Saturday, June 21, 2008
Summer Zen....and blackberries
Although I am generally reluctant to A.) get up early (before 10:30 am) on Saturday mornings and B.) go outside, one summer activity compels me to do both: picking fruit at a local orchard. There is a lovely family-run orchard just south of town and I've been a customer for quite a few years. When I heard that blackberries were (FINALLY!) in season, I had to set the alarm and make it out there.
By the time I got up, got legs shaved (it was bad....seriously), got my coffee and got out there, I was pretty sure I'd be "late". I was right. Despite the fact that the peaches were well picked-over, I like being out in the trees. It wasn't too hot today and there was a nice breeze. I asked about tomatoes and got a worried face from the folks at the stand. "We've been completely run over today....you can go out and see if there's anything left to pick, but it might not be worth your time." So I skipped the tomatoes.
What I would NOT skip, no matter what the faces looked like were the blackberries. I love blackberries and I love picking them. The wild blackberries in our yard are just barely getting ripe, so I had reasonable expectations for theirs. When I went to the area where the blackberries are, I again got a pained look when I announced my intent to pick. Undeterred, I went to the far patch and started on the last row. Generally a good strategy. Not today. I "inspected" the row and didn't get a single berry. So I went to the much closer patch and started in. After about 40 minutes, I had not quite a half quart. Satisfied that this would be about all I'd get, I went back to the stand. There were MANY large bright red berries, which means blackberries later this week. There were also a lot of green berries and even still some blooms. All good signs.
I learned about blackberry picking from my Nana when I was quite small. Nana had blackberries. I hesitate to say "she had a blackberry bush because, well, it was almost as tall as a minivan and "bush" doesn't quite describe it. It was a big bramble-y mess. The fruit from it was divine. More than her tomatoes (which I still dream about), more than the tiny lima beans she grew just for she and I (and which I shall never see the likes of again), I loved Nana's blackberries. The birds and I would get a lot of the outside fruit, but Nana knew how to pick.
The trick is to get low and look up into the brambles, under the leaves. Not to hurriedly be looking for the "prize berry", but to just let your eyes relax and look at the plant. Then you'll see one deep in. You can't just reach in and get those unless your skin is made from teflon and cast iron. Even tame varieties of blackberries can have vicious thorns. Once you spot "your berry", you look to see what is in your way. Using the leaves, you carefully pull branches up, apart and over to expose it. When it's mostly safe, you carefully reach in and gently pick it. Both those are critical. "Carefully" protects your skin from the inevitable thorns and gently keeps you from knocking the berry onto the ground instead of getting it. All the while, you keep gazing. Not searching, but gazing. After all, if your arm is IN the thorns, why not get one more. Getting too many in one hand puts you in danger of crushing what you have. The more ripe they are, the easier that happens.
Mom never liked Nana and I diving into the blackberries. If Nana was going to brave the thorns and show me how to do this, the least I could do is follow along. And after all, blackberries are worth the time, trouble and pain. So today, using what I know, I picked blackberries. Hot bright sun (you'll miss ripe berries if you're wearing shades), nice breeze, well-organized blackberry patch. No, I didn't pick many for the time I spent, but it was well worth the effort. Besides, I got to scope the field, talk to the orchard owner and have a plan to come back later. EARLIER, but later this week....
By the time I got up, got legs shaved (it was bad....seriously), got my coffee and got out there, I was pretty sure I'd be "late". I was right. Despite the fact that the peaches were well picked-over, I like being out in the trees. It wasn't too hot today and there was a nice breeze. I asked about tomatoes and got a worried face from the folks at the stand. "We've been completely run over today....you can go out and see if there's anything left to pick, but it might not be worth your time." So I skipped the tomatoes.
What I would NOT skip, no matter what the faces looked like were the blackberries. I love blackberries and I love picking them. The wild blackberries in our yard are just barely getting ripe, so I had reasonable expectations for theirs. When I went to the area where the blackberries are, I again got a pained look when I announced my intent to pick. Undeterred, I went to the far patch and started on the last row. Generally a good strategy. Not today. I "inspected" the row and didn't get a single berry. So I went to the much closer patch and started in. After about 40 minutes, I had not quite a half quart. Satisfied that this would be about all I'd get, I went back to the stand. There were MANY large bright red berries, which means blackberries later this week. There were also a lot of green berries and even still some blooms. All good signs.
I learned about blackberry picking from my Nana when I was quite small. Nana had blackberries. I hesitate to say "she had a blackberry bush because, well, it was almost as tall as a minivan and "bush" doesn't quite describe it. It was a big bramble-y mess. The fruit from it was divine. More than her tomatoes (which I still dream about), more than the tiny lima beans she grew just for she and I (and which I shall never see the likes of again), I loved Nana's blackberries. The birds and I would get a lot of the outside fruit, but Nana knew how to pick.
The trick is to get low and look up into the brambles, under the leaves. Not to hurriedly be looking for the "prize berry", but to just let your eyes relax and look at the plant. Then you'll see one deep in. You can't just reach in and get those unless your skin is made from teflon and cast iron. Even tame varieties of blackberries can have vicious thorns. Once you spot "your berry", you look to see what is in your way. Using the leaves, you carefully pull branches up, apart and over to expose it. When it's mostly safe, you carefully reach in and gently pick it. Both those are critical. "Carefully" protects your skin from the inevitable thorns and gently keeps you from knocking the berry onto the ground instead of getting it. All the while, you keep gazing. Not searching, but gazing. After all, if your arm is IN the thorns, why not get one more. Getting too many in one hand puts you in danger of crushing what you have. The more ripe they are, the easier that happens.
Mom never liked Nana and I diving into the blackberries. If Nana was going to brave the thorns and show me how to do this, the least I could do is follow along. And after all, blackberries are worth the time, trouble and pain. So today, using what I know, I picked blackberries. Hot bright sun (you'll miss ripe berries if you're wearing shades), nice breeze, well-organized blackberry patch. No, I didn't pick many for the time I spent, but it was well worth the effort. Besides, I got to scope the field, talk to the orchard owner and have a plan to come back later. EARLIER, but later this week....
