I am thinking about when I was a kid, and we would pick the berries at my soon-to-be step-father’s house- eating a good percentage of them and getting our hands, clothes, and faces purple.
I am thinking about when I would walk back and forth to school and stop to eat blackberries in a vacant lot- not minding too much if I accidentally ate a bug inside- not really understanding why adults did not like them.
Thinking about all the blackberry jelly my grandparents have made from their vine in their yard and how good it tasted.
Thinking about “Still Life with Woodpecker” and how I moved into a house in a ravine completely surrounded by blackberries and feeling a little like the woman in this book.
Thinking about all the time I have spent using a machete and pruners trying to keep them under control. Thinking about how Tom had a blackberry thorn go through his glove, his skin and into his finger joint, and how his finger swelled, and how he will never have the same ring size on that finger again.
Thinking about how a couple spend significant money hiring us and our goat to eat the blackberries growing on their property where they are hoping to build their home.
Thinking about how much our goats and sheep love to eat the leaves of these plants- how they are like candy to them. Thinking about how much the bird like the berries too.
Wondering about the native blackberries and if they will survive in competition with the European plants.
Thinking about the amazing blackberry wine aged three years we had at a wine tasting last Friday- how it was one of the best wines I have ever tasted.
Think about drinking blackberry liqueur made from wild blackberries and vodka and given to us by Alta for keeping her ewes extra time during the snowstorms. Thinking about how I drank it and watched the inauguration balls and got tipsy.
Wondering about if there are others areas of the world where there is such a love/hate relationship with this particular plant.