This vacation has been filled with all the most delectable summer things:
- leisurely reading from borrowed/recommended books including Gilead and What We Talk About When We Talk About Love (I'm stealing someone smart's observation that these are both about earthly truths, but at the opposite ends of that spectrum)
- sunscreen and sunning on a dock
- swimming in the Great Lakes
- an inordinate amount of mosquito bites, mostly on my feet
- berries...
...to which I will devote this post. For the past few years my parents have had an attractive gravel pile at the side of their house. In the best argument for the payoff that comes after waiting through ugly that I can imagine, the gravel pit has blossomed into a bunch of black raspberry bushes (I just learned they are black raspberries, also known as blackcaps, different from blackberries). Which happened to come to fruit during my visit home. Today we spent some minutes picking three containers of them, except the ones the dog got. Turns out dogs, at least my parents' healthy dog Roscoe who thinks that freshly picked peas are delicious, like berries.
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