Yesterday passed with a whimsical array of red, yellow, and orange. For I spent a majority of the twenty-four hours out upon the tundra ground. Carrying a woven wicker basket with a worn handle I walked my way across a small part of the endless Alaskan acres. I searched dilegently, my eyes darting like the quick movements of a nervous animal. Oh, but one like me, in the position I was in, had no nerves on end at all. For I was in search of a small round partical scattered carefully upon the grasses. Typically in patches, they're only ripe for but a week with good weather. So, having that knowledge in the back of my mind, I had to take full advantage while the opportunity presented itself. And although slim this year compared to others, I found what I was looking for. Salmonberries. I worked furiously a large percentage of my awakened hours to gather what I could. A mere basket full is all I could manage. But three quarters of a gallon shall make me four jars of jam.
