Wonderful stuff. Today's training run was about half an hour longer than it could have been because I kept stopping to graze on blackberries from the hedges.Originally Posted by freckle
Wonderful stuff. Today's training run was about half an hour longer than it could have been because I kept stopping to graze on blackberries from the hedges.
Thanks Harry... not the best poem I ever wrote but one of the best experiences I have had, blackberry picking with my beautiful little girl...they tasted really good, we made a crumble served with cream (yikes!) and I made a compote type thing with the rest! so in all likelihood whilst your were running and grazing I was feasting too- on seasonal produce at least!
Last edited by freckle; 03-09-2010 at 10:13 PM.
Nice ode to blackberrying freckleI was only saying to our office manager over here in China earlier this week that it's prime blackberry season at home
Poacher turned game-keeper
It is indeed, I could get into this foraging business its really good fun, there were a few mushrooms in the graveyard too but I thought I had better err on the side of caution with that oneNice ode to blackberrying freckle
i found this...might be useful i guess...
http://www.foragingguide.com/edible_mushrooms.html
Last edited by freckle; 03-09-2010 at 11:27 PM.
foraging for food
berries, mushrooms, crab apples
fields and hedgerows
Poacher turned game-keeper
Sounds like you both had a great day freckleThanks Harry... not the best poem I ever wrote but one of the best experiences I have had, blackberry picking with my beautiful little girl...they tasted really good, we made a crumble served with cream (yikes!) and I made a compote type thing with the rest! so in all likelihood whilst your were running and grazing I was feasting too- on seasonal produce at least!
In case you don't eat them or preserve them (in a nice compote!) straight away then look out!
Blackberry Picking
Late August, given heavy rain and sun
for a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it
leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
sent us out with milk-cans, pea-tins, jam-pots
where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
we trekked and picked until the cans were full,
until the tinkling bottom had been covered
with green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
with thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard's.
We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair
that all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not.
Seamus Heaney
Wonderful Alf. Thanks for postingSounds like you both had a great day freckle
In case you don't eat them or preserve them (in a nice compote!) straight away then look out!
Blackberry Picking
Late August, given heavy rain and sun
for a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it
leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
sent us out with milk-cans, pea-tins, jam-pots
where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
we trekked and picked until the cans were full,
until the tinkling bottom had been covered
with green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
with thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard's.
We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair
that all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not.
Seamus Heaney
Poacher turned game-keeper
aw how lovely...i really liked the heaney poem too alf...apparently it is an old english supserstitution that you should pick the berries before the 29th september otherwise they will have the "devils piss" on them...i kid you not...hugh fearnley said so! ....it is based on truth as by end of sep the rain may well lead to the development of a fungus which could upset the tummy at the very least and be toxic at the worst!foraging for food
berries, mushrooms, crab apples
fields and hedgerows
Mushrooms
Overnight, very
Whitely, discreetly,
Very quietly
Our toes, our noses
Take hold on the loam,
Acquire the air.
Nobody sees us,
Stops us, betrays us;
The small grains make room.
Soft fists insist on
Heaving the needles,
The leafy bedding,
Even the paving.
Our hammers, our rams,
Earless and eyeless,
Perfectly voiceless,
Widen the crannies,
Shoulder through holes. We
Diet on water,
On crumbs of shadow,
Bland-mannered, asking
Little or nothing.
So many of us!
So many of us!
We are shelves, we are
Tables, we are meek,
We are edible,
Nudgers and shovers
In spite of ourselves.
Our kind multiplies:
We shall by morning
Inherit the earth.
Our foot's in the door
Sylvia Plath
Poacher turned game-keeper
Thats so cool DT...well I think this may be my new fad, i may even have to acquire a mushroom avator!
thanks for posting....
off to dream of collecting mushrooms in a basket through some woodland paradise far far away! (like the true elf that I am!)
night!
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