I knew I’d been ignoring the boysenberries. It’s just that loganberry jam is one of my favourites and there’s only so many hours in the day!
Great clusters of boysenberries hang like grapes on a vine.
But the sight of these luscious, corpulent berries pricked my conscience. After all, why had I spent those hours waging war in winter, pruning the thorny canes if I didn’t harvest the fruit? Besides, if I’d left it a moment longer the birds would have made off with the bounty. Some have even had the audacity to nest in the berry patch, and why not with such a natural prickly defence?
Boysenberry tinted eggs, I wonder what the parents to be have been feasting on?
Looks like tomorrow I’ll dust off Sally Wise’s “A Year in a Bottle” and start making boysenberry jams and sauces.