Picking blackberries was a summertime passion of mine as a boy and has remained so until recently. Before moving to Washington, I cultivated commercial thorn-less blackberries. Washington’s abundance of robust wild blackberries surrounding our property, albeit with thorns, delighted me.

Three years ago I suffered a blackberry cobbler induced bout of diverticulitis. Full of seeds, blackberries are now off my menu. Only then did I notice blackberry vines encroaching on our cleared space like hordes of mindless zombies. Cutting them back seemed to stimulate them. During the summer, I’ve seen some grow literally forty feet. They climb up into trees and choke out daylight.

“Out by the roots is the only way,” I realized. Easier said than done. Blackberries intertwine their roots with trees, bushes, and our ubiquitous sword ferns. Some varieties will re-sprout from a mere shard of root left behind. And because they grow in patches, as you dig out one blackberry, others will attack you from behind with vicious thorns.

Once you’ve dug out a plant, discarding it is nightmarish. The needle-sharp thorns catch on everything. I’ve cleared old rusty barbed wire fences with less difficulty. And digging them out hardly matters, because birds and other creatures eat the fruit and plant new blackberry plants via their droppings.

I’m not winning the blackberry war. The best I can hope for is a stalemate. I’ve told Kit that If I die before her to get out before our enemy overwhelms the house.

Drew