There is a patch of black raspberries that grow on our property.
Unlike the blackberries that grow wild at the edge of the woods, this patch looks like something that was deliberately planted years ago. There was a cabin on the property that was demolished around 1960. We used the stones from the cabin fireplace to build our own fire pit, and a bog garden.
Every spring daffodils pop up near the cabin foundation. Every June raspberries pop up around the foundation. They were likely planted behind the cabin, but they have migrated over time.
Each morning for roughly 2 weeks, I go out and pick raspberries. I don't take headphones. I listen to nature.
I get a handful of raspberries. The raspberries ultimately will go in to wine. The wine will likely be opened at Christmas time, and memories of picking the berries, listening in to birds and enjoying the morning will come back once again.