This is a bit off topic, but I couldn’t help myself.
For anyone that grew up in rural North Carolina one of the greatest things about mid-summer to early fall has to be the wild blackberries. The Charlotte, NC suburbs are not quite in the mountains, and not quite off of them either so they are the prime growing area for blackberry bushes. You can find them just about anywhere from the local park to the side of the road or even the parking lot at your local grocery store.
Our offices were moved toward the end of last year, and in the new location there is a nice path that we can go out for a walk on and get some exercise at lunch time (I certainly need it). We’ve been walking out there for a while, watching patiently as the berries all along the side went from green to red and now finally to black.
Recently, Steve (Twitter) and I decided we would grab a bucket and pick some berries during our walk. The last time I did this I may have been 11 or 12. For me, picking berries takes me back to a time when the only thing I was worried about was how many I needed to have mom bake a pie or cobbler (or both…). Oddly I don’t remember having worried about snakes, thorns and ticks as much back then.
Maybe the perceived element of danger will make the cobbler that much sweeter this time (assuming I can figure out how to make one, or beg my wife to make it).
(Not an actual picture of our blackberry bushes, but they look the same.
Ours are bigger and yummier though.
They also have less berries since Steve and I took them.)