Last of the Blackberries

Yesterday’s post was about cherries.  Today, it’s about blackberries.  This weekend we used the last of our frozen blackberries, blackberries that were picked from our farm.  We have an abundance of wild blackberries.  Blackberry picking is hard work.  Plus, the trick is getting to them at just the right time.  There is that moment of perfect ripeness. The birds and deer also claim rights to them, and they are up and about much earlier than we are.


Ingredients (All organic)

1/2 c. butter

1 c. all-purpose flour

1 c. sugar

1 tbsp. baking powder

1/8 tsp. salt

2/3 c. milk

16 oz. of fresh or frozen blackberries, thawed

Melt butter in a 2 quart casserole. Combine flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, and milk in a small mixing bowl, mix well. Pour mixture over melted butter, do not stir. Spoon blackberries over batter; do not stir. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes or until golden brown.

This is topped with Breyer’s Vanilla Bean ice cream.

I’m thankful that we were able to share the last of our blackberries with good friends.

Inspired by blackberries, below is an excerpt of something I’m writing about Sally.  There are other pieces of writing about Sally on this blog filed under the category Sally to get a better picture of who Sally was.

“The pains grew closer.  Susan’s breathing took on a different aspect, something instinctual, the breath that would breathe a new life into existence. There was no time to move her back to the camp.  She was grateful for that.  This child would be born under a blue sky, in pristine air.  Susan saw this as a good sign for her child.  At her first scream the women quit picking the blackberries and gathered around.  The youngest made haste to the nearest cabin, less than a half mile back for water and a blanket.  By the time she returned with the supplies there was only the cord to cut, and the cleaning.  The tall grass had absorbed most of the birthing process.  The baby girl, laying on her mother’s shrunken belly looking as ripe as the basket of blackberries to the side, a shiny new ebony life covered in red blood which glistened in the July sun.  Susan named her Sally.  Sally strongly, with little effort, but with a determination to accept her new role, breathed in her surroundings.”

One thought on “Last of the Blackberries

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