I was picking boysenberries again today. I started thinking about how easy it was to eat them as fast as I picked them. That got me to thinking of hunter-gatherer mommas picking berries for their families, and then I thought of the book Blueberries for Sal, which isn't prehistoric at all. I imagined myself picking berries with my granddaughters on some prehistoric hillside. I would pass along sage wisdom, which is why I would still be an asset even after menopause meant I wouldn't pass along any more genes, as we leisurely picked and ate the delicious ambrosia left after the birds had had their fill.
Then the irony hit me. These boysenberries are the result of fairly recent crossbreeding done at U.C. Riverside. They had no prehistoric life, and probably have no marketable future since they aren't a very good producer.
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