Blackberries, Old Cars, and Turning 60

As time marches on, the blackberries will win, eventually.

Photo by author

If some unspecified apocalypse takes place at any point in our future, wiping out most of humankind, nature will inexorably take back our planet. Brick by brick, all of our structures and objects will crumble, and what can’t be broken down into elemental pieces will be swallowed up, covered over, and strangled by the relentless flora looking to take back previously denied places.

What that looks like will be different depending on location, of course. I imagine the South carpeted completely with tangles of kudzu vines. Perhaps the native prairie grasses will wave for miles in the Midwest once again.

Here in the Pacific Northwest, the blackberries will finally have the chance to take over. They’ve been trying to do that for a hundred years.

I don’t mean to sound overly morbid or pessimistic. Change happens, nature endures, our planet goes on. This is cause for celebration. It’s just where my thoughts have landed quite often of late since I recently turned 60, so perhaps my insights are a bit clouded with the contemplation of my mortality.

Not that I expect to shuffle off this mortal coil any time soon. In fact, I figure I’m only halfway between my teenage battles with the…