couple of nieces I think and had found a patch of blackberries and was feeding them to the small children, when she was accosted by someone. How dare she feed unknown berries to children - did she want to poison them? No, my friend said, I'm just letting them enjoy wild blackberries. "But they might be poisonous, they aren't from a supermarket, how do you know they are blackberries?" We both expressed suitable horror at people not being able to identify blackberries in the wild, but that bit of conversation stays with me - how do I know which are blackberries, and which are the right berries to pick?
Naturally, you don't pick any that are too low down - anything that a fox can pee on is left for wildlife! I know there are quite a few foxes in the zone!
Some of my earliest memories are going out looking for blackberries with my Granny, my Dad and my aunt (my Dad's sister). All were born before the First World War and while not necessarily country folk, could access open spaces where blackberries might be found. We knew to take a walking stick - not to help with walking or fend off stray dogs, but to draw down the vines with the best berries. We knew to pick only what was ripe, to leave the rest to ripen for others, and we knew not to pick after the end of September, at which point, any that were left were for the Devil (actually for overwintering wildlife, but also they have less pectin and are less tasty). Whenever I am out picking blackberries, I have this Black Country voice in the back of my mind telling me to get the best, to not mind the scratches and not to get stains on my clothes - Granny! But my age group are now the grannies - how many know how to identify blackberries, and importantly, which black berries not to pick?
Each session I'm not getting enough fruit to do much with, so the day's booty goes into the freezer, ready for me to make bramble jelly in about a month's time. However, it feels too early in the year to be picking blackberries.
The kitchen garden is challenging this year - the searing heat and the drought does no favours. Courgettes, cucumbers and pumpkins are reluctant to produce female flowers, the sweetcorn is a disaster and the ground is too hard to work so that I can plant leeks and cauliflowers for the winter. Still, this little haul, with a couple of added onions that had already been harvested, made a delicious lunch.
There was an event this week - rain - a whole 7 millimetres of it! The cat bed Rebus sleeps in on the bedroom window sill got soaked, as did he, the road was running with water and dusty scum for a while, and by the afternoon, any sign of rain was gone, but the air was unpleasantly humid. We need days of solid drizzle, but perhaps not while people are on holiday.
So there we have it - a week of mostly dog days, plus a morning of rain. The forecast for the coming week is similar, so I shall keep picking the blackberries in the mornings and keeping cool in the afternoons. Have a good week!
