I was following our three-year-old grandson down the pathway to the park. He seemed eager to get to the play equipment, which featured slides and structures for climbing. He has short legs, so I don’t have trouble keeping up with him. All of a sudden, he stopped and veered off to the right of the pathway. It took me a few seconds to realize what was going on. Blackberries are what he saw. He picked a few, eating them as he picked. I paused and picked a few and held out my hand with a half dozen berries to him. He took them all and put them all in his mouth. A bit of blackberry juice ran down his chin as evidence of the treat. We walked a few feet farther and made a second stop for more berries. After four or five stops, he was ready to pick up the pace and get to the playground.

I’m not enough of an expert in plants to know whether the berries he picked were Rubus bifrons (Himalayan) or Rubus armeniacus (Armenian). We call all of the non-native blackberries in our area “Himalayan,” though I know that there are at least two varieties of invasive berries in addition to native blackberries. The invasive species spread rapidly and quickly take over large areas. They can wrap around trees and shrubs, crowding them out. At this time of year, they send forth new canes that reach out into pathways and hang from tree branches. I’ve hit a few when riding my bike, which isn’t much fun. The thorns easily cut my cheeks. That is bad enough, but if I run over them with my bike, they frequently puncture my tires. I’ve had to install thick liners in my bike tires to ride reliably on the trails near our house.

Most locals consider the blackberries to be a weed. They hack at them with machetes, mow them with industrial brush cutters, and when the weather allows, push them into piles and burn them. You need good gloves and sharp shears to trim them.

I am aware that invasive species pose a threat to local ecosystems. Plants, fish, and mollusks have caused significant problems for stewards of public lands.

I am not qualified to offer much commentary about invasive species, but I am inclined to speak up for immigrants of various types. I am not indigenous. Some people are descendants of the tribes that have inhabited this region since time immemorial. I moved here in 2020. I come from a long line of people who moved from one place to another. My ancestors immigrated from Europe to this continent and have moved around this part of the world extensively over the years. I have lived in six different states. From the perspective of natives, I might be considered an invasive species.

Then there is the matter of the honeybees, of which I am caretaker. They also come from European ancestors. They are not native to the land where I keep them. Although they are not aggressive and get along well with other species of bees, I am careful to keep the number of domestic honeybees on the farm low so that they don’t displace native bees and other natural pollinators.

Like the gift of honey we extract from the beehives, blackberries are a generous and sweet offering from a non-indigenous source. Blackberries, however, don’t require any tending or care from those who harvest them. Along the paths that we walk, I’ve seen tourists and neighbors out with their baskets and buckets gathering berries for their meals. I have also seen people who are forced to sleep in the parks and on the streets, out picking berries. The blackberry canes don’t care if you are rich or poor, if you are indigenous or an immigrant. They can’t check your green card or try to have you arrested and deported. They offer sweetness to every person who chooses to look and pick the berries.

I am also drawn to the contrarian nature of blackberries. Our grandson knows about picking strawberries, raspberries, and tomatoes from the garden. However, he is sometimes tempted to pick them before they are ripe. We keep telling him only to pick the red ones. But when it comes to blackberries, the red fruit is not yet ripe. You have to leave the red berries until they turn black before harvesting them.

Like the rest of us invasive species, the story of Himalayan and Armenian blackberries is complex. It doesn’t work to label them as “good” or “bad.” I’m fairly certain that engaging in a battle with them and attempting to eliminate them will likely not be effective. They’re awfully resilient, and they certainly are omnipresent in the Pacific Northwest. For now, I’m content to invest some time in cutting them back, especially when they threaten native trees. I have good gloves and a machete, and cut them back from time to time.

On the other hand, I have no plans to eliminate them from our neighborhood completely. It puts a smile on my face to watch my grandchildren pick and eat the fruit. Learning about the good gifts of the earth is an integral part of raising faithful stewards of the earth’s ecology. It warms my heart to see someone who is hungry and whom our society can’t find ways to adequately feed be able to have a sweet treat that is free for the taking.

In a sense, most of us are invasive to the land where we now live. The history of colonialism on this continent is full of pain that is deeper and more lasting than a blackberry cane in the face. But, like the blackberries, we are capable of offering some sweetness to those we meet. At least I aim to try. Whether it is a smile or a bit of assistance when I recognize a need, I may be able to leave a bit of sweetness for someone else. I’ll take my lead from the blackberries.