Of rain and raspberries

We've had an abundace of these two things around here lately. The rain is taking its toll. With such a short summer, we tend to feel cheated if it's less than perfect. And though this rain has only been a thing of the last two weeks or so, it's taken over our telling of this summer's story. We'll remember it as the rainy one, even though it started early and crept on slow and lovely. We'll only recall that it ended abruptly, with lots of puddles.

The raspberries are in season, rain or not, and the clearing around our house has been overtaken a bit more each summer. In another year or two I think we'll be hacking back the canes just to get into the front door.  Usually I pick all that I can, and make jam or freeze them. But this year I am feeling decidedly unmotivated. Aedan and I venture out every day, grazing along the little hillside like a mama bear and her cub, combing the small red fruits into our mouths without discrimination for under- or over-ripeness. We store what we can in our bodies and leave the rest for the birds. 

The rosehips blush scarlet, the ground is wet and mushrooms silently explode out of the forest floor. It feels like autumn is here, but I'd never say that out loud for fear of being run out of town.