The Geens are Ready

The geens are ready. Wild Scottish cherries. We’ve got trees all over the property and it’s always a race to see if we can harvest any before the pigeons commence their military-precision stripping of the trees!

A few years ago, we got enough to make a couple jars of the most delicious jam. It took two of us to skim because there is more stone than flesh on each cherry, but it was so so delicious.

Jesus said to be alert and to watch what’s going on around us. We’ve been watching those cherries and also further afield, though things aren’t so straightforward there. It is hard to understand exactly what is going on in the wider political world just now.

Even more reason to keep our eyes on Jesus while staying aware of current events. And staying on our knees. We want to get the cherries before the pigeons do.

A Sting in the Tale

Ouch! 

Saturday the sun shone bright for the second day running. The raspberry crop, which has been rather miserable (like the rest of us) because of the buckets of rain and dearth of sunshine, might have sweetened up and ripened, I thought. Maybe I can get enough in to make at least one batch of jam.

I’d been writing all day, cooped inside on such a glorious afternoon, so as I printed out my draft I grabbed a couple of fruit boxes and headed for the veggie patch. Yes! Deep red berries sweetening on the canes. Lots of them.

I started at the far end, and noticed several big black flies competing with me. The thought passed fleetingly through my mind, that perhaps it was good I planned to cook these, in case the flies had laid any eggs ...

Then, to my surprise, I noticed some tiny wasps. Not just flying around but actually eating my rasps! There weren’t too many so I just kept picking but as I progressed down the row, numbers grew until I had another fleeting thought. I hope I don’t get stung.

Funny how often that happens. You have the thought and then, wham! You get stung. I dashed in for the vinegar and the Lanacaine, donned rubber gloves and went to fight with the little blighters, as my dad would have called them.

But I’m afraid there wasn’t much I could do. I took the berries the wasps had not yet reached but the ones they had reached were being devoured before my very eyes. 

I fear I’ve lost the rest. A plague of wasps.  A real sting in the tale.

So beware. When the Son is shining strongest, and the sweetness is rising in you – don’t forget the armour of God or you could be devoured, or at least stung.