Growing up in Pennsylvania, yards, fields, and other open spaces were overrun by dandelions and a large broad-leafed plant which we called "doc." In Seattle, we have far fewer dandelions. We have the equisetum, the always pernicious English ivy, and blackberries. Blackberries, unlike any of the others, are a great problem to have.
This year has been unseasonably cold. I mean, we've broken 80 a few times, but only for a matter of hours total throughout the summer. Personally I don't mind at all, though it has slowed the ripening of the blackberries. They hang green in large clusters, teasing the patient pickers.
On Friday of last week I was making a trip to Lowe's. I live at the top of the hill, and Lowe's is at the bottom, so I opted for walking over my beloved public transit. I've been keeping a list of blackberry spots and checking their progress. A Lowe's trip has me walking past two of my documented locations.
As I walk past the one, I notice the residents have trimmed the bushes back. They're there, but many berries died. Though it was the responsible thing to do, it makes me sad. At the second spot, dozens of bushes growing on and hanging from trees creates a large green wall, as lush as any rain forest but well within Seattle city limits. A few berries have pink cheeks, an encouraging sign of development. Suddenly something catches my eye - could it be?
The world around me collapses, as I see a deep, nigh-black berry. It's that irresistible shade of purple. Yes, it's there. The first of the season. I can hardly keep from whimpering in my excitement.
I reach out and take hold of the berry. A bit firm still, but it's early (for this year). I need only give it a small tug to release it from it's faunal shackles, at which point it is immediately sentenced to death by mastication, followed shortly by a guttural burial.
Oh delicious berry. Being early, it was not overwhelmingly sweet, but the flavor was still remarkable. It made me want to eat more, even if that meant eating what was green. Fortunately I resisted. The berry, ironically enough, reminded me more of the blackberry tones I would expect from a Pinot Noir than an actual blackberry, which is a beautiful thing.
Yesterday, on my way to the laundromat, I again passed the blackberry barricade, which this time contained far more ripe berries. Some were spectacular, while others were merely delicious. I caught myself on a few thorns, but ultimately that was worth it.
Growing up in Pennsylvania, yards, fields, and other open spaces were overrun by dandelions and a large broad-leafed plant which we called "doc." In Seattle, we have far fewer dandelions. We have the equisetum, the always pernicious English ivy, and blackberries. Blackberries, unlike any of the others, are a great problem to have.
This year has been unseasonably cold. I mean, we've broken 80 a few times, but only for a matter of hours total throughout the summer. Personally I don't mind at all, though it has slowed the ripening of the blackberries. They hang green in large clusters, teasing the patient pickers.
On Friday of last week I was making a trip to Lowe's. I live at the top of the hill, and Lowe's is at the bottom, so I opted for walking over my beloved public transit. I've been keeping a list of blackberry spots and checking their progress. A Lowe's trip has me walking past two of my documented locations.
As I walk past the one, I notice the residents have trimmed the bushes back. They're there, but many berries died. Though it was the responsible thing to do, it makes me sad. At the second spot, dozens of bushes growing on and hanging from trees creates a large green wall, as lush as any rain forest but well within Seattle city limits. A few berries have pink cheeks, an encouraging sign of development. Suddenly something catches my eye - could it be?
The world around me collapses, as I see a deep, nigh-black berry. It's that irresistible shade of purple. Yes, it's there. The first of the season. I can hardly keep from whimpering in my excitement.
I reach out and take hold of the berry. A bit firm still, but it's early (for this year). I need only give it a small tug to release it from it's faunal shackles, at which point it is immediately sentenced to death by mastication, followed shortly by a guttural burial.
Oh delicious berry. Being early, it was not overwhelmingly sweet, but the flavor was still remarkable. It made me want to eat more, even if that meant eating what was green. Fortunately I resisted. The berry, ironically enough, reminded me more of the blackberry tones I would expect from a Pinot Noir than an actual blackberry, which is a beautiful thing.
Yesterday, on my way to the laundromat, I again passed the blackberry barricade, which this time contained far more ripe berries. Some were spectacular, while others were merely delicious. I caught myself on a few thorns, but ultimately that was worth it.
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