So, about those raspberries. When we decided what to plant in this, our first-ever sizable food garden, we chose those foods we enjoy but always found too costly in the grocery. Blueberries came with the house along with plenty of blackberries and a small patch of asparagus (infested with poison ivy that took a while to eradicate root by root). We added peach trees, more asparagus, and raspberries, lots of raspberries. Later we added hazelnuts and an apricot tree.

So far the squirrels or freezes have made sure we’ve enjoyed few peaches; the apricot is too young yet. But we have enjoyed riches of berries even with drought, or, in the case of this summer, deluge.

While blueberry picking is an exercise in observation and dexterity, raspberries are altogether different. To pick raspberries you must enjoy the music of bee-song and be willing to share your space with hundreds of buzzing pollinators.

The blueberries bloom all at once and well before any harvest begins. Raspberries, on the other hand, continue blooming, sometimes right up to frost. It’s those little white flowers the bees are seeking. You see a gorgeous garnet-hued berry, reach, and realize that a bee is burrowing into the adjacent flower. The bee is intent on its own food gathering, so it is not very interested in your presence; but as I know from my childhood, a bumblebee can sting multiple times and a threatened bee can react with aggression. So the answer is peaceful co-existence.

Move slowly, deliberately, calmly. Let mutual respect set the tone of your actions. Enjoy the buzzing and humming even when it seems to be landing on your hat. Welcome the bees because they are the enablers of the harvest you are enjoying.

Often it is necessary to reach across the arching branches to access the ripe berries in the center of the row or low down a cane. Pay attention as you extend your tender arm, so as not to encounter one of your helpers. Because the bushes grow with draping branches, sometimes it is necessary to lift a branch by its forelock to reveal the ripening fruit on the underside.

Like the blueberries, one pass up or down the row won’t do. There are always more ripe fruits to find. Peer high, peer low. On some days there is a brief pause as the next round of buds set up to bloom; those days it is quieter and the annoying hum of a mosquito may dominate. But within a day or two the blooming begins again, and the bees eagerly congregate. I wonder if the nectar and the pollen they gather tastes of that luxurious raspberry flavor?

As summer ends and fall progresses, the bees can become more urgent in their feeding. Watch for yellow jackets, which are often irritable and quick to sting. We give them a wide berth; but we sympathize with all the bees — we feel the shortening days and the reduction of opportunity, too. If we are lucky with the harvest, we try to compensate by storing abundant quarts in the freezer for those winter nights when a warm crumble tasting of summer’s sun and bounty balances winter’s drear and austerity.

For now we feel wealthy with the rich flavor and color, the experience of tasting fresh raspberries with a little cream on top. All the royalty in the world don’t have it better than this.

Judy Wagner lives in Northfield.