It’s rained for about seven straight days here. Not just sprinkles, but hard, driving rain. Even the long-time locals are complaining, saying this is the wettest, coldest summer they can remember. Yesterday, I couldn’t even see across the lake to the mountain. Today, it’s a silent, barely visible ghost. The waves and whitecaps on the lake make it look like an ocean.
A few days ago, when the rain had slowed for a few hours to a fine mist, I grabbed my friend Pam (who’s also new in town) to go berry picking. I figured it was our last chance to get salmon berries. I really want to make jam, and all previous attempts at berry picking have just ended as berry eating expeditions. This time was more fruitful. We went to a road I had seen on my way to the little fabric store outside of town. The road came with its own dog to keep away bears which was convenient. We each ended up with almost four quarts. Combined with the few cups I’ve frozen over the last few weeks, I think I’m ready to go.