The first week of September is consistently one of my favourite periods of the year. The daylight changes from a pale yellow to a rich gold, the green leaves are transformed to red, gold and bronze and ripe fruit bursts from the trees and in the hedgerows.
It is a period I always symbolise with a 'back to school' fresh start kind of feeling but it also always feels strangely melancholy as if all the frantic energy of summer has been hushed to make way for a slice of quiet Autumn peace.
It is also the time for blackberry picking!
We descended along the track behind the house in search of ripe brambles. The fields were full of long swishy grass and Piper and I couldn't resist a little frolic.
Before pausing for a beat just to stand and admire the view.
Mum and I saw a few of the last summer swallows dipping low over the field. We marvelled, as we always do, at the six week, six thousand mile journey to Africa these tiny birds are about to complete. A love of the British countryside and appreciation of the 'small things' seems to be intensifying in me with each passing year.
Rounding the corner from the grass fields, we spied the first glimpse of the bramble hedgerow we came for. As early foragers of the season, we had our pick of the bunch.
We spent the next hour happily raiding the hedgerows and filling our punnets with the sweet and sharp berries. For me, one of the oldest joys of fruit picking is eating the produce straight off the plant. As children, if taken strawberry picking at the local fruit farm, my siblings and I would sneak away from the unsuspecting accompanying adult and work to a strict 'one for the punnet, two for me' policy. These days, I hear they weigh children before and after entering fruit farms and charge the bewildered parents if they leave the farm any heavier - talk about sucking the joy out of precious childhood experiences!
I was a dedicated brambler and felt the lure of the plumpest shiniest fruit at the very top of the hedgerow despite the risk of thorny scratches and a stained shirt (both of which I got). Soon our punnets were fit for bursting and we were ready to head for home.
Now, blackberries mean one of two things - crumble or pie. I am an enthusiastic advocate of both, but this year we decided on pie. I was sent outside to fetch the ripened apples from the garden...
Our apple trees are very well behaved and produce a bumper crop of fruit each year, but supermarket cooking apples would work just as well.
Apples and blackberries collected, I started work on the pie. The recipe is very simple (the best kind) and consists of chopping the fruit, filling a pastry case, dusting with sugar and using extra pastry to construct a lattice decoration for the top.
Once your pie has been put together, brush with an egg-wash and a further sprinkle of sugar and bung it in the oven for around 45 minutes.
It should emerge golden and bubbling and dying to be served and eaten with cold vanilla ice cream.
Which is exactly what we did!
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