Patience, young grasshopper“
Master Po to Kwai Chang Caine
Kung Fu, 1970
The last couple of months the thought has occurred to me that perhaps a name-change is in order. Methinks instead of Thistledown Farm a more apt moniker would be ToughLove Farm. After this sweltering summer heat, with only a couple of spits of rain, the pond was already down 2 feet. Watering all the fruit trees was not an option. And the apples were the chosen ‘sacrificial lambs’.
After my spring ‘thumb pruning’ I engaged arborist Darcy who worked his magic & every tree was laden with fruit…fruit that started falling falling falling way too early from a lack of precious H2O. What do you do with wheelbarrows of unripened apples. Make pectin! Jars & jars of the stuff. I’ll never need Certo again! All the gardens & fruit trees were suffering…except the Blackberries!
A few years ago I wrote a piece called Berrytime. I reminisced about our best friend Lynne Wallace and her exceptional skill of not only picking the black treasures at their prime but also baking them into gastronomical delights. I always regretted not finding out where her secret harvest spot was, not to mention how she managed to select only the biggest, sweetest blackberries and come out of the season unscathed. If she were alive today I can hear her softly whisper in my ear ‘patience, young grasshopper’.
It’s taken 21 years but I think I’ve found her spot; I now have a technique down for knowing when & how to pick the luscious gems, and a whole group of women who are veritable artists in the kitchen and love to share with the community. But the total ‘mastery’ thing? Not yet, I’m afraid. I’m still working on completing the task unharmed, unhurt, uninjured, safe, and intact.
Life on a farm is wrought with dangers. You readers know how I have sampled many of them. I like to think I learn my lesson with each & every assault on my aging body but I still can’t seem to get around those bramble thorns. They’re not like normal thorns, the ones on roses, gooseberries, raspberries. When these suckers get ahold of you they don’t let go. The worst thing to do is flinch, and pull away from the sharp pain (the natural reaction) – rrrip! Of course, the simple solution is to wear head-to-toe armour. I’ve tried that but after 5 minutes I’m feeling faint from the heat. Pruning away the long evil fruitless sucker vines lessens the chances of impalement but it’s still a dangerous task, fraught full of injury, this blackberry harvesting. So if anyone out there knows the answer to my dilemma, speak now. Pretty please. I tell you what: I’ll give you my secrets and maybe you can help me with my prickly predicament.
Picking Time – pick early morning after the dew has dried (8:30-10). Berries are sweeter when they are still cool.
Picking Readiness – Wait until the berry is totally black, no red at all, and plump. But don’t pick it yet – wait until it goes from shiny to a little bit dull & starts to soften. I pick all my fruit the same way – I don’t pull or twist. I raise the fruit up on the stem. If it comes off it’s ready; if not, leave it another day. Sometimes with blackberries I get too excited & revert to a tug. If it’s not ready it will not come off the stem but a few others will and they’ll be lost in the thicket. Patience grasshopper. But the most important gauge to the ultimate sweet berry is after you pick it, look at the centre where it came off the vine. It should be slightly purple. If it’s white, eat it. It will have a tang.
Processing – Wash just before you munch. Water/dew/rain is not the berry’s friend. If you’re going to freeze them, lay them on a paper towel after washing & make sure they are dry before single-layering them on a cookie sheet. Freeze overnight & then freezer-bag them the next day.
Pretty sure this drought has awakened every blackberry bush on the Island. I see road-pickers every day. And I’ve been a’pick’in too. Plus some experimenting with a couple of new recipes for the Annual Cedar Women’s Institute Blackberry Tea. All of us women have been busy harvesting (and for me, licking my wounds!) but it’s for a worthy cause. Pies, scones, tarts, cheesecake, flans, trifle, pavlova, ice cream, sorbet. The list is deliciously endless. I’ve just gained 5 lbs. writing about it. And there is never any leftovers. I’ll see to that!
Jackie Moad’s gnarly hands are permanently stained purple as she deftly attempts to emulate her angel-friend Lynne, the Queen of All Things Blackberry, smiling all the while on that very same 20-acre organic slice of farm paradise in Cedar.
Late summer you will find us there, Amid the tangled thorny briar.
The quest – a glistening ebony jewel. Beyond reach, amid thorns, so cruel.
Yet those intrepid W.I. lasses forge on, Courageously foraging while sun beats down.
Stained fingers and tortured hands; Daringly comb across thorny lands.
The prize a bowl of shining black gems. Soon to transform into jellies and jams.
Topping a sweet teatime treat, The glossy blackberry can not be beat.
So raise up your cup and join me And toast the W.I. Blackberry Tea.
Vickie B., CWI Member
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