Publisher

I was driving down a Burien road and spotted somebody picking wild blackberries in a patch I had never noticed before. So I jammed on the brakes and backed up.

It was John Richards, known best for his skill at catching sea-run trout using a fly rod from the shores of Seahurst Park and points West.

I promised to never tell where his berry patch is located in exchange for a piece of blackberry pie.

Berry pickers who have discovered blackberry Eldorados are usually reluctant to divulge their discovery knowing the popularity of the picking game.

The picture shown here was taken at 35th and Edmunds in West Seattle and there are many patches along Des Moines Memorial Drive.

I started picking berries when I was six years old in a secret patch my Mom knew about. It was near the railroad tracks where we lived in Portland and provided many a juicy cobbler and jars of jam during the Great Depression.

It was a good mile and we always walked the tracks till one day we were heading home with full buckets and did not hear an approaching train until it was only several yards behind us.

We were able to leap to safety but spilled all the precious berries on the rocky right of way. We were too shaken to even think about trying to salvage the fruits of our labors and silently trudged on home.

We did go back other times but never again walked the tracks. Pretty scary but also pretty lucky.

I have picked black caps, Himalaya blackberries (Getting these are risky. Your arms always look like you rassled a bobcat.), huckleberries, thimble berries, blueberries and the little highly coveted tiny native blacks that grow mostly on logged-off land.

A friend of mine who spends much of his summer seeking the tiny delicacy told me he once yielded to a close friend who begged to go with him to one of his secret "glory holes" and promised to never divulge the location on his Mother's honor, a Boy Scout oath and "cross my heart and hope to die."

Several weeks later my friend returned for another picking and spotted a head bobbing on the other side. There was his dear friend, crossed heart and all, picking happily away and he had three companions.

I guess when it comes to friendship it pays to be picky.