I am lucky (some might say cursed) to live in an area where wild blackberry brambles flourish. Almost every evening, during the first three weeks of June, I don my “berry picking uniform”. Jeans, heavy sweatpants, a long sleeve turtleneck shirt, topped by another long sleeve cotton button up shirt. Tall rubber boots and a hat complete the ensemble. This outfit is necessary protection against the viciousness of the thorny canes. Carrying a long pole and a bucket, I head out in search of treasure. Picking berries hard but rewarding work. Watching my bucket slowly fill with these precious jewels fills me with happiness, satisfaction, and pride. When I go picking, I am reminded that I am participating in an activity which humans have done for thousands of years; I feel connected to history, linked to the dawn of civilization, and conversely, appreciative of all I have in this most modern of worlds. It is quite an experience from such a small thing.
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