It's truly one of the best things about August in the Northwest: the coming of the blackberries.
Yes, I wail about how fast the canes grow, how they seem to grow over the fence in the blink of an eye (or at least overnight). And that I write about this so often, I have a blog label called "Blackberry Wars."
In July all is forgiven. I stop pruning except for the new shoots (which won't bear fruit until next year), and watch the flowers turn to tiny green berries, then gradually plump up and turn deep purple in the warmth of the long days of summer.
A few days ago, Dave mowed the back pasture, isolating the berry patches, then mowing wide paths through them to make it easier to pick berries. Kathie has taken over the picking chores, walking outside to pick a bowl of berries when the dew is still fresh on the grass. Yesterday morning she surprised a doe, grazing on the newly mown grass. There's plenty to go around, both grass and berries... I just hope the doe stays out of my neighbor's spectacular flower gardens.
Today our breakfast cereal was doubly delicious: warm-from-the-sun blackberries from my own pastures, and raspberries from our other sister's farm on Vashon. These are my favorite berries, doubly special when mixed together.