When I first envisioned myself picking the wild Salmonberries of Alaska in which I so dearly love, I pictured myself in...well...berry heaven.
I could see it vividly. I would pick a berry, place it in my huge bucket that I would fill to the brim, and then eat one for myself. Again, pick a berry, and then eat two this time. One for the bucket, and some for me. More for the bucket and even more for me. "Buckets," I thought. "I would fill buckets of berries!"
I'm licking my lips right now just thinking about it.
What would I do with all the berries that I didn't eat? Make jam. And jelly. And all kinds of treats. You may be thinking..."Jam? Really? First your'e getting excited about berry heaven and then eating jam? You must have an exciting life..." But, my friend, if you have not had homemade Salmonberry Jam or Jelly, you are missing out. It's quite a special Alaskan delicacy and I truly feel sorry for you. It's like a fricken magic sauce. Like, explaining it wouldn't do it justice. My family in Alaska usually sends my mom and I a jar of this fricken amazing stuff only once a year and its gone in less than a week. All efforts of hoarding it or saving it are ravaged by our hunger for it. (Good thing we only get one jar...otherwise it would add quite a few pounds to my physique.) A vampire would even like it better than blood.
Again, licking my lips.
What I did not realize is that berry picking was nothing like I had in mind. I didn't know that I would be continually fighting thorns in reward for only a small berry. I didn't know that the Salamonberry leaves were tricksters and wanted to keep their treasures secret. I didn't know that they would set traps just like pirates that would lead you to fall into covered up and hidden ditches. I didn't know that the best berries, the ones most ripe and beautiful were the hardest to reach. They placed themselves on the top of the bushes as if they were the kings and queens of all Alaska's berries. Of all Alaska's wildlife. And I, reaching towards them was like a servant begging for mercy. A servant begging for one taste of food like I hadn't eaten in days. Was wasting away. And all I asked was of one bite. One lick. One glimmer of hope.
I did not realize I would have to balance my way on slippery rocks, through tangled branches, and under itchy vines. I did not realize I would find myself stuck in a skunk cabbage larger than my own self. And its stench even larger than that.I did not realize I would hear the squeaks of mice or rats or whatever they were also trying to get their share in this, "Berry Heaven." I didn't know I would be fighting off bees and other bugs who had beaten me to the best berries.
And the rain. I didn't know the rain wouldn't be on my side as it sloshed the foundations on which my feet tried to step and filled my eyes with its drops. It would leave the berries I was trying to pluck even harder to get hold of.
And sometimes, if I did beat all of nature's ninjas to the berries, and just as I grasped victory, the glorious moment when I touched the berry...when I held it for the first time... I didn't know it would slip from me in an instant as it fell from my cold and swollen fingers. Defeat laughing at me as the berry splattered into the dirt. And maybe along with one of my tears or two.
I most certainly didn't envision this berry excursion to resemble the set up of The Hunger Games.
It felt like hours I was out there. In our backyard. Our backyard filled with at least one hundred or more berry bushes. Bushes I thought would bring me happiness and most importantly the best berries in the world. Hours, it seemed, of fighting. Of grasping. Of giving much energy and of getting little. I held a pitcher in my hand after over an hour.
The picture of my berry dream washed away with the rain as I saw not even this little pitcher filled full with berries.
The jam. The jelly. The buckets of berries and my happy tummy. All seemed far and fading. Fading and losing themselves in the berry leaves. Being eaten by the green that surrounded me.
I looked up from the pitcher to find another berry. A perfect berry. Hanging like a jewel from its leaf. I decided I wanted it. I was determined. I began to realize how this berry heaven may not have been the paradise I thought it to be. The paradise that would not allow me to eat as many berries as I wanted and as easily as ever.
But I suddenly got lost.
Got lost in the beauty of that one berry. I got lost in the wonder of the bushes. The earthy smell that rejuvenated my lungs with fresh air. Pausing to appreciate that beautiful single berry allowed me to fill my ears with the bird's singing that I had not noticed before. To feel the warmth and cleansing quality of the rain. To be inspired by the dancing leaves and branches. They were not tangled. They were in union. The thorns weren't as sharp as I thought them to be. Nature's cold heart loosened its grip as it began to show me full clusters of berries. The dark ditches I thought myself in were flooded with light soon enough.
Sure, it would take me quite a long time to pick bucketfulls of berries. But is that really what I needed? Buckets of berries? Or did I need to see the beauty from which they were grown? The tender care of nature to protect them and the tender care of nature to nourish my own body. With its rain, its air, its sounds, its lessons.
Its quality.
I walked inside. My hair had fallen out. I looked like I had just walked out of the shower. My pants were accompanied by green bits of grass all along its legs. My Chacos were tracking in dirt. My hands were stained with berry juice. My arms were pricked with cuts.
But I proudly held out a small pitcher of berries. My aunt smiled & I knew it was worth it.
"That was a lot harder that I expected." I began to explain.
"You were out there for more than an hour," my aunt responded.
"Just an hour?" I thought. It went by slow at first but had ended quickly when I realized there was more to nature's madness in keeping me from its berries.
"When we were younger, Grandma would send us outside and tell us to not come back until we filled up a 5 gallon bucket of berries." she continued.
I could feel my face go dumbfounded..."How long did that take you?" I squeaked.
"All day." she said.
I gulped and dreaded the thought. I looked down at my pitcher once more. A pitcher that was probably less than half a gallon.
But then I remembered.
I remembered the small realization of the beauty of berry picking. That although it may take long, it gave me time to absorb life. To appreciate Alaska's beauty. To see things I would never be able to experiance from a screen or from just straight out buying a bucketfull of berries. I would never have been able to discover the soft glow of the sunset as I picked berries until I couldn't see their bushes anymore.
The energy that I gained from this experiance had given me more energy than I could have ever gotten than from a thousand buckets of Salmonberries!
So I smiled...I had just been in berry heaven.
Oh, and you know what? I ate some of those berries that night. With icecream... And you know how much I love icecream.
