A bumper crop of blackberries

Our bed and breakfast is named after brambleberries, which is what the Scottish call blackberries or any berries with briars.

Not that we’re superstitious or anything, but in summer of 2007 which was our first year of business, there was a huge blackberry crop failure. We couldn’t help wonder if that was an omen.

This year, we’re happy to report, that we’ve never seen a more prolific crop of rubus allegheniensis, otherwise known as the blackberries. We’ve had lots of rain this season, resulting in plenty of moisture for the wild crop. And like every other crop this year, the season started about two weeks ahead of schedule and as of this writing, Aug. 1, we guess the crop has already peaked, but there are a few weeks of picking left.

This prolific plant covers our hardwood forests; particularly where livestock aren't as prevalent and where timber logging has left openings. We harvest the berries to eat fresh, make jams and also wines. We have a port-style blackberry wine that was bottled earlier this spring that shows exceptional promise.

Here are some recollections from Chris about blackberry picking:

The challenge in hunting blackberries comes not as much from the chase but in conquering the tangled mass of thorns and briars in the quest to find the juicy, purplish-black berries. And best of all, they're absolutely free.

Summers on the farm are always a busy time, with plenty of hay to harvest and other chores to be completed. But growing up here, we always found time for at least a day or two of serious blackberry picking, usually sandwiched between the second and third cuttings of hay.

The premium berry patch when I was a kid some 35 years ago was on a homestead plot owned by my great aunt and uncle. Much of the 160 acres was woodland that was overrun by blackberries, but the premium patch was on the property's border, accessible only by an overgrown logging road through the woods.

We had an old Jeep that could make the journey, but we also had a '55 Ford or something in that vintage. All I remember was big tail fins, a musty interior, no exhaust and no brakes. We rode in style.

Supposedly blackberry vines can live for 25 years or more. This patch had towering vines, many that were at least an inch thick. It was a dense thicket of both pain and pleasure, as one had to battle the sharp briars in order to get at the berries, which were the size of my thumb.

Dressed in thick jeans and long-sleeved flannel shirts and armed with empty ice cream pails, we tromped into the patch to do battle. As a young kid I ate way more berries than what went into the bottom of the pail, as was evidenced by the stain of purple around my mouth.

My grandfather Keith made a harness out of twine that put his berry bucket about chest high, freeing up both hands to pick. Grandpa was a berry picking machine and would return often to the car, emptying his pail into the smaller quart-size berry baskets, stopping long enough for a swig of water before heading back into the patch.

By that time I had long grown tired of berry picking and would take a nap in the car or sit under a nearby shade tree. The time would pass painfully slow, as it always does when you're young, and I'd wait as patiently as I could for the rest of the crew to finish for the day. How I long for those long days now when the seasons and the years seem to pass too quickly.

Eventually the pails would be full or arms and fingers would be too sore or scratched to continue and we'd call it a day. The patch never seemed empty though and sometimes we'd return a couple of days later to harvest more of the berries, as they sweetened under the hot summer sun.

There are still berries on that farm, but the patch has become a memory, like many of the pickers I loved so well. Every blackberry season brings back fond memories of those pickers, the old Ford and what seemed like simpler times.

Sherry has made almost daily trips in to the woods to pick berries, which are served fresh to our guests. The time for eating fresh berries is waning, but we’ll look forward to blackberry jam or a sip of blackberry wine in the cold of the winter to remind us of the summer days in the berry patch.

We hope this year’s bountiful blackberry harvest is a sign of good times to come!