Another Berry Day

On Sunday, we got a call from an elderly widow, Fern, whom I've known all my life. She and her husband planted a large garden years ago, and the raspberries have flourished on their own- now that she's too old to get out and take care of them. She asked me to come out whenever I had time and pick some of the raspberries for her. So this morning, I went over and she asked if I could get her about two gallons worth.

It was fun from the start: neither of us could find gallon or quart measures, so we ended up resorting to pint measures. Then I went out, and began picking them. It wasn't like working at all; the wind was blowing and the sun was playing hide-and-go-seek through the clouds. It seemed like it was no time at all before about three hours had passed.

I felt like I was a small child again. The bushes towered over my head in almost all the patch except the first few plants. To reach some of the berries, I crawled underneath where an aisle used to be and laid flat on the ground. Once, I got in an argument with a crazed magpie, but I ended up winning that. A few times, Fern was concerned because she couldn't see me, so she'd send her son - who'd dropped in for a while - to go look for me. Usually it was because I'd been engulfed by a large mass of berry-bushes.

For three wonderful hours, I got to be a little girl again. I got to pick large, ripe, delicious raspberries. I got to be outdoors in the beautiful Autumn weather. I got to be little Laura Jean again. How can I call that work?

Only once I got home did I realise that my hair resembled something akin to a very tangled briar bush. And my clothes were covered in brambles, and my lips and hands were red with the juice. But I think it was fair enough - I got to have a quiet, peaceful, restful three hours and Fern got just shy of two gallons. I missed by a pint.

Little Laura Jean wasn't so into math either.