It occurred to me last night while I was picking blackberries, that I can age my daughter by her role in the blackberry picking. Some people have growth charts hanging on their wall. That'd just be too easy.
The summer Anna was two, she was fearless and ferocious in her quest for the purple fruits. Briars were no match for Miss Anna. She ate most of the berries she picked and about one third of the ones I put in the bucket. She giggled and bounced like Tigger during the blackberry adventure.
When Anna was three, she was more of a pointer. "There's one, mama." Older and wiser, she left the scratches and pricks to me. She understood well what became of anyone who got too close to the limbs of the blackberry bush. Mind you, she still managed to return to the house with a purple ring around her mouth.
This year Anna is four. She picks a few berries and then talks a lot. She eats a few berries and then she talks a lot. She points out a few berries and then she talks a lot. She is four now, and, oh so good at it. She only dumped the berries on the ground twice. And, yes, she came back in the house sporting a lovely blackberry juice mustache.
Eventually, she'll figure out like her brother and sister, that you can shirk the blackberry picking and get to eat cobbler anyway. I wonder what age five will bring?
She is five now and still eats half as many as she picks. And still talks a lot.
Published in the August 2009 edition of The Other Herald (http://www.otherherald.com/)
How blessed am I that she still follows me to the fence rows to pick the blackberries?
My Review
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It's so sad to see no reviews for this, when I remember there being lots.
I love the simplistic description in this, and - overall - the concept of a child's behaviour being the more accurate growth chart. You depict Anna's trial-and-error learning really well, using a paragraph for each year, which was easy on the eye and mind.
This is an amusing and pleasant read. Thanks for [re] posting it.
This is beautiful makes me misty.. our children grow up so fast.. and such a simple pleasure of picking blackberries makes such a touching read...
Loved this, Emily .. yes, blessed you are so blessed.
What a dear and precious write. My youngest granddaughter just turned four and while we don't have blackberries in Alaska, she too finds plenty to talk about. Little girls are such a joy. And then they grow up and become the most amazing of all God's creatures... woman.
Very nice story. I've always liked your writings. Description simple and to the point--like Hemingway. I've never been a fan of Hemingway, to be honest, but you do it in such a way that I can't say no. Everytime.
This is so sweet:) The way you tell everything lets me feel your love for you daughter, and you don't tell the story matter of fact-ly. You give such a keen essence of everything. It brings out the supposedly simple things in life and shows the joy in them!
Sigh ... this story reminds me of the days that I was Daddy, and not the horribly embarrassing old man that occasionally drops Lindsay off to hang out with her cool friends. Grab Anna and hold on to her tight. Because in a twitch of the second hand, you will be asked to please stay in your room when friends are over and to try not to speak when cool people are around. Maybe if you clutch her tightly enough, she'll stay little forever.
this is a darling piece. i think we should as humans break away from sterile measuring devices. it's all relative anyway isn't it? and why compare when we can share in the hand-me-down traditions that transport us through the years.
you have charmed me with this little glimpse of your family life and your daughter's love of blackberries.
to the Lost Boys
I am no Wendy;
but my voice brings you back to me.
And you sit around my feet,
anxious for a story
or a kiss.
Listening to my words
spinning adventures,
like so much g.. more..