Berries Bring Change

It's a beautiful spring day, cool enough for long sleeves but sunny enough to warm the skin.

I've been standing at the kitchen window, washing dishes and watching my neighbor, The Farmer, harrow up what was once a grassy hill behind my property. The sun is low in the sky, casting a golden light over everything. The engine of the large green tractor is drowned out by the sound of hot water running from the faucet, filling my basin with frothy foam.

In a few days, The Farmer will plant hundreds of blueberry bushes and rhubarb plants, taking advantage of the southern exposure and well drained loam. The "sticks" will settle in, letting roots feel their way through the soil, grabbing hold. Then, as the snow falls, the bare branches will poke through their blanket, reminding us that no longer can we sled the hill, yelling our war cries while we spin and swoop downward to the bottom.

In a few years, the view from behind my house will be that of blueberry bushes in full bloom, waiting for the insects to pollinate and turn the flowers into luscious berries. Then those berries will ripen, beckoning the kids and I to sneak a pail-full here and there for jam and pies or eating fresh. If we are lucky, our friend The Farmer will bring bags of berries at the end of the season for us to freeze and the sadness of losing a favorite sledding spot will give way to warm pancakes on a snowy morning, topped with warm blueberry sauce and hot maple syrup.

But for now, the sun has set and the peepers are singing as we stoke the fire. The smell of freshly turned earth and bruised grass creeps into the house and we relish the fortune of good food in a good place.