PICKING BLACKBERRIES IS STILL A BLOOD SPORT

THE BLACKBERRY PATCH

THE THORNS

THE BLACKBERRIES

THE BLOOD

Thursday,  8:30 AM.  59 degrees F, wind N, very light.  The sky is clear except for a band of white clouds low on the southeastern horizon.  The humidity is quite high at 89%, but the barometer is trending higher at 30.28".  It will be another fantastic day.
   We are going down to my deer stand to cut firewood left by the loggers. Joan insists on accompanying me and I sure don't mind.  I plan to walk down the logging trail with Buddy to look for grouse, and Joan will follow far behind with the truck.  We'll see if there are any grouse out and about (it isn't hunting season yet, just a trial run) and cut wood until I get tired of it.  If I am ambitious I will split the morning's cutting in the afternoon.

   Yesterday we picked blackberries at Andy and Judy's abandoned farm.  It was tedious work and I had enough after picking two quarts.  The berry patches are untended and overgrown and hard to navigate, but were loaded with berries.  I didn't have to challenge any bears, as I am sure we all made so much commotion none were interested in staying around, even if they had been around.  Actually, I didn't see any fresh bear sign, as the Larsen's have been picking berries as well.   Buddy charged around making a lot of dog noise.  But I considered myself lucky not to have been stung by one of the many white-faced hornets that were feeding on the ripe fruit.  I guess they were as concentrated on their task as I was on mine, and we managed to co-exist.

   The berries, like everything else, are late this year and had been stunted in size until the recent rains.  They are just now ripening and haven't gained their usual full flavor, but are good nonetheless.  Use the blog search engine to see the dates the berries were ripe other years.There will be berries to pick for another week or ten days at least and we will come back again to  pick more for the freezer.
   Judy bakes a mean blackberry pie in a Dutch oven nestled in the campfire coals, and I may have to pay my dues in picked berries to get some (with ice cream from Tetzner's Dairy, please).

   We don't think the berry patches are native, but rather  are remnants of a berry farm venture of fifty or sixty years ago, and I have no idea what variety they may be.  The brambles are wickedly thorny and grasp at clothing and tear at bare flesh and it is quite easy to become almost hopelessly ensnared in the berry patch. 

      Picking blackberries is indeed a blood sport, the blood being that of the berry picker.  But it is well worth the sacrifice when the first forkful of that scrumptious, still-warm-from-the-oven blackberry pie is lifted to one's lips.