I live on the edge of town, and, for the last three blackberry seasons, I have sought calm, sunshine, and fresh air along the hedgerows of the local agricultural fields, humming to myself as I pick berries. I know the rhythms of our neighbourhood blackberry bushes: those in the little forest always bear fruit first, then the first hedgerow across the street, and the season ends in the fields on the far side of the football field.
Blackberry picking is also a beautiful bonding activity with my son. In the beginning, he rode on my back in a carrier, singing “Oooo blackberries! Oooo plums!” as he would eat whatever blackberries he could reach fresh from the branch. In successive seasons, he would walk or ride his balance bike, chattering away as we filled our little box with blackberries. He would squeal at the plants to scare away the bugs. He is an expert at spotting the ripe ones and getting around the thorns – if he gets pricked, he’ll exclaim, “Ouch!” and then find a safer way around (I love that he almost never gives up or turns back). Blackberry picking is our time to connect with each other and with the Earth. It is an opportunity to connect with those foragers who came before us, to trust in the flattened grasses where they have also stood (proof that the ground is solid enough to hold our weight). It is an opportunity to share the riches of our pickings with friends and community.
We were visiting a friend towards the end of last year’s blackberry season. She said that we shouldn’t pick beyond a certain date as we needed to leave enough for the birds and other animals to eat as we transitioned out of summer. As she spoke, I realised that I had been foraging all wrong. Like so many in our society, I was out of balance with Nature’s other creatures who also depend on these plants – the larvae who grow in them (extra protein!); the animals who eat both berries and larvae…
Why did I feel this need to fill my freezer with blackberries (apart from my son’s insistence that I do so)? Because of my dear friend, Scarcity, that’s why. She sits on my shoulder and whispers in my ear, just loud enough to be heard on the breeze, “Are you sure that’s enough? The season is so short. Just one more… to be safe…” and so I stock my freezer with blackberries. She also helped me to (panic) buy school uniforms when my son started in Reception: “Just one more, you don’t want to be caught out later in the year!” She fills my suitcase on every visit home: “This is your only chance! Remember -- you can’t get these in the U.K.!”
When I am overwhelmed or on autopilot, I follow her promptings without question. When I am grounded, present, and aware… I can pause… and in that pause I can understand that, maybe, I don’t actually need this right now. And I can gently lift Scarcity from my shoulder and put her down, thanking her for her efforts. (I know that she is a persistent protector and will always find her way back.)
I wonder: Do you ever question who is riding on your shoulder?
Catherine Tylke
Saffron Walden LM