Picking Blackberries

The most fat, luscious blackberries used to be right along the railroad tracks in Larkinsville.  During the summer, with lard bucket in hand, off I would go to pick blackberries.  My mother was usually at work; however, if she happened to be at home, I would give a shout, "I'm off to pick blackberries". She would yell back, "watch out for the trains."  I mean, it's not like anyone worried about one of those freight trains that came through two or three times a day, hitting me.  The blackberry bushes were off the tracks.  I would walk along, picking the juicy, ripe berries until I filled my lard bucket.  Of course, I do not know whether my mouth or my shirt had more berry stains.  And, I know what you are thinking,  how did you eat those berries without washing them?  Well, I will tell you how.  You hold the berry up in front of your mouth, shake it a little, pucker up and gently blow.  Everything would fall right off and then you just pop it in your mouth. Yum, yum.   The other thing, of course, that I had to watch for was..yes.  Rattle snakes.  Mamma always warned me to watch out for those snakes.  Trains and snakes.  Sometimes as I put my hand into the thick briary patch of blackberries, I would think about an old rattler biting my hand.  My back would shiver a little as I grabbed the juicy berries and shook the thought to the snake off.  After I filled the bucket, I walked up the road to Memma's and she would smile and I can still taste the blackberry cobblers that she made from those blackberries.  Not to mention the jams and jellies.  I tell you, butter never tasted as good as it did on a hot blackberry cobbler.