I don't think I ever had a longer, most boring, most frustrating experience in my entire life than the one that I had that day trying to fill that small beach pail. We were out there for at least three hours. The ten quart bucket was 3/4 full and my little pail was about the same. I decided that I didn't like picking blueberries, not now, not ever again. I asked my grandfather politely if we could now return to the house. To my great relief, he acquiesced. The only other time I ever picked a blueberry was the one I was going to eat on the fly. Too much work for too little reward.
The least humorous part of the story is that in the process I got closely acquainted with the viciousness of poison ivy. I was in bed, yes, in bed, pululating all over the place. I smelled like a leper, I think. I can still remember the staleness of the odor. It was the beginning of years and years of recurring poison ivy attacks on my gorgeous body. They finally went away, about 40 years ago. Hhmmm...I wonder if the gout made a deal with the poison ivy. Oh well, two excellent reasons for not ever trying to pick a bucketful of blueberries.
But wait, there's more. One day I was about 12 or 13 and I personally discovered a wild cranberry bog about one mile away from home. I thought that I was going to give it a try because after all, cranberries are bigger than blueberries. So, I went there with someone else, and for the life of me, I don't remember who it was. Together, we did not do too much better than I and my grandfather had done with the blueberries. Suffice it to say, A&P here I come.
I was thinking about this as I and the Voice from the Kitchen and I were picking apricots from this lovely low-hanging tree. Small apricots they are, on average only about 1.5 inches in diameter. Wow! we picked ten pounds in about 20 minutes. Now this, I will do again. For all the rest, A&P, here I come.
A&P? Huh? A&P? Heee! Whassamatter, can't remember it? It used to look just like this.
I Make jam wth apricots!!!
ReplyDeleteMike
Now you can appreciate what the Mexicans do in all the fields of USA.
ReplyDeleteI suppose it is only human to want to see the result of your labor. I remember my dad making us do 6 feet of farming every morning. Either weeding in the farm or taking the roots of of some wild grass they had
in the island. Bokso is the name of this long stem grass. You cut the leaves but the nasty roots stay and you either use a shovel or an ax to dig it out , shake the soil. top soil mind you. After the tilling like that then you can plant tapioka or sweet potatoes or anything vegetable you want. I do not know whether its because we did it before we went to school or he was cutting the boredom or maybe both. It was early so no worry about the sun beating down on you. The reward was the sweating and the wind blowing on you. Raw nature. That was something. Bokso is a Japanese name for this grass. I do not know if horses or cows eat this grass. Ask your Japanese friend on his blog. He'll know.
Justa
Hi Paul,
ReplyDeleteThis reminds me of the two cherry trees we had on the farm and each year I was assigned the task of picking the cherries when ripe. My mother always gave me a empty syrup can which probably held about one quart. It took me forever to fill the syrup can, but not because cherries were small, but because I ate two or three cherries for every one I put in the can.
George
I know Bokso. It is what is commonly called "Elephant Grass". Cows and horses can't eat this stuff. It is too rough and tough for them. Water Buffalo can eat it though.
ReplyDeletePaul
I remember this market, in Michigan it was everywhere !!
ReplyDeleteMy step mom, dad's wife worked for this market for years........ Sweet memories !!! Br. Phil.