… solipsubmissive …

It is funny which things from our childhoods don’t live up to our memories.  There’s a certain element of magic that disappears with age.  Perhaps it is due to an innocence or ability, as a child, to overlook certain essential components of the activity.

Every year, in the spring, we would raid Mama’s Tupperware cabinet for the largest containers we could find to fill with plump, juicy blackberries.  They were plentiful, and it never took us long to get enough for Mama to make blackberry dumplings (heaven hot, straight from the pot, poured over vanilla ice cream) or blackberry cobbler. 

In Louisiana, we would clamber down the little embankment to the creek/ditch that ran behind the house, keeping a close eye out for snakes.  On more than one occasion, we’d spot a blacksnake slithering through the underbrush.  One of us would scream “Snake!!!” and we’d all take off running, back to the house, scattering our blackberry bounty along the way.  Eventually, we’d venture back out and begin anew, mourning the loss of the original harvest. 

In Mississippi, when visiting our cousins, we would walk up the block to the railroad tracks.  There, we would have to pick longer, and in more adverse conditions.  There was no comforting shady cover of trees as in our backyard creek.  The berries (and us) were exposed to direct, hot sunshine, and they dried more quickly, leaving us fewer.  We’d have to reach more deeply into the brambles to find the ones the birds hadn’t picked over already.  The season was always woefully short…perhaps 2-3 weeks at best, so we picked as much as we possibly could for Mama to clean and freeze.

One day, a few years ago, i took a short cut behind the grocery store to avoid a rush hour build up at a traffic light, and noticed blackberry brambles growing thick on a hill.  Excited, i called my best friend and we headed out that weekend, armed with bowls and buckets, dragging our protesting children along with us.  i had visions of cobbler and dumplings and fresh blackberries in cream with a little sugar.

• The kids hated it.

• It was hot.

• There were bees.

• I’d forgotten about the prickers.

• My skin itched.

• When we cleaned them, there were tiny little worms that died a tragic death by drowning.

The worms did me in.  I tossed the entire mess and took the kids out for ice cream, mourning the magical blackberry dreams of my youth.

Gone - forever.