If you're wondering what that was like (and of course, you must be, or you wouldn't be reading this), here's what I posted as my Facebook status when I returned:
To the dude in the picking field who kept walking up and down the rows, gasping at the sight of ripe blackberries and moaning, "Oh my god... oh wow... god... they're beautiful. God, these are good," while he was picking: I think maybe you should...
Actually, on second thought, never mind. I really don't know what to say to that.
I guess you need to see them on a well-hung bush to get the full effect.
Suffice to say, I spent the morning in the berry-field wondering whether they should implement something analogous to the "quiet car" on trains. Along these rows, you must pick in silence.
I mean, I love berries too, and I'm happy to find a nice crop of them. But I'm not that happy. I shouldn't spend my berry-picking time resisting the temptation to yell, "Get a room!"
On my way home, I bought two bottles of cheap vodka. I'm making blueberry (yes, I got some more of those too) and blackberry liqueur. It's so easy, it's unbelievable.
It just takes time. And I've got time. My dream is to be sipping this, curled up with my kitties in front of a roaring fire while it snows like the dickens outside.
Of course, after I made the blueberry liqueur with fresh blueberries, I found all kinds of recipes that said I should really use frozen, not fresh.
Sigh. If you had told me that in the first place...
So I did what any sensible person would do: I put the two jars of blueberry liqueur in the freezer for a bit, to see if that "fixes" it. I have plenty of frozen blueberries, actually, so I can dump some of those in, if it comes right down to it. But I wish someone had just said, you know?
Even so, it can't touch this beautiful day.