Bodacious Blueberries

BLUEBERRY HEAVEN

Tulip slipped out of her city life this morning to pay an annual visit to Mother Blueberry. Mother Blueberry is the overseer of all organic blueberries in the region, and Tulip heard the call last night saying it is time.

During the ten minute drive to MacDonald Blueberry Farm in the community of Pitt Meadows, Tulip is remembering the ease and joy of blueberry picking, and the excitement of making crêpes, pancakes, loaves and sauce to last for the next three seasons.

Upon arrival she is greeted by an offspring of farmer Don. Last year Don got very ill and never fully recovered. Other family members have taken on the farm work. She is directed to go to any row without an orange cone, and proceeds to the far right. It is not like her to select the right over the left, but as she stood looking at the row upon row of bushes with an abundance of midnight blue, berry clusters, she hears a chorus of “come to me, come to me.”

The right side wins.

As she stands there looking down the row, there isn’t a soul in sight … a human soul, that is. The fields are full of soul.

She approaches the first bush, thanks it for the call and for the opportunity to appreciate its fruit. 

Knowing one should never take the first nor the last of anything Nature provides, she bypasses the first cluster. She reaches for the next one hidden behind some luscious green leaves, clasps her palm gently in place, and feels the joy of what’s about to happen. She is about to wiggle her fingers gently against the big, bold, bodacious berries and make them fall into her hand —  sometimes one by one, and sometimes many all at once. Apparently picking blueberries properly is a skill, and that is why these bushes treat her well. She knows how to treat and please the crop, and the gift of giving is reciprocated equally well.

Within thirty minutes Tulip looks down at her basket, and knows it is time to stop. She must not pick more than she needs.

“These are simply the best!”

She spots a couple of new human arrivals who look a bit lost as to where to start. They notice Tulip’s cache and ask, in a clearly foreign accent: “where you go?” 

Tulip happily directs them to her ‘row of plenty’ and shows them how it’s done. With a bit of practice, they catch on. They individually press their hands together to express gratitude, and nod to show respect and honour to the bushes and to Tulip.  She understands the gestures and reciprocates. 

Her heart is smiling, and she is thinking of a Samurai or a Samaritan or a certain Shifu who taught her well: Nature and humanity thrive and survive with respect and honour.  

Tulip walks to the welcome tent to weigh the bounty. This was a good Pitt Meadows day … this was a very good day.