Today we made yet another trip to Autumn Hills Orchard in Groton. Google sends us North on Rt 3 till we reach the Dunstable exit. From there the trail is southeast thru still viable New England farmland. It is a pleasant ride. Beth wants more raspberries to freeze. Again, it’s just an excuse to feel the early autumn sunshine on our faces.
Fluffy clouds and steely sunshine filled the eye, with a constantly blowing and gravely refreshing breeze. On such a Sunday afternoon we were by no means alone along the lengths of raspberry plants. Apples too, Honey Crisps and Macs, were available for picking. The day’s largesse of ripe berries was nearly done by the time we arrived after one. We got two quarts but it took close perusal among the bent stalks to accomplish that.
I haven’t recounted yet how I picked raspberries one summer while a teenager, thus prepping me for these labors years later. My friend’s neighbor had a raspberry patch. My friend, his younger brother, and I got to pick the berries then take them to the local farm stand. I don’t know what profit the neighbour took but I got enough money for some records and books. Because the brothers routinely would end up throwing things at each other and chasing each other, I picked the most pints. It was a sweet deal. Now Beth and I pay for the privilege. The warm sun, the cool wind, the blue sky, the imposing white clouds, and the apple trees full of fruit indeed made it a privilege. I should now read The Shepherd’s Calendar by John Clare, and maybe I will,
