This year has produced a bumper crop of blackberries. Flossie and I still pass hedgerows crammed with fruit every day, although they are now past their best.
When they were in their prime, it seemed a shame to let them go to waste. And, what better vessel for harvesting than an empty poo bag. This meant I didn’t have to carry awkward plastic containers with me on walks, but could whip out a poo bag and start gathering whenever I fancied.
There are hazards of blackberry picking. The thorns for a start. They are vicious, and not just for fingers. At one point, my hat caught on the brambles while I was partially submerged in a hedge, trying to reach the juiciest but furthest away fruits.
A car was approaching.
Not wanting to look silly, I tried to disguise the fact that I was tethered by remaining in the hedge, head slightly askew as the thorns gripped me. Flossie sat down, nonplussed. I expect she rolled her eyes at the driver.
Having unhooked myself from the tentacles (when all traffic was safely at a distance), I continued to fill my poo bag with fruit. I was already carrying one that I’d used for its conventional purpose so, by the time I’d finished picking the berries, I was laden.
We set off home and I thought of all the lovely things I could do with my foraged fruit. Perhaps I would make it into something tasty or just enjoy it unadulterated.
I was so busy contemplating blackberry smoothies and crumbles that I wasn’t concentrating when we reached the poo bin. I dropped a filled poo bag into the bin. It landed with a thud and we continued on our way.
By the time we got home, I’d decided to wash the blackberries and freeze them.
We had reached the kitchen when I realised what I’d done.
I didn’t need to open the bag I’d brought home to know that it did not contain fruit.
As published in the Bath Chronicle, 24 October 2024
Suzy Pope is a certified copywriter and newspaper columnist specialising in pets, business and lifestyle. If you would like help with a writing project, please get in touch.
