Berrying in sun so hot, I think the berries melted

on

Thankfully I only picked two boxes of raspberries yesterday (my contribution to a batch of jelly). Otherwise both I and the berries would have melted into the luscious land of Greenwich, not far from the Acadian dykes. (Dykes = human-made features of agricultural land that allows for proper drainage of the sea.)

Here are the fruits of my sweat.

Since I forgot to pack my camera yesterday, I didn’t get any prime shots of the dykes off in the distance, or the rows upon rows of manicured raspberry bushes.

Safe to say, I was so hot by the time I plucked two boxes off the bushes, I probably would have struggled to operate the camera even though I’ve used it hundreds of times before.

However, raspberry jam is probably the best jam ever, so it will be nice to have a batch to spread on my toast. It’s taste is so strong, so vibrant. Unlike me.

I almost scored another plate for my fashion plate plate collection. I found it at a yard sale, but it had no price on it (this I hate anyway), so I was forced to ask the owner how much he wanted for it.

Now, first off, I don’t quite trust yard sale folk who come out of the house wearing no shirt, long hair, and a random towel wrapped around the neck. And enough back hair to braid (but who’s judging?).

Furthermore, I really don’t trust people when they check me over instead of the item.

“Well now,” he said or may have said, since my memory functions much like a meat grinder, “this plate has been in the family awhile; it was my great aunt’s brother’s uncle.”

Or some garbage like that.

He finally quoted me $20. I said no.

He said $15. I said that was more than I wanted to pay. (My last plate was $1.50.)

“Haggle with me. Haggle with me.” This he definitely said. He said it to the customer after me about something she was interested in.

I finally said $5.

I was like I shot him.

“No, no,” he said. “But I’ll be here tomorrow. If the plate is still here tomorrow, stop back and you can have it for that.”

I live an hour away.

After this little lesson in unsuccessful haggling, I’ve come to several conclusions.

1) Don’t trust yard sales where no one puts prices on things.

2) Don’t haggle with someone who looks at you longer than the item when determining a price. They’re probably trying to see how much money they can bleed from you.

3) Never let my back hair get so long, I have to condition it.

My day in the Valley ended with some washer toss (aka sewer) at my cousin’s place in Kingston. If you’ve never played this game, it’s a bit like horseshoes, only you toss big arse washers and try to get them in a box—or even better, the sewer pipe in the box (much like a bull’s eye). It’s a great game. Even the mosquitoes loved it.

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