Pickin’ and Grinnin’

We used to pick wild blackberries with our cousins, pool them and hand them off to our grandma, who baked them into the most amazing pies.

I didn’t love blackberry picking — it’s hard, scratchy, slow, mosquito-swatting work. But, I did love my cousins and our grandma and the thick, sweet pies she fed us.

I also loved Colver, Pennsylvania and the magical woods that surrounded it.

That’s where we gathered in the summer, on a street called 20 Row, in a green house up the road from the coal mine that smelled of sulphur and fascinated us kids.

My grandma’s pies stood as resolutely as she did. You could take your substantial slice to go, rest it on a napkin and nibble it as you took it for a stroll. Grandma’s pies never ran.

I thought about all of this as I picked my way through our prickly woods this weekend.

I wanted to find some raspberries for breakfast and I thought I knew where a few bushes grew. We always have to race the deer to our berries, because the deer live here 24/7 and we only come up on the weekends. They know where all the good spots are, too, and they tell all their friends.

We’ve noticed a bumper crop of deer this year, so my odds weren’t that great.

I tempered expectations as I headed out.

“It’s a nice morning for a walk anyway,” I said.

Happily, I found a ton of both raspberry and blackberry bushes. They stretched from the walking path into the deep woods. Had I dressed better and brought along a pinch more ambition, I might have picked enough for a pie.

As it was, I picked a breakfast bowlful before the vines wrapped themselves around my legs like characters in a Grimm’s fairytale and I decided, as I carefully plucked them out of my poor, defenseless leggings (Cuddl Duds indeed!), that I shouldn’t be greedy.

Also, I was starting to sweat.

I returned triumphant, berry bowl held aloft, and my husband Vince dutifully applauded. He also gave me a plate of pancakes to display my haul and, because Vince always sneaks chocolate into my pancakes, I enjoyed an especially delicious breakfast.

It tasted almost as good as my grandma’s blackberry pie.

Wild berries grow deep roots and the ones I picked this weekend stretched all the way to Colver.

Such a worthwhile morning stroll!