Raspberries galore

My good friend M. called and asked if I would join her to my old place. They had stopped by there and noticed that the raspberry bushes were just drooping of berries and all of them ripe and ready to be picked. For a change I felt fine and ready to go. (I am not always ready to go.) While she was picking the berries I sat in a garden chair and said that this is the way old rickety women should be taken care of, drive them to their old place, sit them in the shade, and have a nice chat.
EXTRA.  My old stable door. Some poor sweet tiny oak plants that have taken root on almost bare rock.