Every year, almost like clockwork, the short blackberry season starts at the farm. Once picking starts, the warm humid air fills with the strong scent of fairy floss as the sun ripened fruit often bursts at the slightest touch.
Our hands quickly become stained crimson with the juice from the fruit. The sun beats down on our straw hats as we methodically work down the rows, hunting for the dark fruit that often only venture as far as our mouths instead of the buckets. Our hands will be stained daily for the next few weeks so that in the depths of winter we can be reminded of the warm sunny days amongst the canes, the air sweet and filled with life.
