Ah, the short, but oh-so-sweet season of wild raspberries. Our road is an absolute jungle of them, but they are fiddly little buggers to pick, nestled as they like to be amid nettles and atop huge ditches. And what effort for such teeny berries: sometimes no more than one or two blobs (I’m sure there is a more technical name for raspberry blobs. Any farmer readers able to assist?) of jewel red. Yum. We managed to pick a kilo- I kept meaning to go out and pick more but never quite managed.
I froze them as I went along until there were enough to turn into jelly, as they are really very seedy for jam. I got three very precious jars to savour when the wind is howling and the snow is piling up, to spread on hot toast and think of the summer to come.