Alas, the raspberry farm did not allow this efficient machine to be used. It would have made picking and then smashing the raspberries for jam quite easy. Rules are rules, however, and other plans were made. Below my trusty companion B and I are setting out to pick raspberries by hand.
No, I didn't leave the younger generation at home to raise themselves on video games and Fla-Vor-Ice.
And, yes, I did take the older generation out with me because outdoor exercise reduces the chances of dementia.
After arriving home, I leaf through the Farmer's Almanac hoping to show my brother their latest predictions on the raspberry crop. It took a while for me to find, and, in the mean time, my brother puts on his best impatient face as I mutter to myself, "where is it?"
"A-ha! Here it is." The raspberry crop will fail next year. That means we need to store up extra jam to make it until 2010. I guess the Aunt J's can't have any of our jam this year! JC looks on not fully realizing the magnitude of this revelation.