The Summer of the Blackberry Patch

There is something unforgettable about a Lost Coast summer, like the scent of honeysuckle in the breeze. In ’72, when I was a scrawny kid with more curiosity than sense, I spent my days trailing behind my Uncle Adam. He wasn’t a big man, but he had a laugh that scared the crows off a cornfield.

Uncle Adam didn’t say much, but when he did, you listened. That July, he took me to the blackberry patch in the gully across from his house.

Now, if you’ve never picked blackberries, let me tell you, it’s a battle. Those thorns will tear you up worse than a cat in a knapsack.

Uncle Adam handed me a dented tin pail and said, “Boy, you gotta respect the bush. Reach in gentle, or it’ll fight back.”

I reckon I didn’t listen because, by noontime, my arms looked like I’d wrestled a porcupine.

We sat under a tree to eat our haul, juice staining our fingers purple. I was fussing about the scratches, but Uncle Adam just grinned.

“Life’s like that patch,” he said. “You want the sweet, you gotta take a few pricks. Ain’t no shortcut.”

While too young to get it then, I chewed on those berries and nodded as if I understood. Years later, when dodging bills and heartaches, I’d think about that moment, the thorns, and Uncle Adam’s words.

Life don’t hand you the good stuff without a fuss. You gotta reach in, get a little scratched, and keep going. And ain’t that the truth?

Still, I can taste those blackberries, sweet as summer, and hear Uncle Adam’s laugh. Some lessons, I reckon, you carry forever.