Blackberries

Was out picking blackberries, stoned, mind wandering all over the place. Thinking why folks don't really get into the "berry"...like they do the grape?!? Or any other fruit for that matter...what gets as much attention, as much reverence as "the grape"?

Started thinking about making 'connoisseur' jams. Like the "terra plumbeus" (or cherokee "ga-ge-de-u e-lo-hi")..."heavy to the ground". Immediately I noticed that the largest, ripest, sweetest berries were the ones closest to the earth....and just picking those for a 'special reserve'. I could see people standing around a jar with spoons in their mouths, "ewwing" & "awing"...moving globs of the rich compote around on their palate; going on about the undertones, and high notes. Wondering how far that is away from absurd? Wondering how much someone would pay for a jar of jam?

I noticed a lot of things...like how I kept stepping deeper and deeper into the thick of things, into the woods. I dressed appropriately this time: jeans, boots, t-shirt. The last time I picked I was out in foam slippers and nightgown. Not a good combination. The thorns on the berries go right through foam, and they reach out and grab tight on any loose fabric. I was protected (somewhat)...it seemed fitting that there be a certain amount of pain involved in the gathering.

Just one berry at a time, luring a me a little further into the woods; so obvious, so amusing. So, interesting that only 'odd' berries are ripe at any one time...so there was no feeling of over-crafting. Each vine held unripe, ripe, too ripe, and dried berries. Enough for all. Deeper into the woods. Deeper into consciousness. Richer Blackberries, richer hues of green, a richer sense of myself and the world...all waxing Feminine.

I don't need to be stoned, to be profound. The information flows through constant, but used appropriately/respectfully...it does help to disengage from the static I'm surrounded by. There was something clear coming through about sustaining the world. It's people. That there was more then enough to go round for everyone if people could 'see'. Seeing requires so much less sustenance, less the 'preferred' if any. Ideas about seeing the abundance that surrounds us, seeing the abundance in ourself...it cancels out competition, hoarding, panic, stress, hunger. The woods cancel out all that.

I noticed so much...insects, sounds, footings, bark, leaves, the changes in pressure, in moisture, in air...in smells. Each step into the woods...and my senses were clearer. Everything was clearer. Everything felt soothing.

I followed the vines along till they stopped...nowhere special, and at the same time wholly enchanted, and I was there for a long while...not wanting to move out of it. Not needing to move at all. I thought about those survival reality shows on TV. "Bear" whatever his name is, and that Canadian dude. Those shows bother me. I know why. The guys are ridiculous in their constant need to "get out". Get out of where?!?
Is the Earth not our home? When are we ever truly "lost"??? What's the direness for?
They come across fresh, sweet water...and move on. They come across a food source, like a bush of berries...they barely stop long enough to grab a handful, and they're off again. Where are they off to? What are they afraid of?

I want to do my own show. Maybe called "Nomad", or "Gypsy"?!? The same idea of being deep in nature, but without the panic. I want to take time with it, share more valuable wisdom...something beyond "survival". If anything, humans know enough already about survival. They just pretend to forget.

I want to follow the berry, the sweetgrass, the cat-tail, the watercress. Follow the elk, the caribou, the wolf. Follow the sun and the moon. Follow the seasons. A show where I settle for awhile where there's plenty...spend time gathering consciously, preparing, sun-drying, spend some time on ritual....mend and wash my clothes, re-sole my moccasins, maybe. Weave a new basket. Talk about the plants...their wisdom, their medicine, their songs. Not how to 'survive', but how to 'live'.

So, I'm walking out of the woods with these thoughts; laughing at the idea that I could make up the high-end (low-yield) jams...and sell them (like fine wine) for $50.00 a jar, and toss in a little documentary DVD...of my stoned ramblings whilst picking the very berries people were eating while watching the video. Why not? Make a few small batches of jam, till the berry season was over, then make Wild Carrot Cake, then jars of Kudzu Dolmas, or Pickled Poke...whatever the seasons harvest is.

Anyway...ideas just flowing through my head as I'm stepping out of the woods, back onto the property, back into the junkyard. The sun hits me hard; the ground is red clay and gravel, dusty, and I'm working my way over to another cluster of berries I know of. I realize these are a different variety...perhaps older, more wild. The berries are smaller, harder to pull of the vine, and a lot more thorns. They don't twist, and hang like the other 'vines'; these are tiny bushes, close to the ground, with thin little trailing branches. The berries aren't as sweet. So, I'm thinking the other berries I picked were more 'hybridized'.

So, that's what hybridization has given us..."bigger, sweeter, juicer". All well and good I supposed, but at one time...these little, resistance berries were big, sweet, and juicy enough. Maybe...that's as big, sweet, and juicy as they were ever supposed to be?!? My mind wondering off with all the problems man has caused in working to 'perfect', while missing the 'perfection' already in place. What else could we have accomplished all this time?!? With all that misplaced energy? The sun is beating down on me, and jeans and boots...are feeling less wise. I'm sweating now, and I suddenly have laugh at myself, because the entire situation has changed one-eighty. My breathing is strained, my body more tense. I'm passing entire bushes for this reason and that..."not enough on that bush to bother bending over","those are too small", "those are too hard to get to", "those look too dry".

I stop myself, bend down for a moment and study the dry berries. The ones that will hold firm till fall, for the birds. I pick one, examine it....and my thought is "why isn't this any "good" to me"? It's just all-natural, dried fruit on the vine. I eat it. It's good. Good for what it is. As is. Too many seeds to use for baking (like a raisin), but I think, "excellent for tea". So, I'll go back in a few weeks and pick some Blackberry leaves, and dried fruit for tea...something that will last through the winter.

The heat is pounding off me, and I'm back to struggling again through the small bushes; quickly losing my interest. I have a full can of berries, and I'm thinking that more then that is "greedy"...that's my reasoning for getting out of the sun. I laugh again, because the reasoning beneath that is profoundly simple. "This is what comes from leaving the woods"...the soothing hydration of the enchanted woods. "This is what comes from stepping out into the full sun". Suddenly, I'm in this desperate mode. Scrambling. The word that keeps coming through is, "Exposed. Exposed"...the whole mentality & function is different. So less "efficient"!!! Scrambling. It's so funny. It's so easy. The desperateness I always sense in people. That 'survival' mode, that dis-ease, and franticness....it's just about feeling exposed. It's instinct. It's programmed. It's effect, and the cure is 'cover'. Cover, or realizing that some giant bird isn't going to swoop down over-head and eat us. One of the other.

I made Blackberry Cobbler for visitors, for July 4th, and have enough left over for maybe one jar of jam, but one jar is all I need.