Looking for fruit among coronavirus thorns

In his latest reflection on places and pathways, Will Gore hunts for an autumnal gift of blackberries – and recalls fond memories of a bramble-filled childhood

A tonic for a pandemic: the joy of wild berries (Getty/iStock)

Foraging is fashionable now, where once it was a way of life. But for most people, it remains – as perhaps it has always been – at the fringes, something done properly only by a minority, whether for fun or from necessity.

The exception is blackberry-picking, which is – while by no means a universal experience – something that appears to rise above the broader foraging landscape. Not only are blackberries abundant (even in towns), but they are easily recognised, usually quite accessible and can be scoffed on the hoof.

When I was little, we always referred to the process as “blackberrying”. I think I have a vague memory of my grandmother using the crook of her walking stick to pull down hard-to-reach briars, but I can barely have been two and a half at the time, so perhaps it’s a vision that stems from tales told by my mother. Later in my childhood we would visit particular spots on the outer edges of our village: a track leading to the water tower was especially productive. We would pick boxes and boxes of fruit.