A Successful Blackberry Mistake
- Cindy
- Feb 5
- 5 min read
This blackberry began with a neighbor.
She shared a vine the way gardeners do—casually, generously, without instructions. I planted it and let it do what blackberries do best: grow with enthusiasm.
It was one of the most successful plants I’ve ever grown.
It just took me a while to notice that success and satisfaction aren’t always the same thing.
From Fence Scraps to Berry Factory
I built a makeshift trellis out of leftover fence posts and wire. It wasn’t elegant, but it was sturdy enough to hold a blackberry’s ambition.
The plant was happy for several years. Prolific. Almost suspiciously so. The vines trailed more than 20 feet and rooted where the tips touched the ground.
The flowers were beautiful—soft pink-white blooms adorning the vines. The berries were enormous: glossy, jet black, and heavy enough to bow the canes.
Birds flocked to the vines but left plenty to share with the humans. A family of opossums eventually discovered it, quietly cleaning up fallen fruit each night like a tiny sanitation crew with whiskers.
By every standard garden metric, this was a success.
A Flavor Reckoning
Here’s the part that surprised me: I didn’t actually love eating them.
I grew up in a place where loganberries reigned—deeply flavored, reliably sweet, and worth wrestling a sprawling, thorny bramble. Those berries set an early standard.
These blackberries, by contrast, had a very narrow window of perfection—about twenty-four hours by my reckoning. Pick them too early, and they were aggressively sour. Wait a day too long, and they crossed into fermented, spit-it-out-fast territory. The seeds didn’t help either—distracting, like a mouthful of tiny pebbles with some berry mixed in.
I kept growing them because I was having fun growing them. It took several seasons to realize I was admiring the harvest more than enjoying it.
This is the year I decided to pull the plant to start again with a variety called Ponca. I’m hoping it will better fit the space I have and my taste buds. The good news, Ponca is known for:
dependable yields
smaller seeds
maximum sweetness
a wider harvest window
I am a little wary of the fact that it’s a floricane type, fruiting on second-year canes. I once tried to grow floricane raspberries, but they outsmarted me and lost their place in my garden. Still, I'm willing to try again—especially since Ponca is thornless.
A New Plan: Espalier with Intention
This season, I’m changing the system as well as the variety.
Instead of improvised wire, I’m installing a 16-foot cattle panel and espaliering the vines. The goal is simple:
better airflow
easier harvesting
clearer sightlines for pests
and a structure that works with the plant, not against it
If I’m going to grow blackberries again, I want the setup to support both the plant and the gardener.
Pests to Manage
Blackberries are generous—and they attract attention.
The most destructive pest in my patch turned out to be the raspberry horntail (Hartigia cressonii). These insects drill directly into raspberry, blackberry, and rambling rose canes, creating clean internal tunnels where they lay eggs. Once you know what to look for, the damage isn’t subtle.
My early warning sign is fine sawdust collecting on leaves or at the base of the vine. When I see that, I know the cane has already been compromised from the inside.
One important lesson: fresh pruning cuts are an invitation. A cleanly cut cane seems to signal “vacancy available” to horntails, especially during active periods.
Ants and wasps are relentless once fruit begins to ripen. They don’t just linger nearby—they go straight for the berries themselves, hollowing them out with impressive efficiency if harvest timing slips. I dislike wasps.
Then there are Japanese beetles, who arrive precisely when the vines hit their stride and make quick work of tender leaves.
Despite all of this, a healthy plant can thrive with a little help.
Tips for Growing Blackberries
One of the quiet gifts of a “successful mistake” is clarity. Now that I understand what I was really growing—and who else was enjoying it—I’m approaching the next planting with more intention and a lot more observation.
Here’s what managing blackberry pests looks like for me going forward:
Time pruning carefully. Avoid heavy pruning during periods when borers are active. Fresh, clean cuts are an open invitation.
Watch for sawdust. Fine frass on leaves or at the base of canes is an early signal that something is happening inside the vine.
Remove compromised canes promptly. If a cane is drilled, it’s already lost. Cutting it out early helps protect the rest of the plant. Burn them for extra measure.
Harvest promptly as fruit ripens. Overripe berries attract ants and fruit flies. I have yet to figure out how to convince wasps to dislike berries.
Disrupt ants. A 50/50 vinegar and water spray at the base of the plant disrupts ant trails by masking their pheromone scent.
Design trellises for visibility. Clear sightlines make it easier to notice damage before it spreads.
None of this guarantees a pest-free garden—but it does shift the balance back toward awareness instead of surprise.
Eat Some · Save Some · Share Some
🍴 Eat Some
Fresh eating is simple and satisfying:
Folded into yogurt
Scattered over oatmeal
Eaten straight off the vine
Sweet. Tart. Yum.
🫙 Save Some
Preservation makes the abundance manageable.
Berries frozen on a parchment-lined tray for smoothies and baking
Blackberry pie filling for winter desserts
Blackberry jam or jelly on fresh homemade bread
Blackberries freeze beautifully if you can't eat them fast enough while they are fresh.
🎁 Share Some
This is where blackberries truly shine:
Crumble dropped at a neighbor’s door
Jars of jelly and jam
Extra fruit left intentionally for wildlife
The opossums, in particular, will approve.
A Different Kind of Harvest
This season reminded me of something I see often in coaching: success is easy to recognize, but satisfaction takes longer to name.
The blackberry vine did exactly what it was built to do. It grew vigorously. It produced abundantly. It responded well to the structure I gave it. Nothing about it failed.
And still, something didn’t quite fit.
That noticing—the quiet moment when you realize a system is working but you’re not fully nourished by it—is worth paying attention to. In the garden, as in life, it’s not always a cue to push harder or optimize further. Sometimes it’s an invitation to pause, reassess, and choose again.
This year, I’m choosing again.
Not because the blackberries were wrong—but because choice is its own form of care.
And that, too, feels like good gardening.
Growing with you,
Cindy
Disclaimer: I share products I genuinely use and trust in my own garden and kitchen. None of the links on this site are affiliate links, and I don’t receive compensation for recommendations.
