Blackberry season is upon us once again here in the Pacific Northwest, which is a season I have impatiently waited for every year since I was a young girl. Some of my fondest summertime memories as a child were spent under the scorching sun while cautiously reaching my tiny hands into overgrown thorny bushes to reach the ripest and juiciest berries that my limited reach could grasp. Although my childhood berry-picking excursions typically ended with purple-stained clothes, deep red drips down my hands and arms from smushed berries, and a sunburn, the feeling of walking home with buckets upon buckets of fresh blackberries always made each trip well worth the discomforts.
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