Mures, in French. While we were visiting a village in the Pyrenees, we met this enterprising French lady who was selling framboise (raspberries) and mures (blackberries) in little plastic containers for 2 euros each. I bought 2 containers of blackberries from her and asked if I could take her picture. She said, 'oui'. They don't mind you taking pictures if you buy something from them, always try to buy something, don't just look and touch and take pictures. A little token purchase goes a long way in getting cooperation, that's something I learned after having traveled for so long. She went around the streets, to tourists and shopkeepers, selling her wares. I love blackberries, they were small and so sweet. I knew they were wild blackberries, there are a lot of bushes along highways and this is the time of blackberries. In fact before I left on this trip I emailed my cousin in England to asked when is blackberry season, she said,'now'. I was hoping I would come across some blackberry bushes. Indeed I did.
It's hard to hold the container in one hand and take a pictures of it with my other hand on the camera.
I knew there would be blackberry bushes nearby. So I broke off from sightseeing and went looking at hedgerows to look for wild blackberry bushes. Et voila, I found some. They still have berries on them and I started picking and popping them into my mouth. Mmmmmm.....they were so good, so sweet. I called to Sophie to come over, she did, she asked,' why are some of them red?' Because they are not ripe. Be careful of the thorns, they are very thorny bushes.
So way up in the Pyrenees, we went blackberry picking. This reminds me of my first grade English reader, a book about some children who went blackberry picking with their grandfather. I was six when I read it, today, some 50 years later, I still remember that book. I wished I remembered the title. All this time I've always wanted to blackberry picking. The children couldn't reach the big, plump and juicy ones at the top but grandfather had a cane with a crook and he could reach those blackberries.
Imagine I've seen some of the world's greatest wonders and I'm still enthralled by some wild blackberry bushes.
They didn't stay on my palm too long, I ate them as fast as I could pick them. These wild ones, though being much smaller than the cultivated ones are much sweeter.
So the other day, at home, I bought some from the market. These are huge but not as sweet.
I had to do something with blackberries, how about a blackberry crumble.
They didn't stay black, they turned red after they came out of the oven.
Pour in a bunch of pouring cream and chow down. Mmmmmm so good. I shall always remember the blackberry days of 2008!
I'm planning to go back to France next September, to search more images like this, to go farms and pick berries. I can't wait.
Mures, in French. While we were visiting a village in the Pyrenees, we met this enterprising French lady who was selling framboise (raspberries) and mures (blackberries) in little plastic containers for 2 euros each. I bought 2 containers of blackberries from her and asked if I could take her picture. She said, 'oui'. They don't mind you taking pictures if you buy something from them, always try to buy something, don't just look and touch and take pictures. A little token purchase goes a long way in getting cooperation, that's something I learned after having traveled for so long. She went around the streets, to tourists and shopkeepers, selling her wares. I love blackberries, they were small and so sweet. I knew they were wild blackberries, there are a lot of bushes along highways and this is the time of blackberries. In fact before I left on this trip I emailed my cousin in England to asked when is blackberry season, she said,'now'. I was hoping I would come across some blackberry bushes. Indeed I did.
It's hard to hold the container in one hand and take a pictures of it with my other hand on the camera.
I knew there would be blackberry bushes nearby. So I broke off from sightseeing and went looking at hedgerows to look for wild blackberry bushes. Et voila, I found some. They still have berries on them and I started picking and popping them into my mouth. Mmmmmm.....they were so good, so sweet. I called to Sophie to come over, she did, she asked,' why are some of them red?' Because they are not ripe. Be careful of the thorns, they are very thorny bushes.
So way up in the Pyrenees, we went blackberry picking. This reminds me of my first grade English reader, a book about some children who went blackberry picking with their grandfather. I was six when I read it, today, some 50 years later, I still remember that book. I wished I remembered the title. All this time I've always wanted to blackberry picking. The children couldn't reach the big, plump and juicy ones at the top but grandfather had a cane with a crook and he could reach those blackberries.
Imagine I've seen some of the world's greatest wonders and I'm still enthralled by some wild blackberry bushes.
They didn't stay on my palm too long, I ate them as fast as I could pick them. These wild ones, though being much smaller than the cultivated ones are much sweeter.
So the other day, at home, I bought some from the market. These are huge but not as sweet.
I had to do something with blackberries, how about a blackberry crumble.
They didn't stay black, they turned red after they came out of the oven.
Pour in a bunch of pouring cream and chow down. Mmmmmm so good. I shall always remember the blackberry days of 2008!
I'm planning to go back to France next September, to search more images like this, to go farms and pick berries. I can't wait.
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