berry season

While riding our bikes to a freind’s BBQ, I made a promise to my son: we could pick blackberries from the bramble along side Capitol Boulevard on the return trip. It was hot and we were running late…I didn’t want to lose momentum. He was on to me though; he knows my tactic of pushing a commitment further down the road in hopes that he may forget.

The fact that he’d been out with his uncle and auntie at one of the blueberry farms out towards Boston Harbor just that morning didn’t matter. After a few hours of picking, they dropped him off with a blue tongue and a ziplock full of the morning’s bounty.

It also didn’t matter that he’d been scavenging huckleberries for weeks. Just the week before, he explored the woods near Olympic National Park and tirelessly picked huckleberries from each wispy shrub he passed. One by one, he dropped them in his cleaned-out, repurposed salsa container. We spoke of huckleberry pancakes, juice and muffins; but in the end, the huckleberries found the most direct route to his mouth, without the scenic trip to the mixing bowl.

On the return bike ride after the BBQ, he gave several reminders about my promise to stop at the bramble and I obliged. The blackberries were just ripening. We navigated our way through the thorny vines to pluck the few tender, juicy berries available. And, well, they were so good I’m pretty certain we’ll be stopping at these bushes the next time we take a bike trip along Capitol.

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