When we first moved to the northwest and discovered wild blackberries growing abundantly near our home, we set out with our pails and a great adventure. We discovered that picking blackberries is a blood sport. Brambles are at least an inch long. The vines are twisted and dense like a fortress protecting the desired fruit. You can't do this with your bare hands. Filling a bucket exacts some deep scratches, pricked fingers. The efforts far exceed the yield.
Later though with the few cupfuls of berries washed and chilled, I tasted one of the most delicious flavors on the planet. Now this is a berry to savor and enjoy.
You can buy the berries already picked and ready for consumption at most farmer's markets. Because they are incredibly expensive, we don't eat them often and when we do, they are for special occaisions. And when I have the chance I think twice about going to pick them. While delicious and one of my favorites, they just hurt too much.
Why would I call this an allegory?
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