We spent Saturday with Ebie and his family hiking in Brunswick County. While exploring Ev-Henwood Nature Preserve, the kids busied themselves and filled their tummies by foraging blackberries.
Watching my baby cousins run around and collect blackberries brought back a million memories. I can’t remember anyone ever paying for blackberries or raspberries when I was growing up. Everyone I knew grew their own or foraged for them.
In Canton, Daddy knew where all the best blackberry briar patches were. That was precious information, and he guarded it.
Every July, he’d take me to pick blackberries for Mamaw. Heading down Dutch Cove, we’d hit all the berry patches on the dirt roads that crisscrossed the mountain. After a couple of hours, we’d come home with bucketfuls of berries.
Mamaw would make a blackberry cobbler that night. The next day was always dedicated to making blackberry jam. To this day, I’ve never tasted a better jam than hers.
Those days spent foraging blackberries with Daddy are some of my best memories. The first time I ever drove a car was on one of those trips.
Daddy and I foraged way down the road from where we’d parked the car. He tossed me the keys and told me to bring him the car. It was a brand new, candy apple red Camero Iroc-Z. I was 10. I only made it about fifteen feet because I was scared to push the gas pedal. lol
The tradition of foraging blackberries continued into my teen years. I haven’t spent July in the mountains since then, but I still collect wild blackberries when I find them.
Did you grow up foraging blackberries too?