We’re very lucky.  We live in a wonderful part of the world, in a village with open fields and a small forest a 5 minute walk from our front door.  We’d gone out this evening with the express intention of picking blackberries to make an apple and blackberry crumble (for me, one of the true tastes of the summer … served with a dollop of vanilla ice cream, it’s almost impossible to beat).  We found a few places where there was a pretty good crop, though I think someone might have beaten us to it.  After an hour of picking and chatting and laughing – once the dog figured out what we were doing, he ate more blackberries straight off the branches than we managed to pick – we started back home.

And when we passed the chapel and its small graveyard again, I pointed out the one large, lush bush of blackberries growing there.

“You know why it’s like that?” I told the kids.  “It’s the bodies.  Corpses buried a hundred years ago feed the soil, making it richer and more fertile.  So the bramble bush growing there is better fed, which makes the blackberries bigger, fatter … and jucier.”  To prove a point I crushed one berry and let it’s juices drip between my fingers.

I love my kids.  Some might have been put off by such a story, but mine …?  They know I’m a horror writer and are becoming used to such stories.  And tomorrow, they’re looking forward to making and eating a lovely big Corpse Crumble. With vanilla ice cream, of course.

It’s the new taste of the summer.