Our town has a public farm where you can pick your own raspberries at the end of August and I've wanted to go there for.... hmm... 15 years? It's sad, really. The end of August is usually a crazy busy time for us - it's the time that in years past, Henry and Josie have done hockey camps and instead of picking raspberries in the hot sun, I'm found huddled in the corner of an ice rink, shivering and complaining.
Henry has aged out of hockey camps now that he's 15 and Josie's hockey team had summer practices in June and July, so we skipped formal camps this August.
So guess who got to go raspberry picking?
Georgia wasn't in the mood to actually pick berries, so she acted as the event photographer.
Josie and I were on a mission.
We weren't at the farm for very long, but with our combined pickings we had enough to make a batch of raspberry muffins and to freeze about two cups worth for winter pancakes.