Anyone will tell you that blackberries are the scourge of the northwest...except when it's berry picking time. Then we all sing a different tune. There's a little corner behind our house that is taken over by bramble that offers up the most choice berries every summer. It can be tricky getting in there to pick them. Even dangerous. There's always that persistent poison oak entwined amongst the thorny vines to be wary of. But still we forge on until we are scratched bloody and stained with juice, triumphant with our bounty as we return to the house with baskets brimming. At that point, it always feels like we've just won a battle. I guess in a way we have. Survived one anyway. We try not to eat all the spoils but it's so hard. I insist on a triple rinse, and it's a bit of a production that takes time. While the girls do that, I get the pie crusts ready. We ended up with two pies; one for dessert and one for the freezer, for later. Much later. Like when we've been chased back inside by the cold and want to taste summer again. Or have company over for an old fashioned Sunday supper and want to spoil them with something special. Pies are such homey little things. Especially one wearing a fancy lattice crust hat. My little pastry wheel makes these lovely pinked edges without much effort. Some strips were a bit thin as I was running short on pie dough. But in the end, it didn't really matter one bit. No one even noticed or cared when it finally came out of the oven and the aroma hit them.