Foraging

I've never understood why I don't see more people picking blackberries these days particularly as I live in a village where this free and delicious fruit grows abundantly. I remember picking huge bowls with my English grandmother and then the hedges would be practically rustling with neighbours and friends (so much so that we had places we kept secret from others and crept out to early).  The crop this year however, seems a little sparse, a combination of the pretty dismal summer and some unseasonal hedge trimming by the new land owner of my preferred picking sites.

The difference in taste between bushes always amazes me too. Some bushes have such sweet and large fruit that most are eaten before hitting my pot (I'm afraid I don't follow the advice of washing the fruit before eating, I pick from meadows not used for crops, well away from roads and ate plenty as a child so can't see the harm) and others are tart and small, perfect for cooking. Today's finds only amassed to about 400g (although there are plenty still to come) and are destined for a variation of my normal sloe gin. Layered with 200g caster sugar, steeped in a litre of gin (and a couple of bay leaves for a little hint of herbs) in a large preserving jar for the next few months I hope to produce a warming glass full of the memories of a late summer day, sunlight, birds, bees and a stray rabbit or two.