Blackberries seem like an infinite treat right now. Each day I eat a ton from a particular section where they are fat and juicy and the next day they reappear as if a berry muncher never stopped by. They are like the thorny bush that keeps on giving.
Mary Alice said that if we wanted to pick blackberries for market we could sell them for $4.50 a pint and keep the proceeds. Now most people outside of the city would see that price and let out a hearty laugh or muffled grunt (depending on their stance in life). They are quite aware that blackberries are a free and infinite resource in their own backyards. Yet people in Victoria may not be so lucky to enjoy blackberries that melt in their mouth whenever the desire finds them. So the city slickers and older folks purchase the blackberries because they don't have the means to pick them...and upon first glance they drool at the chance of indulging in such a joyous occasion of splendor.
So this past Friday, after a long harvest day, I had to dig deep (no pun intended) for the energy to pick a few pints of blackberries. I put on my blackberry garb of several layers and headed straight for my favorite spot: the rock pile. For some reason the blackberries have entirely taken over the rock pile...and out of all the blackberries on the farm these are most certainly the biggest, fattest, most juiciest blackberries...most likely because they are the most dangerous to pick.
There I was, proud of myself for finding the blackberry jackpot. I twisted and turned, balanced and weaved, bent and stretched...and plucked every giant blackberry in sight. Just as I was balancing on a wobbly rock, reaching for the gold, the wind moseyed in. I snickered to see the blackberries bend with the wind, thinking how lucky I was not to have to submit to such a giant force. But I guess the wind was snickering too...or maybe I just lost some weight... because the gust just blew me right over! Of course my reaction was to reach for the nearest thorny branch which came right down with me as I landed bottom side down on a bed of thorns. I looked up just in time to see my bucket of blackberries come pouring down on top of me! I lied there for a good while hoping no one would walk by. The thorns in my bottom brought back not so fond memories of the time I sat on a cactus while peeing on the side of the road in Ecuador.
I slowly got up, eating what blackberries I could save...and peered behind me to see a nice purple blackberry squished bottom. Yeeessshhk! I was about ready to give up, but I just couldn't leave empty handed. That weekend I sold 3 pints! Now that's some serious dough for a poor, purple bottomed, wanna be farmer.
4 comments:
Wow! That was a good piece of Literary work. I very much so enjoyed reading that. Great imagery and all those other fun terms. Ummmm... at first I thought you were talking about the personal organizer (a.k.a. crackberry/blackberry or blueberry whatever) I so would have picked more berries than you.
Oh! You mean those burberry things...?
Busy Bob busily books business brunches by blackberry beside Burnout Brenda buying Burberry brand bags between boutiques bordering bustling booming boulevards.
Backwoods, below blackberry brambles, bristly burrs burrow beneath bouncing beagle’s brush. Bucolic Betsy brings back blackberry buckets because Baker Billy bakes blackberry buns before bedtime.
LoL I looked it up, and Burberry is like clothing, and blackberry (a.k.a. crackberry or whatever) is the phone/personal organizer get on the internet do whatever thing.
Oh, and did you make that little tongue-twister up yourself?
I did make it up! I really am a fan of alliteration.
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