Your intrepid local eater spotted ripe blackberries on her walk to the pea patch yesterday. They’re the first of the season and all signs point towards the usual bumper crop. The first berry I popped in my mouth was sour as the dickens, enough to remind me the best ones fall off their stems with a gentle tap. The second one, selected more thoughtfully, tasted like sunshine. Blackberries grow with such wild abandon around here — you’re likely to find them in any vacant lot or public space, the prickly chartreuse branches cascading over one another. The canes can be such pests that our pea patch is hosting a work party just to hack them back, but we’re holding off until the fruit is done.