Blueberry Fields Forever
We go to the Blueberry Field on the Saturday of Labour Day weekend. A yearly pilgrimage. My in-laws’ field all rolling hills and berries ripe for the picking, with clumps of trees at the edges. A beautiful place. Definitely away from it all. Refreshing.
The cousins pick berries and talk and then take selfies when they are bored. They climb up on top of the tractor; they try their hands at shooting arrows with old bows.
I pick and pick and dream of blueberry crisp, blueberry popsicles, blueberry cobbler and blueberries for breakfast. Blueberries for winter. Soaking up sunshine and country air.
Earlier in the day, my husband, father-in-law, two oldest and I go bike riding. We don’t go far, but it is hard going. The rocks on the road are not small. My legs tire quickly. The others speed along and I bring up the rear.
I am not sure I will make it up the hill back to the camp. I am thinking I will have to get off and walk. Then my dear husband comes along beside me, and putting his hand on the small of my back helps to push me up the hill. Legs are not so tired now.
I am reminded of Dr. Seuss: “We like our bike, it is made for three. Our Mike sits up in back, you see. We like our Mike and this is why: Mike does all the work when the hills get high”
(One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish).
“You are like my own personal Mike,” I say. My husband laughs. He loves Dr. Seuss.
Life is hard and we all get tired at times. We all need Mikes.
We need people to come alongside and help out.
Who do you turn to when the hills get high?