Motorcycle Raspberries

I’ve just been let in on a most precious secret field of raspberries.  Technically it’s not secret, but the joy of picking berries is intensified when it feels like you’re in on some undisclosed treasure trove of fruit.  There’s a sign that goes up beside the road to let every passerby know about the raspberries ready to pick, but I don’t think the majority of people passing by who’d be interested in berry picking notice the sign in front of a motorcycle shop.  Motorcycle raspberries.  Brilliant! You enter the shop, flanked by people dropping off their motorcycles for repair or buying fancy new helmets, and you ask to buy a box for raspberries.  The same guy who was just explaining the goings on of a stubborn carburetor now goes into detail where to find the fall raspberries out in the large field.  He encourages us to dig deep and find the blackberries too, which are far to the right and have been picked over a bit, but they’re still there, and worth the hunt.

We pass the time ooh-ing and ahh-ing over our picks, scream at each other when we stumble on a full bush of perfect berries, share stories both heartfelt and hilarious, sing songs, tell jokes, and comment on the heat more than a few times.  If you’re three-years-old you might get into a raspberry-picking-trance and forget that you should head to the bathroom, so you may spend the rest of the time picking raspberries sans pants.

Two quarts of raspberries and blackberries means some delicious muffins, garnishing a fruit tart, and a bounty of berries in the freezer.  What a perfect way to end the summer.

P.S. Today is the last day to comment on this post for a chance to win the Tartine cookbook!