“Past the firehouse, take a left, on a washed-out road go 200 yards, take right at the big flag, go up, down, and up again, then past where that forest fire was.” With blue-stained fingers, I type, letting you know my Dad’s directions to the huckleberry patch are far more interesting than any dumb GPS’s.
With one more day of vacation and my berry reserves at an all-time low Dave, Evelyn, and I packed Triscuits, four oranges, a yogurt, water, the dog, leash, and a couple of buckets in the car for a day in the mountains.
For a couple of hours today, I scrambled up hills that, not unlike a stair climber, led to nowhere when their loose, dry dirt eroded and dematerialized right beneath my feet.
At one point, I sat, and propped a bucket between my knees, and was eye level with the olive-like glisten of the berries. And besides the buzz of bees, everything was still. And I mean everything: it was just me, the bush, and my thumb reverse flicking the dark goodies into my hand.
They’re sitting on two cookie sheets now drying after Dave picked away the leaves and stems. I’ll know the amount, maybe a gallon or more, tomorrow when we seal them into freezer bags.
And if you don’t know about huckleberries, oh man, are you missing out! Coming in at about half the size of a blueberry with double the punch of sweetness and juice, their partnership with pancakes and waffles is as epic as Aerosmith and Run DMC’s collaboration for “Walk This Way.”
With an early morning back to work I need to call it a day. Thank you for dropping in, and I’ll see you tomorrow.