ON PICKING BERRIES
I spent some time a-berrying,
This pleasant July morn,
And found myself compary-ing
My run-ins with the thorn.
The blueberry ’tis a gentle bush,
Its branches smooth and spineless.
And if you need give them a push,
You’ll get your berries painless.
The raspberry, now, ’tis a bit more tough,
Its prickles middling bitchy.
Reach on in for fruit enough,
You’ll wind up tol’rable itchy.
The blackberry, tho’s, a vicious cuss,
All hooks and barbs right wicked.
And after all that bloody fuss,
You’ll wonder WHO got pickéd!
But snag or scrape or stinging scratch,
I really can’t complain-o.
For when I start to eat my catch,
B’Jove, it’s worth the pain-o!
Not Keats, perhaps, but it sums up my thoughts pretty nicely if I do say so myself.
The Port Stands At Your Elbow 
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July 19, 2009 at 5:25 pm
Boy Named Sous
Amen.
GRowing up in SOuthern Oregon, blackberries were my Drug of Choice. BLueberries, strawberries, raspberries and the like you had to go to the store and buy. But blackberries grow like weeds (and are indeed classified as such), and anyone can pick them in any of the places they (over)grow. To this day, my favorite dessert of all times is a simple blackberry cobbler.