The Berry Patch

Yesterday morning I got up early and decided after coffee that I'd go next door to Brian's vacant house and pick some raspberries.  He planted a small patch a couple of years ago to keep the neighbor boy from jumping his fence and knocking it down.  

It was a warm spring morning and the sky was as blue as I'd ever seen it.  The warm sun was starting to dry the dew on the grass, and the air was fresh with the scent of new mowed grass.  Occasionally the fragrant scent of roses and damp soil wafted in the air.  It was peaceful and quiet with a few birds chirping in the trees nearby.

I approached the berry patch with bowl in hand, looking forward to some moments of solitude where my thoughts were mine alone with no immediate demands at hand.  The berries were abundant and the fruit dropped easily from my fingers to the bowl.  I'd picked but a handful when I heard a rustle in the bushes coming from the opposite side of the fence.  I could only see the top of someone's head and knew immediately that it was a child from the height of the little head.  I was surprised that someone would be out here so early, and my first thought was that this was the fence jumper.  I asked: "Who's there?"  A small girl's voice answered, "It's just me."  

Slightly perturbed inwardly, because my prized solitude was interrupted, I asked:  "Who's me and what are doing over there?" 

The same small, sweet voice said:  "My name is McKenzie and I am picking raspberries.  Dick said I could."  Dick is my single neighbor whose property butts up against mine and a bit of Brian's.  The raspberry bushes hang over the fence that separates the two properties.

"Oh.  I'm sorry I was a bit startled," I said weakly as I tried to make silent amends. 

"That's okay."  McKenzie said brightly.  Soon she was joined by Beckah and another little girl.  After we'd introduced ourselves to each other, I asked what they were going to do with their raspberries. McKenzie, the self appointed spokesperson for the group said, they were picking them because Beckah's mother was going to make them raspberry cobbler.  They asked what I was doing with mine and I confessed that they were for cereal.  We continued talking with them asking about my girls, Katie Rose and Sophie Jo, and about the dead squirrel at the end of my street.  Somehow the conversation moved from the dead squirrel to a duck that Beckah's mom hit on the freeway, to a grandfather who died of a heartattack.  Suddenly Beckah said, "Why are we talking about dying?"  We all laughed and I fell silent while they chattered on about the sleepover last night at Beckah's house celebrating the last day of school.  They talked amongst themselves, forgetting that I was there, about how McKenzie's grandmother made the best cobbler, but Beckah's mom made the best pie.  It was fun listening to them, but just as suddenly as they appeared that morning they also left with a full bowl of berries and talking non-stop all the way across the yard to Beckah's house.  Suddenly everything was quiet except for the birds chirping.   

A bright cheerful morning had suddenly turned rather melencholy.  I was transferred back in time to the 1950's when I was one of those little girls picking berries for my mom.  So many good memories passed through me while I silently harvested berries from Brian's crop.  Warm sunny mornings when the most we had to do as kids was roll out of bed and head for the breakfast table; where we'd sit and plan out our day: bike riding, swimming, picnics, hide & go seek - just a few of the many things that kept us busy.  I miss those days and my mother and dad.  I miss the carefree feeling of childhood, and the love of my parents which protected us from the evil lurking in this world.  I miss playing with my brother and sister, and laughing over silly things that had no meaning. I miss sitting beside my mom on the couch while she scratched my back or lovingly combed my hair.  I miss hugging my dad and smelling the scent of Old Spice on his face.  I miss my childhood.          

I enjoyed my morning visit with the little berry patch visitors.  I was able to revisit my childhood and the memories have left me with a warmth in my heart and spirit.  I realized too that time goes by so quick and none of us acknowledge along the way just how precious our life experiences are until we are much older.  The adventures of childhood soon become just a memory, and the longing of reliving them is all we are left with.  In a way it would be more fitting to be born old and wrinkled and work backward to youth, with the wisdom to make all the right choices and understand what is important.  It seems that we waste so much of our life looking for answers that we don't recognize them when they are right in front of us.  The choices that I would make today are so very different from the choices that I made in the past.  I caused not only myself more misery and heartache than was necessary, but contributed to the heartache of some of those around me.  All because I was immature, young, foolish, bullheaded and independent.  Much too independent in some respects for my own good. 

This is really not about me and my bad choices though.  This was an experience of a lifetime and I am grateful to McKenzie and Beckah for interrupting my morning.  They were instrumental in catapulting me back in time to good memories of a lost and sometimes forgotton childhood, and then ultimately forcing me to check my own inventory.  It is always a humbling experience.