The Berry Patch

Another story about my Paw. Route 27 runs through Highland Heights, Ky, everyone called it the Pike. When this story took place it was a narrow stretch of road. I only knew it ran from Newport to Alexandria. I had never been to Alexandria, but I had been

We had walked up Mauch Rd. It was named for the Mauch family who had owned a farm at the end of it. Before the WPA paved it my Paw said it was a good name for it. Back then it was just a mud hole, truly a mock road.

We hiked along feeling happy as a lark. We were going berrying. our destination was Blange Rd. Old man Blange allowed us to pick berries there. Paw and my oldest brother J B carried  the old double tub filled with buckets between them. Abe and I carried a regular wash tub. They were empty now, but would be full to the brim with berries. The double tub with black berries. The tub with dewberries and the buckets with raspberries.  All but two they were for the most precious berry of all. Wild strawberries, Paw called them rubies. One bucket was for Mrs. Blange In payment for picking rights . The other was for Maw. She served them with sugar and cream. Paw always raised a ruckus. Maw shared with us younguns. She said they were sweeter when shared, otherwise they were bitter. Paw's reply made Maw say, "Jess what kind of language is that in front of children."

When we got to the patch we split up. Paw and J B picked the rubies. They required skill. Otherwise they would be trampled underfoot.  When they finished the rubies were placed in the shade. Then they picked the dew berries. Abe  worked the fencerows. As this was my first time picking I carried the buckets and filled the tubs. Paw and J B joined Abe in the fencerows. When the tubs were full we began the journey home.

Paw holding one handle of the double tub and one handle of the wash tub. J B the other handle of the double and a bucket. Abe one handle of the wash tub and a bucket. Me with a bucket of apples Mrs, blange gave us in return for the rubies. It is amazing how short the trip was going to the patch compared to how long it was going home. Berries sure are heavy, but well worth the trouble.

Author's Note

A young man has dreams and an old one has memories.

Reviews

[Susie Q]

What a nice memory of a day of family togetherness with your Paw. A special story.

[Sean Allen]

When my daughter was about 5 we picked blueberries in Cape Cod. Now her son is in his second year. Guess where I'll be going with him in a couple of years.

[Doreen]

Reminds me of my grandmother going blueberry picking, and making wonderful pancakes with those big juicy berries. I smiled as I read this. I enjoyed this.

[Mark]

Wnen I was a kid in Alaska, we picked a mess of what we called salmonberries, because they were a pinkish orange, like salmon eggs. What the might actually have been who can say. Today, in east Texas, it's blackberries everywhere you turn. Berries are a good metaphor for life, don't you think? The best and the sweetest are the hardest to harvest and the heaviest to carry, and that amid a thousand pricks and scratches, and immeasurable labor. Great reminiscence.