My friend Chris just sent me this picture from our berry-picking excursion in Magnuson Park a few weekends ago. Three people, one armed with a step-stool, went to town. After two hours, three alarming encounters with a yellowjacket nest buried in a tangle of vines, and blue-black fingers and lips, we emerged with 10 and a half pounds of blackberries, not counting the pound or so that never made it into the buckets. I made enough jam to last me a month. (Here’s a tip: when you’re squeezing lemons to add to the jam, wear rubber gloves, because otherwise you’ll discover the location of each and every thorn scratch on your fingers.)Now I have to do it all over again so I can make Maggie’s black gin.Where are your favorite not-so-secret blackberry-picking spots?