On removing Himalayan Blackberries
About the same time I found out that I would be RIF’ed from Seattle Public Schools I began to wage a small scale war against a patch of Himalayan blackberry bushes that currentyl control the northwest corner of our back yard.
This part of the yard exists behind a false fense and is hidden from view. Out of sight, out of mind and out of control. I have cut these berries down several times over that last 10 years, as has my Dad, but they are pernicious and dedicated fighters who come back year after year to maintain their sway over the corner.
I usually loath the process of cutting black berries. I inevitably choose a hot day to work and wearing long sleeves and shorts wade in and into the maw of the verdant beast. In short order sweat is pouring down my face, and small cuts on my legs and arms sting and I seem to make no dent in mass of thorny vines. This time things have been different. I have, in a strange way, enjoyed the process.
As I began the process of cutting I had just finished reading a biography of Daniel Boone, a figure who I knew little about beyond some mid-century Disney generated pablum. Boone, it turns out, was a prodigiously talented leader and woodsman who inspired both colonizers and poets. His life figured prominently in the work of James Fenimore Cooper, Byron, and Ralph Waldo Emerson.
A consistent theme of Boone’s life was his return to the woods. Over and over his attempts at joining the mainstream of American society would fail and he would return to the subsistence life of a frontiersman. A large part of these returns involved clearing land and building a cabin. I imagine that an afternoon of cutting down blackberry bushes lacks the physical rigor of stump-busting Kentucky bottom land, but I have an inkling of the satisfaction Boone may have drawn from the task.
The work is simple, pure in its intent and rife with metaphor. With my hand occupied by the repetitive process of pushing back the vine, cutting it out and throwing it on the growing pile behind me, my mind can wander in strange directions.
Today, as I worked in a sunlit grove of lime green thorns I was struck by the similarity between the Himalayan blackberry plant and an Imperial power. Like the Romans, the Turks, the British or we Americans, the Himalayan blackberry is an efficient conqueror. In short order it can spread over a landscape and dominate the existing flora. It has little respect for the needs or views of what currently exists, but instead imposes its own order upon the the area it dominates. Those who can not assimilate or adapt disappear.
While not inclusive, the Blackberry is tolerant to the point of utility. It will allow others to grow and even flourish as long as that other is not threat to its sovereignty. And in the end, it will fall to a greater power.
This last point gives me some comfort. As stressful and unassailable my current job situation can feel, it is not permanent.
