Picking black berries is a tricky business. The vines grab your
skin and clothes and won't let go. It seems that the fattest and blackest
berries are always hidden deep in the center of the patch. I keep after
them because I have this image in my mind of home made ice cream
smothered in syrupy black berries. I'm careful to maintain my balance
when I'm reaching for those berries that are hardest to get at because
if I fall into the vines I won't be able to extricate myself unassisted and
I don't know if Dorothy loves me enough to risk getting herself caught
in there with me. That would require a 911 call.
As you can see the thorns are unmerciful. After picking the berries
it's necessary to pick the thorns from your skin.
After we picked that patch clean we drove the truck around
the pasture looking for more bushes. Then we walked down
to the creek for the first time this summer. It's flowing but
not at the usual level. Looks like another drought is upon us.
The swimming hole is still deep enough for the grand kids to play in.
All those thorns and bleeding for
this bowl of berries. Each picking will yield
more and when I'm eating my first bowl
of black berry cobbler I'll forget about
all the trouble.