Blackberries: Jars Over Scars

I don’t know about you, but I always cringed when I heard blackberries were ripe for the picking.  I knew it meant we would be in the fields, picking blackberries, the next day.  Sure enough, the next morning, “before the dew had settled”, I was awaken, by my mother, with the words, “hurry up and get dressed, we need to beat the sun to the blackberries”.  Being an obedient child, I did as  instructed, hurrying to the fields to begin the task of finding and picking those “wonderful” blackberries (I say this because I have never liked the seedy texture of the berry. I do, however like it’s flavor in jellies). We took with us big buckets, and smaller buckets, made of “lard or shorting” cans.  Often, my cousins would accompany us, thus, the little buckets were reserved for our use.  Before you start thinking it could not be so bad to pick a small bucket of berries, let me assure you , we were expected to empty our little bucket into a large bucket, as a community effort to fill several large buckets to the brim.  

On blackberry jaunts, we encountered many obstacles, not the least, snakes. Even though we started early, it seemed to get hot very quickly. Finding the blackberries offered another set of misery.  They were often hiding inside the vine, waiting to attack the offending hand of the intruder.  Yes, there were many briars on the vine.   Being constantly pricked by the briars left scratches making us look as though we had been in a cat fight.  Besides being scratched like a cat, there was also the “unseen surprise”.  Hidden in the vines were wasp nests.  When interrupted, hordes of angry red wasps ascended on the group.  Although they were red wasps, they acted more like hornets, “madly flying in all directions”, stinging anything in their path.  Stings were now added to our scratches.  Thankfully, the snakes ran from us, instead of adding bites to the already injured, blackberry pickers. Needless to say, neither wasps, snakes or briars deterred us from the task before us …. and we picked onward, taking it all in strides.

Now, my memory should become more pleasant, right?  Not so … there was still juicing to be done.  Our hands were already stained, so we jumped right into mashing and straining the berries, in cheese cloth.  It was necessary to extract the juice to make jelly.  My hands continued to turn a strange blue, as I squeezed and mashed the “wonderful” fruit.  What a day … snakes, briars, wasps, hot sun and stains …and all I could think was “is jelly worth this torture?” The answer was always, “NO.  Now … this is only a memory.  I buy my blackberry jelly off the shelf of the grocery store … I think it taste better!

 If you have never picked blackberries, I feel sorry for you.  Sorry that you missed the black stained hands, the stings from red wasps, the hours in the field, and let us not forget, the hot summer sun. If you have picked blackberries, you already have these wonderful memories!

Source: K. P. Guessen