Early August mornings along the Puyallup River are magical. As the sun rises above the river, fishermen line up shoulder to shoulder, casting their reels in hopes of catching a salmon. Meanwhile, I am an onlooker to their steadfast attempts, all while preparing for my own rewarding endeavor—picking blackberries.
The sweet scent of ripe blackberries fills the air as I navigate through the thorny bushes, hidden away from the bustling riverbank. The bushes are laden with thousands, possibly millions, of fresh blackberries just waiting to be picked, and I am thrilled to gather as many as I can.
My first job, at the age of 12, was picking raspberries in the Puyallup Valley. This was before the fancy car lots and pavement pushed all the farms aside. My mom would drive my friends and me to the farm early in the morning, setting an estimated time for picking us up. We'd check in for the day, get our baskets, and start collecting berries—half going into the basket, half into our stomachs. We used punch cards to track our progress and, at the end of the day, exchanged them for about $10. This experience ignited a passion in me that I could never shake.
My love for baking stems from my joy of picking berries. After gathering the blackberries, I clean them in a large pot of cold running water with lemon juice and salt. Rinse and briefly dry them, then mix with sugar, flour, and lemon juice before dropping them into a freshly rolled-out pie crust. The incredible sweet aroma fills the home while the pie bakes, and the taste is even more delightful, especially topped with homemade vanilla ice cream.
Many ask for my secret to a perfect blackberry pie. My answer is simple: it's all about finding the perfect blackberry.
Want to join me by the river tomorrow morning for some berry picking?
