Golden Blackberry Mornings

Sometimes I think things with a limited season serves to make us appreciate our lives, the cycle of life and death and the joys of things that make the seasons special. They make us slow down and take notice and enjoy the day.

Today I am talking about blackberry season. For readers on the east coast your blackberry picking season ended in July. When I lived back there the season was usually in its peak on the first day of summer, June 21st. I saw some people picking by Astoria High School in early September, but here at my place the berries just came into season last week. I saw them while riding my horse back home through the trails on the back end of my property.

The next evening I went out and picked two gallons. The next morning I went out and picked another two gallons. I now have enough berries to make a years worth of jam. I now go out every morning to pick berries to feed the horses and chickens. It’s not that they need the supplement, it’s the ritual of hanging a bucket strap around your neck and heading up the dew covered trail to where the berries grow.

Mornings around the wild berry patches are alive with dew covered webs and early morning birds. The silence is abbreviated by the sounds of birds and the sounds of choker horns from distant logging operations. Pigeons bounce on the cascara branches as deer browse and grouse rustle under the salal. It is a time when one can see their breath dissipate in the autumn scented air.

There is a sound of the berries hitting the bottom of the bucket that muffles more and more with each hand full. There are thorns that pierce the denim as one over-reaches for those big berries just nearly close enough to pick.

Two gallons of picking is just enough. By the time I pick two gallons I can already smell the warmth of the day coming on. The dew starts to dry and my hands are stained purple as in my tongue from the occasional samples that must be taken for quality control.

When I come down from the hill the horses meet me at the gate and the chickens run in their fenced yard to get as close to me as possible seemingly demanding my attention and their cut of the bounty. I do not disappoint.

These blackberry mornings are golden. Sadly from what I see I will have at best only five more mornings like it this year before the berries will all be gone. Soon my mornings will be spent dodging rain and wind while doing my chores which makes these golden blackberry mornings even more precious.