Time To Pick The Blackberries - They're Mighty Sweet This Year

Not that you'll catch me out in the woods picking wild blackberries (bears, you know), but a very kind person called me the other night and said she had been out picking wild blackberries and would I like some. Of course you know my answer. She also brought over summer squash, potatoes, green beans, shallots & tomatoes which I didn't expect. She certainly did her good deed for the day and Maryann and I certainly did appreciate it very much. I suspect it is because of all the rain we have had, but these blackberries were very nice and sweet.

Now, of course you can stop reading here, because now you know you are about to read a blackberry story from the Old Days On Fairfield Ridge, which by the way, I may have told before.

Don't know who owned the land, but it bordered on ours and there was an abandoned road that went through it and at one time there had been a farm there, however only an old house remained. It was all wooded pasture land as it hadn't been farmed in many years, but there were acres and acres of blackberries up there, so usually during the month of August, we would pack a lunch and bring a couple of 14 quart milk pails, along with some lard pails and make a day of it picking blackberries. We all knew when we left that before we came home, those two 14 quart milk pails would definitely be filled. The biggest and sweetest berries always seemed to be in the shadiest spots, while those out in the bright sunlight were usually smaller. I have to admit that I spent a lot of time looking for those big berries and didn't spend much time out where the hot sun was.

Now, I would say, it was probably a mile or two through pastures and woods to get there, and at this time of year, many of the weeds and plants were dropping their seeds, so the pails had to be carried above them, so it would not be as big a job for mother to clean the berries afterwards. It did make for a very long day, but we all knew that mother would can the berries and we would have some delicious blackberry pies somewhere down the line. Some years of course the berries were better than others, and I remember in those years, Dad & Mother would even make sure the little lard pails were full too, before we left for home.

It was very quiet and relaxed out there in the deep woods in the 1940s, and I can't even remember thinking there might be bears out there, however, today, there is no way in hell you would get me out there picking blackberries. I can still smell my mother's blackberry pies cooling on the kitchen table.

By the way, in case you are wondering about the lard pails - They were 4 pound pails that you bought lard in: