Learning to See with Cranberry Eyes
by Liz
Recently, my husband James and I went on one of my favorite autumn
expeditions: cranberry picking. At the back of our property there is a
cranberry bog below the high-tension lines, and it's accessible by a
neighbor's driveway. Our neighbor, Marnie, had told us about the bog
after we had been living here a couple of years (perhaps she was
waiting to see what kind of people we were before she divulged her
secret), and in it grows wild cranberries -- they taste just like Ocean
Spray, only better: fresher, earthier, and definitely tangier.
It was a dry summer this year, which translated into a lean harvest for the berries, and at first I thought the bog was picked clean. Although, once I put on my "cranberry eyes" and narrowed my focus, I started to see them: dark red berries, often hanging in clusters of two. Passing over the soft ones that had already suffered from a freeze, we eventually filled our picking baskets with close to two pounds of fruit. Some will become cranberry sauce, some infused with vodka for a cordial, some are already baked into scones, and the rest are in the freezer for our winter enjoyment.



On September 16, I organized a farm tour, called the "Milk and Honey Tour," for 

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