Blackberries

We grew up picking and eating tiny wild blackberries. Not the big burly ones that grow on every roadside and vacant lot in the Northwest. These are sweet and small. They have teensy tiny seeds that are unnoticeable. For some of us it takes hours just to pick enough to cover the bottom of the bucket, but they are worth it.

Those burly guys I mentioned earlier? They would ride Harleys if they could. Tough old berries on inch wide vines that extend their arms and wrap around whatever they can reach. A tumble of thorns and berries like the snakes on Medusa's head.

Those live in our yard, along the bluff and up the sides a bit. But guess what? I am attacking them and they are beginning to dwindle. I know I'm having the best of summers, if I actually get out the loppers and pruners. There is something fully rewarding about clearing a patch of overgrown land. No, not like the pioneers. More like machete wielding fun a la "Romancing the Stone". Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner. She smiles like crazy when she realizes that even a city wimp can whack weeds. That's me. A crazed grin and pure glee.

Watch for pictures soon. So, I'm off to scare those berry vines into leaping off the bluff! (Actually they will be properly carted away and mulched to death.)

Love you all. Me(g)