Thimbleberry

On Friday the family had our pictures taken at the Bellevue Botanical Gardens, and before the photographer arrived we picnicked in the grass.  I couldn't believe how well Jordan got around on her crutches.  It was her first big walk since the accident, and she crutched over hill and dale without complaint, though I know it must have been tough for her.  She can bend her knee now but can't bear any weight on it.

Henry had a good time as well, he likes to point at people's dogs or birds that he sees and holler at them, and the Gardens proved a good spot for that.

The photographer was very nice and competent, and from the pictures on her website she seems to do a very good job.  My sense of her is that she didn't go to art school or get a lot of training, but has probably just taken a whole lot of pictures and come up with her own sense of style.  She reminded me of an argument I had with a friend of mine this week.  We were arguing about cooking, supposedly, but really we were arguing about All Of Life.

I said that I'm a good cook, because the food I make tastes good.  She said that if I was really a good cook, I'd be able to cook anything, including more difficult dishes.  If a guy serves me pudding, I say, "nice pudding", if a guy serves her pudding, she says, "so you can't make flan?"  I didn't realize it at the time we were arguing (I just thought she was being annoying -- let me say I'm a good cook, lady, what do you care?), but we were really debating Results vs. Technique.  I said good food comes from good cooks, she said good cooks have great skills.  What strikes me in retrospect is that obviously both of these statements are true.  Both of these facts form a feedback loop.  We cook, we get good results, so we cook again, getting a little better each time.  If we get to a certain level, and we still like it, maybe we go to cooking school and spend a week just dicing onions, but in general we don't practice technique apart from getting results, and we don't get results without gradually improving our technique.  

So when can I actually say I'm a good cook?  When can our photographer say she's a professional?  When is Jordan an expert on crutches?  Well... when we get good results.  I'm still right!  But with the caveat that we must keep improving, so we can always say "yeah, I used to think I was good, but lately I realize that now I'm really good."  

On the other hand, entropy: everything is gradually breaking down all the time, such as thimbleberries.

Thimbleberry

Rubus parviflorus

Family rosaceae (rose)

For pure sweetness, I've never tasted any better berry than thimbleberry.  They're close relatives of raspberries, and taste similar, but with less tartness, less moisture, and more sugar.  They fruit in early summer in the Northwest, and the ones at the Bellevue Botanical Gardens have already passed their prime.  First the salmon berries come and go, then the thimbleberries.  Then the black berries.  Henry gets older too.  I want time to get better at being his dad, but nature doesn't give time, it just rolls right on.  Here's Henry now, let's see what he has to say: kklku8luuqs8uqw8u

I think that means I better go play with him, while I have the chance.  Here's what a thimbleberry ought to look like:

--Tim and Henry 8/22/11