Blackberry brambles line the old dirt track
Buckets in our hands and the sun on our backs,
One in the bucket, two in the child.
Picking these berries is gonna take a while.
And the fruits of the earth roll off in our hands;
Summer's easy pickin's in this red clay land.
The seasons all move to a master plan,
From blackberry blossoms to blackberry jam.
Every year when the blackberries that line our fence become ripe and I watch the kids meandering by the brambles staining their faces and hands while enjoying this sweet fruit, my mind fills with the song Blackberry Jam by Andy May.
Occasionally, if I'm lucky, the kids leave behind some blackberries, and I'm able to pick them.
I won't pretend to wholeheartedly enjoy the process of picking blackberries. My arms and hands inevitably end up scratched and poked to pieces, especially because there's always just one more berry beyond my reach, trapped within a mess of brambles and thorns.
But the jam that comes from those berries, especially the jam we consume in the winter with our homemade sourdough while we snuggle against the chill from outside, well, I'm able to live with a few scratches and pokes to have that.
And the Saturday Lunch, you won't find any blackberries here. We jammed them all this morning! But we did find some blueberries at the farmer's market to add to our eggs, potatoes, squash, onions and rosemary flatbread.