Blackberries are ripe!

This past weekend we had a Hoffman Family reunion here at the winery.  About 60 people from all over came to the event.  It was great to see all the aunts, uncles, cousins, their children and their children’s children. After lunch, most of them went down to the beach with the intention of floating down the river and playing baseball out in the meadow. But almost everyone got side tracked by the  blackberries. It was fun watching them get buried in the blackberry bushes while they gorged themselves.

Picking blackberries has always been a summer tradition for me.  One of my fondest childhood memories of my Grandma Hoffman was joining her to pick them one summer morning.  We started out early in the morning and walked out past the barn and corral where the sheep were kept, and turned south down the lane that led toward the bottomland.  I remember her wearing a wide brimmed straw hat that tied under her chin with a scarf.  She took with her a pair of gardening gloves and I soon learned why.  The berries were growing along the fence line there in great profusion.  She chattered away as she picked, instructing me on how to go about the task.  I’m sure most of the berries I conquered ended up in my mouth.  I remember being somewhat intimidated by the task, but Grandma knew what it was all about. In no time we had enough for a pie. 

That was the start of a long relationship with blackberries.  They were also part of my life as a teenager.  We lived in town then, but the family farm was just a few miles away.  I remember using the promise of the sweet, savory fruit to entice any girl I happened to fancy to join me on an outting.  If I got turned down after mentioning the need for long pants and sleeve shirts to keep the bugs and stickers off, I figured she probably wasn’t the girl for me anyway.

As an adult, I’m proud to say that my two fine sons were raised on blackberry pie.  Fresh fruit pie is a tradition in our family and we eat it anytime of day.  We’re talking scratch here.  We’ve got an unspoken rule that says no store-bought crusts are allowed in the house. Apple pie is great, but when  blackberry season arrives, I’m the first one out the door, bucket in hand.  I use a cherry picking bucket with a harness that holds five of those little green plastic berry baskets. That way I can use both hands to get the fruit.  I go armed with clippers to get the extra canes out of the way, and wear plenty of clothing.  Grandma Hoffman taught me well.

If you happen to read this before the end of July, come out and help yourself.  Stop by the tasting room and I’ll tell you how to get to the best spots.

Thanks to my son, Robby, for the photographs. He’s a pro, literally. Visit his website at www.roberthphotography.com for more of his stuff.