"Now Mom, I'm going to have you sit on the floor in front of the hearth. Sisters, can you sit on either side of your mom? Put your hand on her shoulder, there . . . that's it. Dad, can you hold Brother in your lap? Okay, hold that smile, perfect!" Five matching white shirts in a row, before an artificial fire.

Back when I had a real job, we lived in a planned subdivision that was specifically designed to foster the feeling of community and car-free convenience. Out in exurbia, it was far enough away from city center that it discouraged all but the most determined of commuters. We moved there after our family grew by the addition of two more children, at the same time the apartment complex we occupied downtown suffered the fate of its neighbors and was converted to expensive condominiums.

Like almost everyone I know, I am following the OWS activity with interest. My family can't really Occupy--we have school-age children, we babysit, my husband works daily, we have no car, and we live twenty miles from the closest site of activism. We also happen to live in one of the most commercial, materialist suburbs in the area, with every big box store represented, and a mall that draws buyers from far and wide. But our family is feeling the effects of the movement as the topics it raises ripple through our networks and inform almost every interaction and conversation.

Blackberry bramble grows wild all over our town. Many consider it a menace. It’s invasive, and it will choke everything out and take your fence down in the process. It’s easy to identify, with spreading thorn-covered vines and broad elliptical leaves. Sometime in the late spring, it’s covered with white blossoms that eventually turn into tight, chartreuse clusters that mature until they become soft, darkly purple berries by July or August. It’s hard to buy blackberries: they’re fragile, and so expensive.