I moved back to the beautiful green landscape of Oregon eight months ago, and every day that passes I am gladder than ever that I made the decision to return. However, since I haven’t lived here since I was a little kid, every season, month, and day feels like a new experience.
Case in point: the blackberries which hang over my neighbor’s fence are ripening in delightfully copious amounts. The thing that is difficult to get my head around is that in Oregon, blackberries are like crabgrass. They
grow EVERYWHERE; from between cracks in the sidewalks to gutters on the roof. Most people hate the prolific and thorny vines (which can penetrate even the thickest leather gloves) with a passion no less than Californians have for poison oak.
But I’m a glass-is-half-full sort of girl, and in this instance, I thank my lucky stars for the overflowing bounty from my neighbors. This week I started harvesting juicy, sweet, blackberries. By the second day, there was more than I could eat, and by the end of this week, I’ve got a gallon-sized baggie full of blackberries sitting in my freezer, and room for more. Even the dogs are hanging out beneath the berry bushes, waiting for the next manna from heaven to drop.
I can’t wait until my neighbor’s apples ripen. A couple more months, I think.
Then I’ll be baking apple-berry crisp (a favorite). Right now, I’m making due with pie. Mmmm, pie.
