Archive for the ‘picking berries’ Category
the ideal property
A few years ago, my younger brother lived in New Brunswick for a while and we were able to see him and my sister-in-law quite often. We had some great times, camping one weekend on Grand Manan, watching Survivor together, seeing their terrific Christmas decorations, and just visiting.
One of the weekends I remember well was our drive to see their new property along the St. John River. Although they eventually sold the property, it remains one of the best plots of land I have ever seen. My poem will tell you why!
~
~
Land For Sale
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waterfront
two acres
one of cleared field
one of woods
silver maple, curly fern, rocky shore
transparent water and wobbling waves
an island over there
(conservation land)
(no buildings to intercept
the view)
~
plans manifest
the house here
the driveway a garden a gate
a path through the maples
to the shore and a dock
two good-natured chairs
turned toward one another
skating in January bonfires in July
promising neighbours
reasonable price
~
and the clincher?
the deal maker?
the heart breaker?
a crooked bush
with five fat blueberries
ready to pick
~
Warning: 1. never eat any plant if you are not absolutely certain of the identification; 2. never eat any plant if you have personal sensitivities, including allergies, to certain plants or their derivatives; 3. never eat any plant unless you have checked several sources to verify the edibility of the plant.
© Jane Tims 2011
an afternoon in the blueberry field
blueberries ripening
One of my favourite places to be is a blueberry field. Nothing is better than lying on your back between islands of blueberry bushes, watching clouds build in the sky and munching on newly picked blueberries.
When I was young, I spent lots of time picking blueberries with my Dad, in the pasture behind my grandfather’s farm. I can still see his hands deftly stripping berries from each branch, and hear the staccato ripple of berries filling his pail. My picking was considerably slower and less productive. In my pail, the berries spoke in single plinks, each separated by several seconds of silence.
Later, when I was a teenager, I went once with my Mom to pick blueberries on our neighbour’s hillside. My berry picking skills had not improved and I know I ate more than I picked. But how I wish I could spend, just one more time, that afternoon with my Mom, picking blueberries on a sun-washed hill.
Today, I pick blueberries every summer, in the field near our cottage. Since I am usually the only one picking, I now aim to be efficient. Sometimes I use my blueberry rake to strip the berries from the branches, quickly and with little waste. Of course, this means picking through the berries by hand, removing leaves and other debris. But the ripe berries are still blue and sweet, and plump with the warmth and fragrance of August.
This poem is in remembrance of my Mom and our afternoon of picking blueberries:
Bitter Blue
of all the silvery summer days we spent none so warm sun on
granite boulders round blue berry field miles across hazy miles
away from hearing anything but bees
and berries
plopping in the pail
beside you I draped my lazy bones on bushes crushed berries and
thick red leaves over moss dark animal trails nudged between rocks
baking berries brown musk rising to meet blue heat
or the still fleet scent
of a waxy berry bell
melting in my mouth crammed with fruit sometimes pulled from
laden stems more often scooped from your pail full ripe blue pulp
and the bitter shock of a hard green berry never ripe
or a shield bug
with frantic legs
and an edge to her shell
Published as: ‘Bitter Blue’, Summer 1993, The Amethyst Review 1 (2)
© Jane Tims
Warning: 1. never eat any plant if you are not absolutely certain of the identification; 2. never eat any plant if you have personal sensitivities, including allergies, to certain plants or their derivatives; 3. never eat any plant unless you have checked several sources to verify the edibility of the plant.
nichepoetryandprose 