Join me in Another Summer Memory-
One of the Northwest summer traditions is huckleberry picking. Similar to a blueberry, huckleberry bushes grow wild at higher elevation forested areas. I had seen the berries on sale at exorbitant rates hovering around $40 per gallon. However, once I’d experienced the torturous picking without the benefit of seating or shade, I understood their exalted price.
Some co-workers invited me to my first picking party. I was warned to wear sturdy shoes and old pants in case of tears or stains. The veterans advised me to bring a strapped-on container. They used cut-down plastic gallon milk jugs tied onto straps or backpacks. I used a gallon laundry soap container.
Prior to our trip I had visions of bears chasing me up a tree with huckleberries spilling all along the forest trail. I wondered how such a large animal could satisfy its hunger on such sparsely scattered fruits. As it turned out, nearby bears did not present a problem. Our experienced picker’s young daughter kept up an ongoing dialogue with her mother.
“Mommy, I just love huckleberries, don’t you? I love huckleberry pancakes and syrup and huckleberries on ice cream. Can we have some for dinner, please, please? I’m so hungry! Mommy, can I eat some berries now? Mommy? Can you hear me, Mommy?”
Her mother didn’t hear her, learning long ago to block it out, but our furry friends could, especially as she turned up the volume to gain her mother’s attention. Our audible presence in the berries was loud and clear.
I hooked an old army canteen onto my jeans belt loop via a clamp. Our leader prepared us with sun screen, and a quick dose of bug spray. As we marched along the trail, I felt very professional on my maiden voyage into the thick underbrush.
We left the trail forging into the dense vegetation. Our group carefully picked our way around fallen logs towards foot-high huckleberry bushes. I focused on visions of scrumptious fruit-filled pancakes with sauce to keep from dwelling on the danger of stepping in a hole. A required airlift to the hospital to treat a broken leg would be highly embarrassing!
The bending over part pained my back, so when I got to the breaking point, I would land with a thump on whatever lay beneath me. Mostly it was a soft landing, but occasionally, I regretted it.
Finally, I found a spot where I could actually sit on one of the logs and pick the encircling berries. At first, only a few huckleberries appeared on each low-lying bush. This is going to take hours and hours, I sighed inwardly.
I discovered a mass of berries after moving up the hill a bit just begging to be picked. My friend’s daughter cried out what I had been thinking. “Mom, we found a huckleberry heaven!” She was right on target. The more I spied, the more delighted I became. The fat, juicy berries were always the ones I dropped in my excitement into the underbrush surrounding my feet, never to be seen again. My bucket grew fuller, though, in spite of some losses.
We were not the only ones who had discovered this cornucopia of fruit. As we bent over our bushes, a constant drone of bees swarmed around us. Occasionally, one of them passed close to my ears, unnerving me.
In fact, toward the end of the day when exhaustion neared, I had my fill of Kamikaze insects. I determined to ignore them, but suddenly felt an electric shock-like sting on my upper arm. The bee had his revenge. Instantly, the whole experience lost its charm. I screamed and thrashed through the thick brush looking desperately for the trail. I was done! My friend cared for my sting with an application of mud, but the sweetness had clearly gone from the day. It wasn’t long before we made the trek back to the car.
I felt like a hunter returning from his kill when I arrived home. I came bearing the rare and hard-won fruit for my family, in spite of blue-stained, sticky hands and a swollen, painful arm. We did enjoy the berries’ sweet goodness in and on our pancakes and ice cream. I even ventured into jam-making as a suitable reminder of our summer’s adventure.
Perhaps by next year, my memories will have softened to exclude the bee sting and the sweetness of the berry will bring back a desire for another huckleberry hunt.
Dianna
Sharing the Fruit of Maturity
