This is my second post of childhood memories, picking berries in England. Today I remember the wild blackberry: (All due credits at end of post)
When I was a child my dad was on the road all week, so during late summer holiday weekdays mum and I would often take our bikes into the nearby countryside to pick wild blackberries.
I can still see mum, headscarf and skirt flapping in the warm breeze, with her berry bag over her shoulder and singing as we peddled our heavy old bikes through the green Somerset lanes.
Blackberries were everywhere and so were pickers, so we often had to search awhile away from town to find unpicked bushes, but when we did it didn’t take long to fill our bags, even though we also filled our dyed mouths with the mellifluous, ripe fruit. Then covered in sunburn, scratches and 
blackberry juice we cycled home, sore and weary, but triumphant.
The weight of our berry bags and our tired legs occasionally resulted in spills, as in one afternoon, both unbalanced and a little dizzy from a glass of cider at the village pub, I cycled too close to mum’s bike and we both went over in a tangled mess of squashed and spilled berries and flailing limbs. Sitting askew on the roadside after the initial shock, we looked at each other and at our new but innocuous wounds and burst into juicy laughter that rose up through the branches of ancient oaks and dispersed amongst the patches of blue sky above us.
The berries from these outings ended up in blackberry pies eaten with clotted cream at weekends, when dad was home, and in homemade jam that lasted us for many months– the jars and fruit radiating summer sun during the bleak, damp, grey days of our English winter.
August by Mary Oliver
When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend
all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body accepts what it is. In the dark
creeks that run by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue.
Image Credits: All from Google Images. Final image: Blackberries in Basket painting by August Laux.
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Fun sequel. Mmmmmm a pie sounds good.
happy memories and colourful images clinock!
Thank you Philippa…
I can picture you and your Mum.
Thanks for the visit Mogs – it’s so cool you knew my mum…
Very nice post – and memories. Good choice adding Mary Oliver. Happy end of summer to you.
Thank you Robin – I like discovering new (to me) poets when I put these posts together…
Mmmmmm you just brought back some lovely memories. I used to go pick blackberries with my mom and sister when I was growing up. Good times.
I’m happy to remind you of good times Carly – thanks for your comment…
Such a wonderful memory to carry with you. They mean so much and you conveyed it perfectly.
Your comment is appreciated MG – thank you…
Beautiful memories of your Mum and you laughing.
The best memories always have laughter…
Beautiful memories and beautiful berries!
Thank you CC…
Thanks John, that brought back memories. Have you ever tried Apple and Blackberry tarts. Great when the Blackberries were scarce.
Yes, I must have eaten a hundred as a child, mum baked the supremo A and B tart. There were orchards near where we lived and we gleaned the falls – so sweet and crispy…
What a lovely memory! I have memories like these that I treasure. Beautiful poem: “happy tongue”? – my eye is happy.
Treasures indeed – thank you G…
Ah yes indeed I remember fondly the picking of Blackberries from my Wiltshire childhood..
I love the painting at the end
My goodness, you have been taking an extensive hike through my posts – I am honoured by your attention. My mum’s family were Wiltshire people – sadly I never explored that county as I was still young when I lived in England and when I traveled I was attracted by the sun and adventure of southern France and Spain. Now I wish I knew the England of my family better…
I was playing catchup with some of my favourite blogs
Wiltshire is full of rolling chalk hills, ancientness and silicon chips
Silicon chips? Do they go well with battered cod?…
Balckberries are ready now in the dunes here. I leave them for the birds but they do look good, great colour
It was nice to read this posting. It reminded me of the pine apples we would gather in Autumn to burn in the (coal) heater! Loads of them…
Are ‘pine apples’ (I assume you don’t mean pineapples) the same as pine cones? Great fire starters and abundant here in British Columbia…
I meant pine tree cones, sorry we call them denneappels lol
sounds so delicious !
They were, and still are…