A Little Piece of Heaven

I made a special dessert for my son's homecoming -- a beautiful blackberry cobbler. I have no source for blackberries. Growing up, I spent many hot summer afternoons picking blackberries. I always enjoyed eating some off the vines as I filled up my bucket. The berries grew wild on our property and I would come back chigger-bit and scratched all over my arms even with long sleeves. My fingers and tongue were stained purple. My favorite get-up was my dad's red flannel shirt, his overalls, and his big rubber boots. I would clomp down the hill with a plastic ice cream pail and pick til it was full.

After my dad passed away, my cousin would come every summer and mow down the field behind my mom's house and the blackberries unfortunately, succumbed to the bush hog. So berries were few and far between in more recent years. I have lived in Wisconsin about 30 years and have picked blackberries only twice. The first time was at a friend's cabin and the berries were noteworthy. The other time was years later at another friend's home and the berries were too tiny to mess with.

When I was in Washington a few years ago, we found blackberries growing in the suburban lots that were empty. When we drove out in the country there were billboards advertising Blackberry Eradication Services. I was nearly sick. How could they destroy such a National Treasure? Don't they know they have a goldmine on their hands?

I am always on the hunt for a place to pick. I miss having a patch in the backyard like when I was growing up. Either people here in Wisconsin don't know where to pick or they aren't telling. I suspect it's the latter.