{"id":1164,"date":"2008-08-19T03:14:00","date_gmt":"2008-08-19T03:14:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/elitemporaryblog.wordpress.com\/2008\/08\/19\/good-neighbors"},"modified":"2008-08-19T03:14:00","modified_gmt":"2008-08-19T03:14:00","slug":"good-neighbors","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/orangette.net\/2008\/08\/good-neighbors\/","title":{"rendered":"Good neighbors"},"content":{"rendered":"
The summer before last, I had a run-in with one of our neighbors over a blackberry bush. I am not usually the type of person who has run-ins, much less run-ins over fruit-bearing vegetation, but she started it. Have I told you about our mean, nasty, blackberry-hoarding neighbor? No? Well, pull up a chair. And bring a spoon, because I have some blackberry frozen yogurt in the freezer, and unlike some people, I don\u2019t mind sharing.<\/p>\n
So we started picking, and then we picked some more. We made blackberry sorbet and a batch of jam. One afternoon, I decided to make some scones, so I went out with an empty Tupperware to harvest a little more. I was hunched over, picking intently on our side of the bush-wall, daydreaming about baked goods and probably humming something innocent and uplifting, when I heard footsteps. I looked up to see our next-door neighbor, the one whose yard adjoins the bushes, marching across the lawn. She came to a stop a few feet away, looked me up and down, and then spat, \u201cWhat the hell<\/span> do you think you\u2019re doing?\u201d<\/p>\n Stunned, I giggled nervously and explained that we had just moved in, and that I had this great scone recipe that my sister had given me, and that I wanted to make a batch with fresh blackberries, and giggle giggle giggle.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, this is my<\/span> bush,\u201d she snapped. \u201cI planted it. And I use it every summah<\/span> to make blackberry cooorr<\/span>dial.\u201d [In my mind, when I replay our conversation, I give her an upper-class British accent, even though she doesn\u2019t have one. I think it makes her seem especially stern, don\u2019t you? Like a strict governess, or maybe Queen Elizabeth.]<\/p>\n I wish I could tell you that I had a smart retort at the ready, or that I shot her down by pointing out that this particular side of the bush fell on my<\/span> property or that blackberries are, in this part of the country, a non-native invasive weed, not something that one generally plants. In fact, they are considered a Weed of Concern<\/a> by King County – I love that term, \u201cWeed of Concern\u201d – and if she did indeed plant these bushes, my (tall, imposing) landlord would probably like to have a word with her and, possibly, request that she pay a gardener to remove the bushes from my side of the property line.<\/p>\n Unfortunately, I only thought of these things after I had skulked away and gone inside to lie down and contemplate the general cruelty of the universe. I also contemplated the Robert Frost poem \u201cMending Wall<\/a>\u201d and its wise line, \u201cGood fences make good neighbors.\u201d I love our delicate bush-wall, but for a minute there, I wished for something a little more substantial, like wood or brick or stone. Preferably with barbed wire on top.<\/p>\n And while I can\u2019t exactly spread the good will by inviting you to the party, which already happened, or by sharing the lemonade, which I already drank, I am happy to pass along the recipe for the frozen yogurt that I made from the blackberries. I based it on David<\/a>\u2019s recipe for strawberry frozen yogurt, which I made twice last month and highly, highly<\/span> recommend. It\u2019s not frozen yogurt in the Pinkberry<\/a> sense, so don\u2019t start expecting a mound of rippling soft-serve, but it is<\/span> utterly delicious – and, in my book, so much better. Also, it\u2019s dead-easy. You macerate the berries in sugar and a small splash of vodka, puree them with plain yogurt and lemon juice, and freeze. That\u2019s all. Think sorbet, essentially, but with a gentle roundness and soft tang from the addition of yogurt. Our friend Ben<\/a> declared it \u201cterrif<\/span>,\u201d for which we teased him mercilessly. He was right, though, and assuming that our good neighbors agree, I think I will make another batch this week.<\/p>\n<\/a>
We had moved into our apartment only a couple of months before, and with summer heading into its fullest flush, we noticed a thicket of blackberry bushes in one corner of the backyard. Needless to say, this was very exciting. The best part was, they were huge<\/span>. Our yard is fenced on only two sides, and the bushes were sufficiently large that, on one of the unenclosed sides, they formed a partial wall along the property line. As walls go, it was somewhat ugly and unkempt, but it was covered<\/span> in blackberries. Covered<\/span>.<\/p>\n<\/a>
Of course, I am able to tell you this now because our neighbor is no longer our neighbor. She still owns the property next door, but she moved out about a year ago and rented it to a couple of girls who are not only nice, but whose wardrobes and hair I covet. And last Friday afternoon, when it was scorchingly hot and all the blackberries were fat and warm, I took my Tupperware and went picking. I came back inside a half hour later with one pound of berries – having also, in that time, had a very nice conversation, pet a cute pug, been invited to a party, and received a glass of lemonade. I feel much better about everything.<\/p>\n