The time of year has arrived when I get obsessed with picking all the blackberries growing along the sides of roads or in parks or along the train tracks behind our house. This year I’ve been a bit too sick to pick many myself so I keep sending my family out to pick them for me. I can’t help it—there are thousands of them outside my door and they don’t cost a single cent! We’ve picked at least $100 worth this year, and if you walked by $100 growing on bushes, even if it came in little $.03 pouches, don’t you think you might stop and join the fun? Just a little?
For some reason this year’s blackberries are a bit wormier than usual, though, and after picking them I end up spending a lot of time plucking tiny, colorless worms off the blackberries so that I don’t have to label my blackberry jam as “high in protein.”*
So anyway, this weekend I was picking over the blackberries while talking to my older sister on the phone. She was laughing about my blog post that mentioned the wheat and the weevils and saying it was actually only one weevil but we had to check the whole bag just in case. I was saying how I didn’t even know it was weevils we were picking out; Mom and Dad just told us to look for the “black grains of wheat.” We laughed again about absurd the whole situation was.
At that moment my sister and I both realized that just that afternoon, I had made my husband and five-year-old son walk along the train tracks behind our house where we sometimes see coyotes, in 80 degree heat, for an hour to pick blackberries because they’re FREE, absolutely FREE! And now I was standing in the kitchen picking little worms out of buckets of blackberries because I don’t care how wormy they are, our family is going to eat EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM, DAMMIT!
You know that moment when you realize you’ve turned into your own mother or father?
Yeah. Me too.
*And yes, I do find it ironic that I can pick worms off of blackberries for an hour yet I can’t cook dinner for my family because it makes me puke.