I just read a news story that literally made me shudder as I read it. As a society we are becoming numb to the headlines that stream across our favorite news sources. Much of it is tabloid material. Michael Jackson acting wierd again, who is Tom Cruise hooking up with now and is she, or will she become a scientologist? Who really cares. But every once in a while you read a story that really hit you to the core. The headline speaks for itself:
Blackberry Fungus Enters U.S., Hits Oregon
That is right. A fungus not native to our lands is threatening the blackberry population in the pacific northwest. I guess I should explain that blackberries have played an important role in my families history and culture. Not only did my parents grow up picking and eating the little black beauties, but so did I and my siblings. Every summer my father would organize a "hunt", claiming that while going out to check on the plot of land he owned, he witnessed the perfect hunting ground for the wild blackberry. He's been hunting long enough to know that a clearing in the woods created by logging takes about 10-12 years to properly mature enough to provide the perfect conditions for the wild blackberry: plenty of sunlight (relative, of course. It's the pacific northwest afterall), and many fallen logs for the vines to creap around in and drape their berries over. There are a few things I learned about wild blackberry picking.
* The best berries are always in the hardest to reach areas
* Picking on someones private property merely ads to the excitement of the hunt.
* Don't confuse wild blackberries with the blad tasting, bigger look-alikes that grow on the side of the road. Definitely no the same. Why? See first bullet point.
* If you drop your bucket once in a day it will always happen when the bucket is full.
Returning from the hunt usually involves some reward of ice cream or something - usually accompanied by replaying the events of the day. "Boy I wish I could'a gotten to that patch behind that log!" "You should'a seen your face as you were falling backwards!!" "Do you think my fingers will be permanently stained?" "I'm gonna be sore."
Returning home with the loot I remember my grandmother praising a job well done and very carefully taking the berries and immediately starting work on a pie. I recall sometimes she already be working on it. But it was my grandfathers reaction that was most satisfying. Only a fellow hunter could understand the involuntary reaction that took place - just the mere sight of the berries and his mouth would start watering. But again, berry picking is not about instant gratification the berries taste better if the consumer has endured a certain amount of pain and waiting. When we were finally ready to eat the pie, it was custom to allow my grandfather to take the first bite. This was important not only because it showed respect as the patriarch of the family, but for even more practical reason. You see, what makes the wild blackberry special is its distinctive tart and tangy taste which could be measured in the involuntary flare of my grandfathers nostrils as he ate. That's right. If the nostrils flared, we knew it was a good pie. Now I don't recall my grandfather's nostrils NOT flaring, but I still watched attentively in anticipation, like throwing out the first pitch in a baseball game. And boy what a good game it was.