Confessions of a blackberry addict?

My Mum was obsessed with blackberries and I think because of her, I might be too!

As a child, I remember we would be travelling home in the car down a back lane, when my Mum would pull an emergency stop out of nowhere. She would leap out of the car and start rummaging around in the boot, looking for something, anything in which to collect blackberries. Then we would be off, following, as she led us clambering across ditches and into farmer’s fields. We would have to reach across the thorniest of brambles to grasp the most enormous and juicy blackberry. Somehow Mum knew, having caught the tiniest glimpse from the car, that this most elusive fruit was there. We used to joke that the clothes we had ruined during these impromptu adventures with stains and tears were far more expensive than the tiny bag of blackberries that we ended up with. Mum had favourite blackberrying spots where she knew a good patch could be found. Here she would slow the car down, crawling along just in case she spotted something. My brother and I knew as the car slowed what was likely to be coming next.

But the true value of these elusive fruits was never about money. In the 1980’s I don’t think thornless blackberry varieties even existed, they were certainly not widely grown. People didn't grow blackberries in their gardens at that time at all. We would savour those juicy hedgerow fruits and look forward to whatever Mum was going to make from them.

Mum's blackberry jam was legendary. Sometimes it set so well that you could hardly get it out of the jar! I was once asked to write a story in primary school imagining what would happen if you woke up one morning and all the glass has disappeared. My piece described how I came downstairs into the kitchen to find ketchup and pickle juice dripping out the cupboards, but Mum’s blackberry jam still holding its own, standing upright on the shelf perfectly holding its jam jar shape.

As soon as I had the opportunity to grow produce in my own garden, the only question was really where the blackberries would go? I now have three blackberry bushes which I have trained along a low fence to create a sort of ‘brambly hedge’. In the autumn I cut out all the old fruiting canes and leave three long new shoots for each bush which I train into long loops criss-crossing each other.

Together these create a sort of trellis for next year and all I have to do is wait! First the flowers come and the bees get busy with pollination. Then in August the harvest begins. My blackberry bushes never disappoint and the most pressing issue becomes what to do with all the delicious fruits. Blackberry jam, bramble jelly, apple and blackberry crumble, blackberry vodka, which is truly incredible, or my ultimate favourite, summer pudding.

I just can’t resist that blackberry flavour. A local dairy farm made a one off Blackberry ice-cream 20 years ago when I was pregnant with my son. It was so delicious that I was obsessed with it. I ate a whole pot before I remembered that being pregnant I was supposed to check the ingredients and realised, to my horror, that the milk used was unpasteurised. Whoops!

My love of blackberries is happily beneficial, as they are a superfood packed with vitamins, minerals, fibre, and antioxidants. Better for us than blueberries, they’re low in calories, carbs, and fat. There is even some recent research to suggest that blackberries may even fight cancer and help prevent heart disease. Blackberries offer many health benefits being full of vitamins and minerals like C, K, and manganese and may boost brain health. This year the combination of sun and lots of rain has produced the must amazing berries, they are enormous and extremely juicy! I enjoy them even more knowing that they are good for me.

My daughter seems to have gained a similar blackberry obsession inherited from me and my mum. As a small child she would go out to play in the garden with her brother, I would say “You’re not going near the blackberries, are you?” being worried that they would wreck their clothes. Both the little darlings would shake their heads and run off out to play. My son would stay in the garden but she, the little minx, would disappear out of sight behind the hedge. When I realised, I would call out and say “You're not picking the blackberries are you?” She would then appear, shaking her head in denial but with blackberry juice stains all over her fingers and around her mouth.

I guess maybe it is a thing, blackberry addiction. If it is, I have definitely inherited it and I've passed it on.

Thanks Mum xx