Adventures with John in his Red Ford Truck, Part Three

One of our early adventures, I reflect on blackberry memories

It is December, 2019 and John takes me on a nature drive in his red ford truck into some back country near Mossyrock, Washington, where run down farms dot both sides of a two lane road, complete with junk piles, mole holes, and old rusty vehicles.  We pass an old barn, grown over with blackberry bushes. “My sister, Peggy and her family lived in Oregon some years ago,” I tell John. “She had blackberry bushes in her back yard. We picked the berries and made jam one day. She is a good sister. She was there for me after Tom died and came to spend a week with me so I wouldn't be alone in my grief.”

I recalled another memory of blackberries…living in Tacoma on a dead end street, in the 70’s,where I first picked blackberries, standing on cardboard to avoid the thorns. It was in our house on that dead end street that I made my first batch of blackberry jams, so proud of my accomplishment. That jam was delicious. I was a newlywed then.

I recalled my friend Belinda. Her husband attended Multnomah School of the Bible in Portland with my husband. Those days were so long ago when our husbands were preparing for the ministry. I have changed a lot in my religious views from back then and am thankful for the journey that brought me to a more liberal, healthy faith. But I digress. Belinda and I found blackberry fields in the city and picked berries together. To this day, I like blackberry cobbler with vanilla ice cream.

Those are good memories. I don’t pick blackberries any more. I don’t make jam. My life has other interests. But I almost always have a jar of blackberry jam in my refrigerator. And as I ride with John in his red ford truck and look out over the countryside in Mossyrock, Washington at the multitudes of blackberry bushes, I am grateful. I am grateful for good memories of blackberries and special people.  I am grateful for John. I am grateful for new memories being made of adventures with John in his red ford truck.

Reviews

[Melinda McQueen]

"Blackberry Memories" would make great poem. I like this write.

[J.P. Paradise]

A pleasant snapshot of a truck-ride and how simple things can jolt recollections of small moments in our past.
Kind of curious as to whether US blackberries are the same as UK blackberries.

[Shelley Warner]

Thanks for reading my story J.P. I enjoy writing about our nature drives together. Blackberries were on my mind apparently when I went to a farmerss' market in our little town yesterday. I ended up buying a crate of them. Froze some of them for baking.

[Samuel Dickens]

How wonderful to have gone on those rides. I'll admit I thought blackberries were a southern thing and was surprised to see them growing in the northwest. In Arkansas autumns, we searched the backroads for muscadines, but summers were for blackberries. All of us would pick while keeping a close eye out for copperheads, and when we got home we'd scrub up good with soap to clean our scratched hands and arms, plus getting rid of chiggers. Thinking about it, I think I'd prefer to have gone blackberry picking with you and your folks.

[Shelley Warner]

Yes, it sounds like blackberry picking in Arkansas is more fraught with dangers. They sure are proliferate here and you only have to worry about the thorns.