I’m not here.

I love foodie weekends and in my book that means farmers’ markets, harvesting vegetables from the garden and most enjoyable of all foraging for free food.

As the end of summer approaches — if you can call the last three months summer — it’s blackberry picking time. I ventured out midday on the commuter to pick enough for a jar of blackberry jelly.

The berries need another week or more but I snagged myself long enough on the vines to fill two yoghurt containers and safely packed them away in the Ortliebs.

The weather being so agreeable, I rode over to Johnson Farm to check on the apples and bask in the summer sun. The trees and bee hives were heavy with activity.

When I got home, surprise, surprise, I no longer had individual berries but a berry soup of sorts. Clearly the bumpy roads of dirt, farm and wildlife preserve aren’t gentle on berries. The jelly — berries, sugar, lemon, love — didn’t seem to mind.

What we don’t forage for we grow and our garden is producing madly with most of our evening meals’ primary component the product of seeds planted months ago. The first of the tomatoes are finally ripening, the broccoli heads are robust and beautiful and there’s ample cabbage void of slug damage for a couple of jars of sauerkraut.

Last year the plum harvest produced five gallons of wine but this year’s crop is not as promising — apple cider anyone?

I didn’t notice what appears to be a spider among the apples until after I got home. I did, however, notice all the spiders picking berries!

I love living here.