Countryn' it up

Dudes. It was a country weekend.

In the sense that I went home to pick blackberries in the country with my mom and then I came home to the not-country and canned blackberry jam, a truckload of tomatoes, pickles and peppers like I was going to be stranded in the country through a long hard winter.

You know, rather than what I've really got here in the suburbs which is decidedly short and soft.

Wow, that doesn't sound right at all. And this was going to be a wholesome post.

OK - let's try wholesome.

Nothing unseemly going on here. Just wholesome countryness.

I guess it would be more wholesome if my bra strap weren't all front and center there, but it's not like I was fooling you with reports of wholesomeness after all, so I might as well tell you that these photos were taken while swearing.

Because, as my mom and I agree, you really have to be the boss of those blackberry bushes and swearing helps.

Though, this year there was decidedly less swearing since it wasn't as molten-melt-your-face-off-hot like in previous years. In fact, it was rather comfortably and breezy, even. I don't even think I broke a sweat even though I was out there in jeans.

Crazy, this pleasant berry picking experience. I barely felt like I went to war at all.

Still screamed swears at the bushes though, that's a given. Bastards always manage to sink a thorn under a fingernail and shit hurts.


Then I came home to find tomato plants in need of a spanking.

We've been bad

I went out on Sunday morning and picked 22 lbs of tomatoes and those plants looked like I hadn't even bossed them around one bit. Like, you couldn't even tell I'd picked anything.

Ridiculous. I should have brought a whip and a chair.

So, since I had 22 lbs of tomatoes and 12 pints of blackberries, a bunch of cucumbers, a half pint's worth of peppers and some measure of patience remaining, I decided to round out my country weekend by poaching myself over the canner.

Steamy.

Funny thing was, it wasn't even that hot over the canner like it usually is. I mean, normally I'm boob-sweating it UP getting tomatoes into jars and my house smells like a hot kosher dill and I've got blackberry jam spot welded to my forearms from all the stirring, but no.

It was, like, almost a nice idea to get a giant pot of water to a rolling boil on the stove. The thought did not repulse me and feel like the exact opposite of what I should be doing in a house that's around 90 degrees. Because it was around 65 when I got started and probably didn't get over 80 all day.

I guess the weather's freaking me out a bit. In a good way. Until today.

It's hot again. 90-something.

WHY AM I TALKING ABOUT THE WEATHER SO MUCH?

Anyway, the world has righted itself -- it's hot, the tomatoes are ripening, the blackberries have been picked, I made a pie and I have a cupboard full of canned stuff to eat during the long hard isolation endured out here on the NorCal tundra.

Yep - all quiet on the western front.