Ripe blackberries

Lost in thought

Pushing up Tabor, I spotted the first ripe blackberries of the season.

Himalayan (or Armenian) blackberries are the most prevalent blackberries in the Willamette Valley.  The Oregon Department of Agriculture considers Himalayan blackberry to be a noxious weed, and it is certainly an invasive species. It has pretty much choked out the native Oregon blackberry.  (What a shame!  Why can't they co-exist, peacefully?)

According to the ODA website, Armenian blackberry was first noted in Marion County in 1922. Now, less than a hundred years later, it is everywhere.  And it is hard to kill.  I've been battling a bramble in one corner of my yard for 10 years now.  Tough stuff.  To call it a "hearty" plant would be like saying Rasputin could take a punch. 

First blackberries of the season

It's always bittersweet to see the blackberries ripen.  They go from emerald green, through crimson, to purple-black, and then they're ready for eating.  And they're delicious.

But ripe blackberries have a sad significance as well.  They foretell the end of summer.

New fence curtails mountain-biker derring-do

This has been a kind summer.  And it's not over yet.  But when the blackberries ripen, I start to feel a searing little pain in the back of my throat.  It's the pain you get when you lose something that you've always known you would lose, but that you still can't bear to see go.

On the other hand, what is forever really worth?