Part of me can’t believe it is already July. June was a slowdown of the cosmic whirlwind that the past six months have been for me and my fiancé. At the end of June, we went raspberry picking at Beasley Orchard, a U-pick orchard west of Indianapolis, in Danville. It was a hot, sunny day with not as many clouds as there should have been. I forgot my sunscreen, so in an effort not to get burnt (which still happened) I wore a long brown cardigan and sweated profusely. Still, it was joy peaking through the break bush leaves to find the crimson jury raspberries. There were rows and rows of bushes, and the raspberries were like bright stars, shining in the sunlight, waiting for their turn to ripen.
An ode to raspberries and summer sweetness
An ode to raspberries and summer sweetness
An ode to raspberries and summer sweetness
Part of me can’t believe it is already July. June was a slowdown of the cosmic whirlwind that the past six months have been for me and my fiancé. At the end of June, we went raspberry picking at Beasley Orchard, a U-pick orchard west of Indianapolis, in Danville. It was a hot, sunny day with not as many clouds as there should have been. I forgot my sunscreen, so in an effort not to get burnt (which still happened) I wore a long brown cardigan and sweated profusely. Still, it was joy peaking through the break bush leaves to find the crimson jury raspberries. There were rows and rows of bushes, and the raspberries were like bright stars, shining in the sunlight, waiting for their turn to ripen.