Sometime this past winter we were reading a book from the library that involved berry picking and at that moment, in the depth of deep snow, Griffin, my five year old asked if we could go berry picking this summer. “That’s a great idea!” I said, and I got out my iPhone and started a list in the notes section: “Things to do this summer” and at the top of the list was berry picking.
We’ve done other fun things so far this summer – swimming, bowling, trips to the zoo and the children’s museum, birthday parties, time at the lake, creek stompin’ at Grandma Camp and many other things, but I wanted to make sure we made good on this promise. So the other night, it was a beautiful evening and I loaded everyone up and we drove up to Spencer Farm way up in Noblesville, nearly 45 minutes from our house. We got there with an hour left before they closed. Perfect timing. The golden light shone on all the berries as we picked them and it was hot enough while we were there I couldn’t imagine coming in the heat of the day.
We picked black raspberries which sure looked like black berries to me, but what do I know? There were other people in the same fields where we were and we learned some tips from the more experienced berry pickers. But in no time, we each had filled a carton and had taste tested several, too.
As we went along, I felt like I was living out Deuteronomy 6 because I was talking to the boys about some of my favorite passages from the Bible about “I am the vine, you are the branches, if a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing… and that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.” (John 15:5, 8)
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| No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me. |
We are all still works in progress. Needing much tending from the benevolent gardener. But the act of picking fruit and being able to hand pick the fruit that is ripe was a good reminder of the obvious fruit we bear through our actions. As you sow so shall you reap. Am I planting a harvest of kindness? Of patience? Of love and joy? Or am I planting seeds of bitterness, anger, resentment and impatience? What fruit am I harvesting in my children? I regret to think that many of their faults are actually reflections of my own. In fact, on bad days, these exact thoughts can really get me down. But on this evening… it was a picture perfect reminder that it’s never too late to plant seeds of the type of harvest you wish to grow.
And speaking of harvest- oh my goodness! After paying more than I would ever imagine for a few cartons of black raspberries, we noticed a woman leaving with a box full of strawberries. When I inquired, thinking we could come back another time, they suggested we go down the hill and pick as many as we liked for free as they were past season and looking to have any remaining berries go to good use.
We spent another hour picking strawberries! And the boys personalities really came through as we went along. Carter was the ever focused farmer working diligently methodically going row by row gathering a substantial harvest of berries. Kiefer was stepping over and around the rows of berries and was all over the place, eating several and giggling as he went along filling his carton quickly with juicy berries. Griffin, my neat knick and worrier was ready to go and didn’t like getting his hands dirty. He kept asking if it was really ok for us to be there past closing time and would we need to pay for these berries and how would we do that after they closed. Fletcher let his sweetness come out and was delighted with every berry he found and ate nearly a hundred or took a bite out of them and then would put the remainder in his carton. I kept hearing, “Yum!” and “Mmmm” from him and “Oh, look at this little cute one!”then he’d pop it in his mouth.
We had better success strawberry picking and it was more enjoyable being the only ones out there and not feeling any pressure to have to pay for all that we collected. They were just there for the picking. Plus strawberries don’t have prickly thorns like black raspberry bushes. Making them even sweeter!
I learned to follow the sunlight. That if you followed the sunbeams it would reveal where the ripened berries were underneath all the green leaves or past due berries. The light always shone on the good fruit. Perhaps another parable for the picking?
We brought all our berries home and I made strawberry shortcakes for the weekend and I froze the black raspberries we had black raspberry crisp to celebrate the Fourth of July.
The next morning, sweet Fletcher looked up at me in the hallway wearing his jammies, carrying his blankie and said, “That was fun, Mommy. Thanks for taking us berry picking.”
Perhaps there is some good fruit in there somewhere.
