Sometimes, there is just no way to preface bad news, so here is the slap in the face, the ice down the back…
Yet again, for the second year in a row, there are no blackberries in Eugene.
I know, I know what you are feeling, what you are thinking. I know the despair, the torment, the desire to rush from your homes and offices and coffeehouses and check for yourselves. But it is in vain. Do some vacuuming instead. Get some work done. Order another latte, or perhaps a cremosa, with berry syrup, because that’s as close as you will get this year to having blackberries in Eugene.
I have already been in contact with the proper authorities. The BSB, Berry Shenanigans Bureau, is currently flying, at supersonic speed, a team of crack berry non-growth investigators to our fair Willamette Valley. Every needed taxpayer dollar shall be spent, invested and trodden as they seek to uncover the truth behind the barren canes. The president suspects Al Queda. The vice president suspects hippie subversives. And vice versa.
Whoever is at fault — global warming, subprime mortgage lenders, meth addicts, Big Berry — we may never know. But all I know is that there are no blackberries in Eugene, and there will only be weeping and gnashing, of teeth yearning to be turned purple.
With great sadness at delivering, for the second time, such sad and terrible news, I sign off and retire to my beer cellar.