Gooseberry Time

My dad loved gooseberries and his June 12 birthday coincided with gooseberry picking. When his birthday rolled around, he and I loaded baskets in the car and drove to various country sites where we picked the wild gooseberries. It was hot, sweaty work and I usually ended up crying and begging to go home, but we didn't leave until Dad had harvested every gooseberry in sight.

As it happened, I married a man who also loves gooseberries and whose birthday is June 15. Here he is, picking gooseberries from the bushes in our front yard.

We moved these bushes from the edge of the woods, where they never produced berries, to a sunny location near the cold frames. With sun and a dressing of chicken manure, they now produce an abundance of berries. Note how Dennis is holding the branch up so he can access the hanging berries. He's holding it gingerly, having respect for the thorns that line the branches.

Gooseberry picking is not the end of the work; the stem and beard of each berry must be removed before washing the berries. This is time-consuming work that used to be a family affair, with everyone sitting around the table working at the task. Sadly, my hands aren't up to the task any more, so Dennis has this chore all to himself.

Still, I'm not entirely useless. I get to make the birthday gooseberry pie.

Happy Birthday, Dennis! And thanks for picking and stemming all those berries.