The Write-In: 'Foraging Rules' by Rachel Burrows #nffd2026
Much like Monopoly pieces, favourite items chosen repeatedly granted ownership – I was the dog and the big white Tupperware jug. My hand was barely large enough to fit around the handle but it’s the one I was plonked on a rock with as the others scoured the hedges. I was the receiver of the decanted. As quickly as they picked, I consumed and greeted my Sisypheans with purple-stained delight and encouragement. And after many thumbed-pricked hours, not trusted with the load this close to wine, we both would get carried back home.
My sister is making pancakes in the big white jug. I haven’t thought about it for years.
‘How come you’ve got that?’ I ask. I know Dad got custody of it in the divorce – but I hadn’t seen it when we cleared his house.
‘It was by his bedside when they found him,’ she says. ‘I knew then it wasn’t suicide. You wouldn’t take a sick bowl to bed…’
‘But how come you took it?’
‘Because it’s Dad. Alive. It’s mushrooms and gorse, blackberries and wine.’
She’s totally ignoring the rules! Or is this just revenge?
