My husband considers me a bit “loony.” Why, when the temperature is in the nineties, would anyone in their right mind choose to bundle up in a long sleeved shirt and long pants, spend the day fighting brambles, poison ivy, gnats and possibly snakes; then return home, like the loser in a battle with a bobcat — stained red with blood and berry juice? Sometimes I question my own sanity, especially when I probe for a stubborn thorn, try to disguise my scratched hands, or nurse a persistent case of poison ivy.
Despite these hindrances, when July rolls around I find myself wondering what the berry crop is like this summer. Finally, I succumb, don my protective clothing, douse myself with insect repellent, round up my bucket and a sturdy stick, and head for the berry patch.
I hesitate to tell you where I find my berries. This is not entirely self-serving. That would deprive you of a major part of the joy of berry picking — the thrill of finding a spot where the berries are abundant. In the late spring I scout mountain roads and the fences in pasture fields. When I spot arching spans of new canes filled with white blossoms, I make a mental note: return in July.
I learned this strategy as a child and still find it exciting. During the Depression, children contributed to the family economy by gathering berries and nuts. From the first wild strawberries in late May until October winds showered the ground with walnuts and hickory nuts, we spent hours reaping harvests we did not sow, contemplating the delicious pies, cakes and jams they would provide.
I suppose nostalgia plays a part in my quest for the wild fruits. But it’s more than that. For me, berry picking is a spiritual experience. Berries grow in abandoned remote areas, away from the noise of traffic and the busyness of modern life. The sheer silence is soothing. Silence — punctuated only by the occasional rustle of a rabbit startled by this invasion of his briar patch, or the lyrical warbling of a mockingbird. I find my body relaxing and my mind freed from anxiety, contemplating deeper and more meaningful matters.
The abundance of dark ripe fruit and clusters of bright red berries – promise of more to come – speak to me of God’s goodness in providing for his creatures. I meditate on the words of Psalm 67: “ The earth has yielded its increase; God, our God has blessed us. God has blessed us; let all the ends of the earth fear him!”
Each cane is covered with berries, and each berry is loaded with seeds. How wonderful that those seeds are still viable after passing through the birds’ digestive systems! New berries are planted, not just in this spot but wherever the birds fly and drop the seeds. The very place where berries grow, abandoned areas, where storms have broken trees, show how God brings good out of an apparently hopeless situation.
Abundant Spring and early summer rain has produced the nicest blackberries I’ve picked in years. Most are as large as the first joint of my thumb, covered with clusters of tiny purplish spheres. My fingers slide beneath each one and separate it from the branch. Plunk, plunk! They drop into the bucket. Soon the bottom is covered and no sound is heard as the berries accumulate.
God could have been satisfied just providing food for his creatures, but he went the extra mile with beauty and taste. If I time my picking day right, I also find red raspberries that ripen before the peak of the blackberry season. Each one is like a ruby, glistening in the sunlight. I gather them thankfully, placing my bucket beneath the clusters to catch the berries as they drop. If they fall to the ground amid the tangle of poison ivy and dead branches they can never be retrieved. Sometimes my carelessness causes me to lose them. Sometimes their loss cannot be prevented — merely pulling the vine toward me can cause them to fall. So it is with life. We make mistakes and things just happen. No need to fret. I move on and soon locate another loaded cane.
My stick is a simple but crucial piece of equipment. I probe the area ahead before stepping into a thicket to avoid surprising a snake or other critter. If I should hear a warning rattle I can retreat — I hope! So far I have not encountered a snake, but they tend to lurk around dead trees and underbrush where berries and poison ivy thrive.
I also use the stick to spread the branches, revealing the fruit hidden beneath the leaves, or to pull a cane nearer. Occasionally a long cane will snag my shirt, its thorns piercing the cloth and puncturing my skin. I become entangled, unable to pull free. I imagine a scene from a science fiction movie, where the briars snare a human and devour her on the spot. But my trusty stick pushes the cane away and I step aside, free again. Another metaphor. Tangled and snared by temptation. “Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.”
It begins to rain, a light summer shower. Soon my shirt and hat are soaked, but I want to fill my bucket. Just as I am about to head for my car, I spot a patch of the reddest, ripest raspberries I’ve seen all day. They are deep inside a thicket, far from the path, hovering above a pile of broken tree limbs. Common sense says I would be foolish to go after them. I recall lines from Browning, “Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?” The quotation seems appropriate. Reluctantly, I turn away and head for the car, hoping some bird will drop the seeds of those superior berries in a more accessible spot.
Once I have scrubbed away the oil from the poison ivy and diligently searched for ticks that may have invaded my body, I am ready to enjoy the spoils of my search. No amount of money could purchase a single precious berry. Like the Little Red Hen, I will share them with my own little chicks — city-bred grandchildren who might otherwise never know the taste of hot blackberry cobbler, homemade blackberry jam, or fresh blackberries with cream. Ah, the extraordinary joys of summer!
By Mary Jo Shannon [email protected]