The one less traveled by

This month I decided that I like blackberries best--regardless of a ridiculous number of small, hard seeds, and  the occasional too sour or too ripe berry, they are definitely my favorite. I can't quite imagine living an entire August without eating at least a handful or so of blackberries, especially as an Oregonian living in an area where blackberry brambles are prevalent. This morning Mama and I went on  a lovely walk down along the vineyard path, watching carefully for hidden poison oak among  the dry, bristly grasses that shoot up in odd yellow tufts where the brush hog failed to clip them to trail-standard. We turned onto a little path stretching away into the trees, definitely less used than the other and holding a certain woodsy charm that never fails to draw me along down the country lane. There were clusters of blackberry bushes, the sweet dark berries ripened by sun-dapples and perfuming the air by way of cool summer breezes, and fir trees thrusting straight up into the silvery sky, and near a bend in the trail, a graceful young apple tree arched out over the grass. It was bursting with leathery green leaves and small, round apples, still green as if they were too attached to spring to let her go completely.
I look forward to venturing down that way again, especially in the autumn, when the apples will be ripe.I will pick one (possibly the biggest, most colorful one that I can find) and munch on it as I stroll along the vineyard path, or up the hill toward home. But I think I'll miss the blackberries too, because there are few things as nostalgic as picking blackberries in August.