Razztherapy

At the end of our first full day of this year`s house-sit, I went out to retrieve our laundry from the line, and suddenly remembered that our hosts had asked me to turn off the soaker system in their vegetable garden.

It was my first time descending through the garden, my head almost reeling from the scent of the honeysuckle which I know will have gone by August. However, it`s still early July and in Victoria, this means:

Ohhhh. Raspberries. Dozens and dozens of them, hanging like jewels, dragging the branches of the bushes to the ground. I ran back inside, grabbing containers and re-emerging with younger daughter.

"See the ones that almost purple?" I told her. "Pull them gently; if they`re ready, they will come easily."

And for fifteen minutes in the setting sun, we plucked warm, squishy clusters. I lifted leaves and kept finding more and more. When we had about three cups`worth, we retreated, leaving the crimson ones to ripen.

Raspberries and Island Farm ice cream for dessert. I've been dreaming of this all through the Hadean winter.