The thrill of the hunt

I'm a big fan of the Home Forum section of The Christian Science Monitor.  It's a place where contributors from around the country can share their musings on just about any topic one can contemplate.  The pieces often have a lighthearted, sentimental tone about them.  When I checked the newspaper yesterday, I found two stories about the summer splendor of freshly-picked blackberries:  "The promise of blackberries" and "Store-bought blackberries just aren't the same."

These stories appealed to me because they caused me to reflect on my own experiences as a child in the berry patch.  My mom would take me, usually with a group of other women and their kids, and we would spend hours picking fruit while the sun smiled upon our effort.  I was the only one with a disability; berry patches, I might add, are not exactly smooth and easy as far as wheelchair accessibility.  Nevertheless, once someone practically pushed me into the bush, I had enough strength to reach a few handfuls of fruit-enough to satisfy my appetite for the treat, but not contribute much to the overall stockpile.  It was an intense search-and-find mission.  The hunt, however, was simply part of the amusement.  Once I had definitely plucked every tangy berry within my grasp, I would happily holler to move down the row.  Someone would plow me into the next bush and I would be picking and eating again.

Now, I realize berry picking was an ideal therapeutic activity, made all the more perfect because I was rewarded with immediate gratification.  What delights me most about the memory is that I could find the sweetness in the endeavor even if it wasn't really a barrier-free setting.  That's an insight I hope I always have the ability to discover.