Blackberry Picking Time_

It is blackberry pickin' time again and lately I have been thinking of my mother.  She loved to pick those things more than anyone I know. When we were growing up, she got my brothers and me up at dawn, fed us a hurried breakfast  and told us to come with her to the blackberry patch. Lordy, did I hate it! I even grew to hate blackberry jam until the season was over and we were in the dead part of winter. When it was spread between a biscuit that was dripping with homemade butter I somehow forgot all the suffering it takes to have this delicious treat.

It is a safe guess that nearly everyone who has grown up outside the city limits shares this memory and you probably share another one...CHIGGERS! Mercy how those tiny red varmints could make you miserable.

Mom would make us put on long pants, long sleeved shirts, boots, and a cap. Now ain't that a wardrobe to be sporting around in on a 90 degree day! Climbing up and down hills, wading through weedy hollows, and sweating.

It seemed as though no matter how long the sleeves of my blouse was  I still managed to get some really nasty thorn scratches from those wild blackberry vines. Nothing grabbed clothing and snared the tender skin quite like a wild blackberry bush. Those briars were razor sharp.

Funny how we never used to get any rain during blackberry picking time. I used to pray for storms every day. The only thing that came was hot, clear days, and more berries. Sometimes I thought maybe God was punishing me for being so ungrateful for the bountiful supply of black, sweet, ripe, and juicy fruit just waiting to be placed in my bucket...

This year, I picked berries from my backyard. No thorns on the bushes, no worry from the fear of snakes, and hal le-loo-yurah (As Medea would say), no chiggers. I have a nice little blackberry patch of thorn-less berries I planted about three years ago. It is nice to have them because as I grow older I realize just how wonderful it is to have homemade jam with your biscuit or toast on a cold winter’s morning. Share it with a hot cup of coffee is heavenly...

This year as I picked them, I shed a few tears because of the sweet memory of my mom and blackberry picking time when I was a kid. However, The Way I See It, if there are blackberries in Heaven, Mom certainly enjoys picking from a bountiful supply…

Walk with God,

Mary Frances King

Who We Are~

I'll think of dew-kissed bluebells when

     The morning sun should rise,

And picture tender violets that

     Bring pleasure to my eyes.                                                           

I'll wait for thermal winds to sweep

     From dusty western plains,

And search for thunderclouds that hint

    Of drenching, cleansing rains.

  I'll love the daffodils that grow

Where once a brave heart stood,

I'll stop, admire a rose and then

    Find respite in wood.

It is of nature who we are

And who we strive to be;

I'll dwell upon these lovely thoughts

     To find the inner me.

 __Henry W. Gurley