Bramblewait

bramblewait (BRAM-bul-wayt), noun. The motionless moment in front of a blackberry bush, arm already outstretched, in which you become certain that a better berry exists slightly deeper in and slightly further up. The berry within easy reach is ripe, dark and perfectly good. It is also, somehow, not the one you deserve. So you stand there, basket on your arm, fingers hovering over the fruit, while a much finer berry glints at you from the middle of the thorns.

The word joins bramble with wait. A popular story claims it was first written down beside a country hedgerow over a century ago, but the only evidence for that is one enthusiast who wanted the word to sound older than it was, so the date is best treated as part of the joke. The word is said to have a cousin, the equally invented verb to hedgeling, meaning to want fruit more than you fear nettles.

A bramblewait resolves in one of two ways. Either you take the near berry and eat it in mild disappointment, aware that you have settled, or you commit to the far one and pay the toll in scratches, stains and at least one sock full of thorns. There is no third outcome. Seasoned pickers also agree on one strange law: the berry you were reaching for at the start is never the berry you eventually eat.

Usage: “He stood in a four-minute bramblewait, waded in up to his elbows, and came back with nettle rash, a torn cuff and a single berry the size of a pea, which he ate with the expression of a man who had won something.” A group bramblewait, in which a whole family stops at the same bush and points at different berries, is known informally as a hedge committee, and it rarely reaches a decision before it starts to rain.

Behind the joke is a very familiar habit. When there is plenty to choose from, it is surprisingly easy to feel that the best option must be just out of reach, whether it is the berry at the back of the bush, the other queue at the supermarket or the dish someone else ordered. The thing in front of us starts to look ordinary simply because it is easy to get, while the one we cannot quite reach seems to shine.

So if you go blackberry picking this autumn, give yourself a rule before you start. Take the good berries you can reach, enjoy the ones that come easily, and leave a few of the tricky ones for the birds, who have better balance and fewer socks to worry about. The basket will fill just as quickly, your arms will thank you, and you might discover that the berry in front of you was the best one all along.