Birds and Blackberries

On Tuesday Mark and I walked for about 4 miles around the RSPB wetlands nature reserve in Newport.  We often come here with the kids, it’s one of their favourite places.  The kids enjoy making use of the play area, take great pleasure in the freedom in which to run and very rarely do we leave without a visit to the shop, more often than not leaving with 50p worth of polystyrene Starling. 

I felt a little guilty that we had chosen one of their top ten as a place to visit during school hours.  “Think of all the lovely things that they do without us” Mark said.  He also said “it is unusual that we are able to find time just for us, taking the route we want to take and pausing to look at the things that interest us. Enjoy it”. 

There is a fascinating variety of wildlife to see at the wetlands, from elusive bearded tits and wonderful waders, to colourful dragonflies and beautiful butterflies.  I felt a little deprived yesterday, there wasn’t a great deal of activity in the reed bed, water, saltmarsh or mudflats.  We saw a few mute swans and a couple of coots.  Then I spotted a Blackberry, and I don’t mean the annoying little gadget of Marks that had accompanied us.  The further we walked the bigger and juicer the blackberries got and the more plentiful they become.  August and September are prime months for blackberries and according to some people, on the 10^th October the Devil pees on the blackberries and they become unfit to eat.  I thought about this for a second or two and decided that he wouldn’t possibly have had enough time to pee on all of these, got a plastic bag from my rucksack and began picking.  They are undoubtedly past their best by now, not comparing at all to the ones we picked from the hedgerows of Trostrey back in late August.  You wouldn’t want to sprinkle these with sugar and have them for your pudding.  Anyway, I wasn’t thinking pudding, pie or tart and the more we picked the more frequently Mark asked “isn’t that enough?” 

I was thinking Bramble Jelly……. “Nowhere near enough, keep picking Mark”. 

We strolled back towards the car through the woodlands.  The last two hours had been spent completely on our own.  No walkers, no birdwatchers, no photographers.  Just Mark, myself and the pheasant that had began to stalk us. We paused at the kissing gate for a moment, and as I pulled away from Mark and shouted “last one back to the visitor centre has to inspect every blackberry individually” the pheasant gave a quick flap of his wings and hurried off into the hedgerow.

After two hours of simmering, sieving and boiling I am now the proud owner of numerous jars of Bramble Jelly.  Some I shall give as Christmas gifts, most I shall keep for us, after all, there is nothing quite like home made jam on hot buttery toast.