Wild Blueberries
The hot air wrapped around us like a blanket we couldn’t get out from under. The thick leaf cover of the surrounding beech and hemlock prevented the breeze above from finding a path to the forest floor. The deer flies successfully thwarted our efforts to frighten them off with our flimsy, faded pale green cardboard cartons. The ever-present soundtrack of buzzing insects and sweaty legs rubbing against the inside of rubber boots stuck with us. We were blueberry picking.
In the fall, I had come across a wetland clearing lined with what were, at the time, vibrantly red, fruitless blueberry bushes. Literally hundreds of them. Not only were they a beautiful spectacle in their autumn foliage, I knew returning in the heat of the summer would yield a great bounty. And there I was, humidity aside, on the half mile hike to the blueberry bog with my wife who reminded me of the deer flies’ preference for her blood over mine.
As we approached our destination, I made note of the bear scat lying in the middle of the path. Though historical data shows how unlikely it is for black bears to attack humans, I don’t think my brain stem has received the message. My thoughts drifted to bears. And what do bears love even more than I do? Blueberries. But we pressed on, hoping any nearby bears were enjoying midday nap with no desire for blueberry picking.
My thoughts bounced from bears to flies until the trees eventually thinned and we were standing on the edge of the marsh with a welcome breeze blowing across our faces. And just as I had imagined, the swamp was lined with blueberry bushes heavy with fruit. But we were too early. The berries were a fluid combination of magenta and green. Only one or two here and there had ripened into the delicious little treats we were hunting. We had suspected as much before we set off on the journey, but due to the tasty nature of blueberries we just had to make sure. Empty buckets in hand, we began the buggy walk back to the truck. Now with mud on our rubber boots.
What did we go for? Blueberries? Absolutely. But leaving the woods without the quarry helps me to realize what else I am given when we step deeper into nature. I appreciate the beauty of a low flying blue heron above the marsh grass. The percussive tap of a woodpecker on a dry dead tree. But there is something else. I can’t quite describe it, but it comes from an ancient place in my lineage. A sense of ease and simplicity the woods give me. Blueberries aside, I find my mind turning to a different pattern where the immediate moment moves into focus.
All of my senses are heightened. A childlike sense of curiosity overwhelms and the details of my surroundings are magnified. Everything at once, and nothing in particular is calling for attention. I cannot help but look, smell, listen or touch all that is around, and perhaps if the blueberries were more blue, I would taste as well.