For me, picking blackberries is one of the more challenging harvests I deal with. Given my color blindness, I am never sure about if the berries are actually ripe. The five clumps, suspended on wires, six feet in the air provide many hiding places. The thick foliage does its best to conceal the treats of the plant. Picking them and getting all the ripe ones requires multiple views. It also requires a deft touch.
Color can be deceptive for me but touch seals the deal. You can tell if a berry is ripe by how hard you have to pull to remove it from the bunch it is often clustered within. If I need to pull too hard, then it remains for another day. If it comes off too easily, then it is probably past ripeness and becomes crushed, staining my fingers.
If you pick looking in one direction, you will miss a lot. I spin my head and body in all directions bobbing and weaving so I can catch sight of that last elusive berry.
But as quickly as the season came in, it is going out. The canes are showing signs of wear and the dark green leaves are losing their color, becoming spotted and torn.
Blackberry season is winding down and today Olivia and I found it more difficult to fill the colander with ripe berries. It won’t get any better.
