I Could Almost Taste Them...

I had honestly never experienced black berries until about a decade ago, when my lower-mainland-gardening sister brought me an ice cream pail full of the wild berries she had picked in her own backyard. And I was smitten! So imagine my thrill (on blackberry hill. ha ha) when I learned that there was a hardy blackberry cultivar out there. And thornless, into the bargain!


I wasted no time in finding me one, though I honestly can't remember if it was local or mail order. I planted this young blackberry cane in the perfect soil and in some serious all-day sunshine; I watered it faithfully. . .


And it grew! It thrived, in fact!



And it made berries! Lots of berries!



They were small, similar to raspberries in that regard; but it didn't matter—they were blackberries and they were mine!


I could almost taste them. Almost.

This went on for several years, and not once did I get to eat those blackberries. The berries were not soft nor sweet before a hard frost took them from me. As with my Sweet Potato experiment, I learned that, while the blackberry canes were indeed hardy, the zone 3 growing season was not, nor likely ever will be, long enough to bring them to fruition (heavy sigh). But I'm not mourning the blackberry-dream-gone-awry. Not really. I've decided, rather, to use more garden space for the tried and true native fruits—like haskap.


So, unlike my sweet potato experiment, I won't be trying blackberries again any time soon, if ever. Some of the finer things in life are not free and must be purchased at the grocery store.

© 2019 The Rural Hen