Blackberry Patches

[Ashlyn Robello]

Thereason is simple. Blackberry bushes produce food. We've been told of the lean times our parents went through. We were told to clean our plates. So what if each year our blackberry patches expand a little? That's a few more quarts of berries next year. That's good, right? What if the economy fails? We can eat more blackberries.

Fifteen years ago (or more) I put in a blackberry patch. One row of plants. I put black plastic at the edges of the patch, and some bark chips on that to keep it from expanding. It was surrounded by lawn. But any self-respecting blackberry bush can push up new shoots through plastic, wood chips or not. Piece of cake. And mowing? Well, those thorny canes leaned out, keeping me away. Every year the row widened. And widened. This year it got to be 10 feet wide and I recently declared war.

We couldn't get into the middle of the patch without the Rescue Squad waiting to give us transfusions. But now I'm getting it under control. Here's how I'm winning the war. I dedicate half an hour EVERY day (unless raining) to working on the patch. I put on a canvas jacket, heavy jeans, and don heavy leather work gloves, the kind you use for moving firewood or cement blocks. I put on a baseball cap to protect my eyes, face and balding pate.

Using my Felco by-pass pruners, I start at the edges, cutting everything right to the ground. Young plants I pull out by the roots, along with the bush honeysuckles that were planted by the birds. The patch, which was 50 feet long and 10 feet wide when I started, had not been cleaned up properly in a number of years. I've been narrowing the patch on each side by about 3 feet.

Blackberries produce on canes (thorny stems) that grew the year before. After a cane produces, it dies. So at this time of year it is easy to see what produced this year, and what will produce next year. I can tell by the color of the canes: this year's canes, the ones that gave us berries, are brown to gray; next year's canes are red, reddish-green, or green.

I've also learned how to contain the patch. I have already installed a wire trellising system on one side of the patch, and will do so on the other when I finish the job of cutting back the plants. The system keeps the canes from leaning out, so I really WILL be able to mow right up to the edge of the plants without being sliced up.

The Gripple Trellising system, which I got from Gardener's Supply (1-800-427-3363 or www.gardeners.com), is, as one Vermonter I know likes to say, "Slick as a bean." It consists of a plastic "wire" and self-tightening fasteners. I installed it by looping the wire around a post and through a fastener, and then walked to the other end of the patch, paying out wire. I looped around the post and through another fastener. A tug on the free end of the wire, and it tightened right up.

When the patch is all cleaned up I'll spread some Pro-Gro organic fertilizer on top of the soil to replace soil minerals that have been used up over the years. It's a slow release fertilizer that won't wash away, the way most chemical fertilizers would.

Blackberries, or weeds, usually win out over gardeners because they are out there, doing their job every day: growing. We gardeners are usually determined, but too easily distracted. To beat the plants, we've got to be ruthless and at it every day. And when it comes to blackberries, I've got to stop thinking about how many fewer berries I'll have next year. I know I won't starve, no matter how many I cut down or pull out.

I am growing up with my brother, Rex, and my Mom in Gram's house. A couple of aunts and an uncle are still living at home. Uncle John's announcement signals the rounding up of buckets and pans to hold the regal (as well as delicious) purple berries. From sand pails to galvanized scrub buckets, we head out. But buckets with bails are best. We can hang them over our forearms and "milk" the berries into them with both hands. We are about to enjoy a WILD harvest. The garden near the house provides currants, strawberries, and red raspberries, but nature alone gives the sharp tasting, imperial blackberry its marvelous taste.

This morning as I walked the dog, I notice the blackberries along the road and driveway are turning a rich red, easing into the dark purple black that proclaims, "It's blackberry picking time." I am transported back to my first adult blackberry picking expedition. I tuck light weight jeans into high socks, and locate sturdy shoes. Mom's light cotton, long sleeved shirt and old gloves with the fingertips removed complete my just-right costume for blackberry picking. These precautions prevent unwanted scratches from thorns from penetrating flesh. Before Deet(tm), we would bathe our remaining exposed skin in citronella oil, repelling ticks and chiggers, whose bites would spoil the hunt. Hats protected our head and eyes. We were then ready to begin the steep hike up the gas line, to the clearing, bathed in the hot summer sun, which was the blackberry patch.

On the way, I am teased by the family myth. "If you smell cucumbers in the berry patch, it means there is a snake nearby. Watch your step." I am hyper vigilant. What a grand time we had". Woods in summer exude the aroma of green grass, dry leaves, honeysuckle, wild olives, a wild rose, and the fresh smell and soothing sound of a spring bubbling over rocks in an unseen hollow.

As we scatter around the patch, I hear the ting, ting, plop, plop of the delicious, plump berries hitting the bottoms of buckets. Soon it is only muffled sounds. Later, an almost eerie silence as each member of the picking party becomes lost in thought as they methodically clean plant after plant of nature's largesse. Aunt Ann entertains romantic visions of Bernie coming to call for the evening's date. I dream of jelly and hot berry pie that will be served on the porch after dinner. Maybe Aunt Betty will run to Isaly's Dairy for a quart of hand-packed vanilla ice cream.

At five or six on my first berry picking trip, as I dream I drift from bush to bush picking a berry here and a berry there, sniffing constantly for cucumbers. Uncle John teases, "You are such a butterfly, flitting from bush to bush. Stay put and pick enough at least for your morning cereal." I really try to do better, but the berries on the next bush always look much better--bigger, plumper and easier to reach. The others fill their buckets. I manage a pint in my sand pail; I've eaten a quart straight off the bushes.

I don't recall the trip down the hill or helping wash all the berries, or stirring the hot jam until it was ready to pour into jars. Aunt Maisey rolled the pastry crust. She was the best pastry maker. I can still taste that first piece of fresh blackberry pie a'la mode and Gram's homemade bread straight from the oven slathered in butter, jelly dripping down my arms.

For more blackberry lore try: Blackberry-Picking from OPENED GROUND:SELECTED POEMS 1966-1996 BY SEAMUS HEANEY. COPYRIGHT C1998 , Seamus Heaney. Heaney grew up in Derry County, Ireland. He won the Nobel Prize in 1995.

Tlingit Berry Picking Song Berry picking Song published by Ivy Joseph August 16, 2012, and provided to YouTube by Ingrooves Berry Picking Song. Rikshi & Crane Published on March 23, 2016. From British Columbia

The wild berry harvest, according to iTalaina Johnn, is an important part of the lives of the Sta'ti'mc First Nation in Canada.. We are raised to take care of and respect the berry bushes just as we would any other living thing. I hope this show helps children recognize berries and their names.

Late August means the blackberry bushes are once again heavy laden with bubbly, juicy fruit. Picking before the rains come is what you want to do. A pail and a desire to wander through the woods is all you need for a Sierra berry picking adventure.

A turn just before Quincy, up Hwy 89, leads to more blackberry heaven near Lake Almanor or around Butt Lake. The drive just gets more beautiful and offers several more prime picking spots along the Feather River. You can also take a little detour at Taylorsville and hunt along Indian Creek as well. If your final destination lies beyond Quincy further up Hwy 70, fret not, for the waterways along this route are lined with berry patches as well. Whether you roam toward Portola and Beckwourth or down into Sierra County, fat juicy blackberries await.

The giant stickery bushes that take over fields are either Himalayan blackberries (from Armenia) or frilly evergreen blackberries (from Eurasia). Mowing these aliens sets them back only a little. Digging up their roots will work, but only if you keep checking for years. Penning a herd of hungry goats on top of them might help. To completely defeat alien blackberries in Oregon, you pretty much have to plant a Douglas-fir forest. Deep shade kills the vines.

The rate of bubbling in the airlock tells you how fast things are fermenting. Do not bottle the wine early, even if the bubbles slow down. Wait at least three months. I can vouch that a single exploded bottle of blackberry wine can turn an entire basement into a disaster area.

It turns out, many people like to talk to blackberry foragers. Maybe they are reminiscing about their own past pickings, they just love juicy blackberries, or as I most suspect, they are happy that someone else is enduring the sporadic pain. When they see or hear me, they often have an urge to speak.

On the 40+ acres where we spend most of our weekends, we have wild blackberry bushes. Last year, I planned to pick fresh blackberries at the peak of their ripeness and make cobbler, one of my favorite desserts. In our neck of the north Florida woods, blackberries peak in June. Throughout the spring I walked around the property, watching as the berries turned from green in March to red in April to black in May. By the beginning of June, little black corpuscles grew into shiny clusters of ball-bearing-sized berries.

On the south side of the elliptical two-acre grove, the sun was intense. The berries there were slightly better than the first patch, but some had little beetles on them that reminded me of stinkbugs. I squinted carefully before I picked, sweat beads dripping into my eyes, to make sure no bugs were getting into my colander. Even if it was a big juicy cluster, I left it alone if there was a bug on it.

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