A week ago I showed you some photos of our thornless blackberries. They are blooming like there's no tomorrow and there are tiny unripe berries all over the bushes. It will be a couple weeks, I imagine, before they are ripe. Russ took a few cuttings off of them and has them successfully rooted. He is going to start a berry patch at his house. That gives me an idea to do the same at our place. It would spread the patch and give us more yield.
While we are waiting for them to ripen, we have other berries to choose from that God has propagated along the fencelines and ditches. Dewberries. They are similar to blackberries, except they ripen a little earlier, run along the ground instead of bushes/canes, and they are plumper and sweeter. I stumbled across a patch of dewberries on Saturday. What I didn't eat right off the vine, I picked and brought inside. Tricia skimmed some heavy cream off of Clarabelle's milk and mixed the fresh-picked berries with the cream. What a treat!
Dewberries and blackberries remind me of my great-grandmother. I remember she would make homemade blackberry pie with a sweet-dough crust. She made a sweet white sauce that she would ladle on top of the pie. Good golly! I miss her. She made a mean pie. I think we could solve most of the world's problems over a slice of homemade pie and a good cup of coffee.
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