For two glorious years of my childhood I lived on the Oregon coast. I still love the rain…it calms me…though rarely do we get rain like that in Idaho. The smell of the ocean…the stench of the lumber processors…the feel of the sand on my feet…and the taste of fresh, ripe blackberries…just a few of the sensory emotions I will never forget from those days.
I think the house was green…I was in kindergarten. We hadn’t lived in the area long and would eventually live in three houses in two years. Dad had gotten his first teaching job at a small Christian school and we uprooted from the only house I’d ever known and ventured a million miles away…at least it felt that way. Whatever emotions I had about leaving my old home didn’t stand a chance one I tasted my first fresh blackberry…and I was lost in a trance staring at a wall of fresh berries guarded ever so carefully by their own thorns…
It wasn’t unusual for me in the height of blackberry season to be found at the blackberry patch in the back yard. Even before school, I would wander out to sample the deep black berries that were bigger than my thumbs. I can’t remember why this particular morning was any different…don’t remember if I just disappeared out back or if mom sent me out to pick berries to go in the cereal (it wasn’t unusual for the bowl to only be half as full as my little belly).
Regardless of the reasons…I found myself standing at the edge of the berry patch…looking at the three-step stairs that led down toward the middle where the best berries could be found. But…being the season…and the fact that this wasn’t my first trip out back…most of the berries were gone in that area. Soon I was mesmerized by the untouched treasures that sat just out of reach…I ate my way into the middle of the patch…off the steps…and at least five more feet into the thickest brambles and thorns to be found. The bucket of berries was only half full…my stomach was nice and full…and I’m sure there was purple juice on my face from ear to ear…
When I had my fill I turned around…ready to go back into the house. Though I wouldn’t see the movie for years…looking back my memory equates that moment with the scene in Honey I Shrunk the Kids where they look back at the house and it is miles away. There I was…five years old…and stuck in the middle of a blackberry patch…blocked from getting home by the thorny branches I let close in behind me on the way in. I’m pretty sure I started yelling for help…I vaguely remember my dad asking, “what in the world are you doing all the way in there”…and soon I was safely back in the house eating my breakfast…with more berries of course.
Where I failed as a five year-old…I wasn’t aware of my surroundings…I had no exit strategy. Saved by the love of my dad, I have no recollection of any negative emotions…though I am sure there was an element of fear. What I remember to this day, is the succulent taste of fresh Oregon blackberries…
At times I have challenged myself…sometimes, I’m learning, at my own expense…to always identify an exit strategy to any situation I enter…to exercise caution and prudence. But to some degree for the rest of my life I have run head-first into the brambles and thorns without an exit strategy and found myself trapped. Granted I have survived many situations in my life based on my awareness…physically and emotionally…of the dangers that surrounded me. But I will be the first to admit that there have been many times I was no different than that five year-old boy…yelling for help. And sometimes…it isn’t the fear that I remember…it is the sweet flavor that stains my smile…
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