Wild Blackberries

My husband and I were walking up this road in the park by the lake this morning.

"Does it annoy you that I stop and take pictures sometimes?" I asked him.

"A little," he said.

But he doesn't complain.  He supports me.  I like that about him.

I like paying attention when I walk.  Today, it paid off.  I saw these. 

I've lived in this area for five years and never noticed these until today.  They are up and down the side of the road.  I picked a handful.  We ate them on our way home.

After breakfast, my son and I rode our bikes back to pick more.

"This is fun," he kept saying.

And it was.  Despite biting mosquitoes, prickly bushes, the growing heat of the day, and worries about poison ivy, we picked and picked until we filled our sandwich bags.  Then we walked our bikes up the hill to the gate and flew down the hill to home.

At home, we washed, dried, and shared the berries.  We prepared some to freeze. 

They are tiny and have big seeds, but they are delicious.

While we were riding home I asked my son, "Will you remember picking blackberries when you grow up?"

"No," he said.

"Will you remember riding bikes with me?"

"Yes," he said.

I hope he'll remember both.