When I was young my family moved a lot, but we mostly lived in the Pacific Northwest. Wherever we went, we stayed to the outskirts of the towns, where things grew wild and the animals and kids had room to run.
I remember the blackberry brambles. Wide expanses of thorny tangles, growing tall along the sides of gravel roads and spreading along the edges of fields. Among the thick barbed branches and the broad leaves with fine hooks hidden on their undersides there would hang bunches of fruit in various stages of ripeness. There were tiny berries, hard and pale green, dark black berries mummifying on their stems, berries that were half pink and half black, and berries that were large and shiny and perfect, but made my mouth pucker unexpectedly with their pure sour juices.
I remember the blackberry brambles. Wide expanses of thorny tangles, growing tall along the sides of gravel roads and spreading along the edges of fields. Among the thick barbed branches and the broad leaves with fine hooks hidden on their undersides there would hang bunches of fruit in various stages of ripeness. There were tiny berries, hard and pale green, dark black berries mummifying on their stems, berries that were half pink and half black, and berries that were large and shiny and perfect, but made my mouth pucker unexpectedly with their pure sour juices.
