blackberries

He doesn't want a cake for his birthday, which is today. He wants blackberry pie. Now, I could go to Safeway, or Freddie's to find them. (I'm sure they wouldn't have fresh berries at Winco. Ihatewinco.com-- there should be a site. I'll start it.) But no. He doesn't want store bought.... they gotta be fresh. So we went berry picking. Me and the mean girls. (I love those kids, they just don't love me. Yet. I'll get 'em....)

This is the part where I hate not knowing where I am. or rather, in this case, where the berries are. Down south, there is a sharp corner on Hwy 238 at Hamilton Road, and if you park in the triangle and walk down the gully, there are berries for days. But that's a 300 mile drive.

So my sweet husband, the birthday boy, gives me directions. I think I've said I don't take direction well. I also don't follow directions well. And the other part of that is: I can get anywhere if I have gas. So, it may take me a little longer, but I'll get there eventually. Oaks Bottom. That's where I was going. After a brief and fruitless tour of Multnomah -- no -- it starts with an M.... Milwaukee? No, that's not it. Anyway, its the road that goes to Milwaukee, and it is almost a freeway, but at long last I found it. Oak Bottoms. But as I left the relative safety of my truck, I gotta admit... there is no stranger sensation than trotting off into the uncharted urban wilds. Well, truth be told there are many, many stranger sensations, but this is not the time for all that. So, there we were, foraging for berries, a quarter-mile in, and we pass many forms of vegetation, but no berries, and I can hear the river, but can't see it from where we are. Finally, along comes a tall man carrying a tray of berries as though he were at a market. We had our empty milk jugs in hand (cut away to leave the handle--these are great for berry picking) and this gave us away as fellow fruit-gatherers. I freely admit confusion, so he says, "There is a place where the path goes under the railroad tracks and there is a trail off to the left." What I hear is, "Take the path under the railroad tracks and go to the left."

You can imagine what ensues. There are trails everyfuckingwhere....left right sideways, you name it. Of course, the berry patch is right where he said it was.

Now, the thing is, the girls know this, they had heard what he actually said, but they aren't comfortable enough to tell an adult what to do, so we traipse around for days, then finally, Haley says, "I wonder if that trail to the left of the underpass...." And I say, "Okay." Freely admitting I am so often so wrong.

We found the berries... buckets and buckets of them. And I will bake a pie and a cobbler. I have the best cobbler recipe which I am happy to share with y'all.

Jonni's Cobbler

melt 2 sticks of butter in a 9x13 pan

Batter -- mix together:
1 1/2 c flour
2 c sugar
1/4 tsp salt
4 tsp baking powder
1 1/2 c milk

pour into pan over melted butter

layer fruit over mixture (blackberries or peaches are best. It calls for another cup of sugar for the fruit but I leave that out. Maybe a little if the fruit isn't perfect, but then what are you doing with sub-standard fruit?) Bake at 350 until golden and crispy. (The batter bubbles up around the fruit to make the crust.) Serve warm with whipped cream.