Bastille Day

This being Bastille Day, we liberated Jackie from Coop 2 (which Hilda now calls “the hell hole”due to its unpleasant smell) and put him up with the girls. We began by closing him in Della’s kennel with food and water. He didn’t think too much of the layer feed at first, but after a little while was seen eating and drinking. He seemed to enjoy the grass at the bottom of the cage.

Jackie in the cage

The hens ignored Jackie completely. After an hour or so, we opened the door to the cage. Jackie didn’t seem to notice at first that he was free to leave.

Stepping out

Before long, however, he stepped out and began exploring.

What are YOU looking at?

In other news, we’ve been harvesting the wild black raspberries that grow along the edge of the hay field. It’s hot, buggy work. What with all the rain, we’ve got a bumper crop of mosquitoes for the first time in several years. The raspberries are, of course, thorny, and they grow among invasive roses and stinging nettles. We pick every two or three days. So far we have three quarts in the freezer, enough for one batch of jam. You might be thinking that this is miserable work, but to me being hot, sweaty, scratched, and bitten feels like summer is supposed to. I am alive on the planet. Picking berries reminds my mother of the times she would go with berry picking with her mom, her brothers, Aunt Fay, and her cousins (Aunt Fay’s children). “My mom was really happy then,” Hilda recalls. And I will remember picking berries with my mom when she’s gone. It’s a happy time.