I have at least a half dozen unwritten blog posts in my head. I've been so busy that I fall into bed every night thinking about what I wish I would have shared on here. Every day is filled with caring for the animals, gardening, and cheesemaking, as well as cooking meals from scratch and making desserts. Yesterday, I stewed an old rooster that Mike butchered. He made mozarella. I made butterscotch pudding. Katherine made pasta primavera for lunch using our homegrown peas and goat milk. In the afternoon, Katherine and I canned seven half-pints of raspberry jam. Then Katherine made a raspberry crisp for dinner's dessert. I pointed out to the kids that very few people would be able to enjoy a raspberry crisp because the cost of raspberries is prohibitively expensive. Who could afford six cups of fresh raspberries? Yesterday, Mike and the kids picked six quarts of fresh black raspberries.
No, the raspberry bounty is not due to any great gardening expertise on our part. That's what makes this funny. We planted raspberries twice since we moved here. They all died. We've also planted raspberries in the yards of two other houses when we lived in the Chicago burbs. They died. A couple years ago, Mike was walking in our woods and found a small raspberry patch. Today, our woods are home to several patches of black raspberries. Maybe we were planting a type of raspberry that doesn't like our soil or climate. Maybe they didn't like the full sun where we planted them. Maybe they don't like to be fussed over. Or maybe Mother Nature has a sense of humor. Seeing raspberries thrive so close to where we tried to grow them makes me feel like I am missing the punch line of a joke, something so obvious that I shouldn't even have to think about it. But I'm not complaining. I'm too busy enjoying all the raspberries!