Blackberry

I spent several hours this weekend pruning back the blackberry bushes in our back yard. It’s not really a yard, as our house backs onto a hillside too steep to build on. We hardly ever go there ourselves, so it’s covered by plants fighting for their little bit of sun, nature green in thorn and bramble. I like blackberries, but I think they should keep their thorns in their place on the sides of our little path; they have no such consideration for us.

Since I hadn’t been down there since the rainy season started, it was incredible to see how much the plants had grown and spread. As an animal myself, there is something deeply weird about the way that plants grow just by sitting there and converting solar energy into leafs and thorns. A kind of alien life in our midst, despite its familiarity. Odd to think that we depend so deeply on them.

Seeing the plants fighting each other for sunlight, each following their different little strategies, it’s hard not to see a form of vegetable intelligence at work. More likely it’s the intentional stance applied to a simple set of algorithms. At least, I hope so. Considering how many scratches I have now, I have to say it’s a good thing they’re so much slower than we are. If the plants could take time from fighting each other to evolve a battery to let themselves move faster when necessary, we animals wouldn’t stand a chance.