The simple act of berry picking can embody many other pieces of the outdoors.
Photo bove: Eli and Sam’s picking of wild blackberries led to treats and rewards for many, including themselves.
Photo by Bruce Ingram | Photo Styling by Janette Spencer.
It’s a late June day in Botetourt County, Virginia, and there’s much to do. My wife Elaine and our daughter Sarah have given me two tasks. The first is to chauffer 10-year-old Eli to basketball camp for the morning; the second is to go foraging for berries. On the way there, Eli and his 12-year-old brother Sam engage in numerous topics, one of which is what’s his favorite fourth grade history lesson?
“We basically learned everything there is to know about history,” my grandson responds.
That answer causes me to erupt into spasms of laughing with neither boy understanding what is so hilarious.
After dropping off Eli, Sam and I head for a nearby farm to pick wild blackberries. On the way, I explain to Sam that the farmer lets me gather blackberries, mushrooms and persimmons as well as hunt there. I repay him in various ways with his gift this time being a quart of blackberry jam if we experience a bountiful haul … that’s how rural life works, I add.
Nearing the blackberry patch, we encounter a woodchuck and, soon afterwards, a red-tail hawk, both of which flee from us. Sam asks a string of questions: Why is the groundhog there? Have we just saved the groundhog’s life? If so, is that a good thing?
“The groundhog is here for the berries, just like we are,” I explain. “The hawk is here because it instinctively knows prey animals will come here. Maybe we just kept the hawk from killing the groundhog.”
Sam then wants to know if it is good or bad that the woodchuck didn’t die.
“Sam, it’s not good or bad if the hawk kills the groundhog today or any day,” I continue. “That hawk will kill and eat today, but it might be a rabbit, squirrel, a mouse, a snake, some songbird or even that groundhog a few hours from now. It’s just nature.”
Sam then wants to know if snakes might be in the berry patch, which extends for about 40 yards. Also, what if one of those snakes is a copperhead?
“I would bet that somewhere in that berry patch is a snake, probably more than one,” I answer. “But I’m not afraid of snakes and you shouldn’t be, either. They’re a part of nature, too, and they belong here.”
I note that copperhead venom is mild and very rarely fatal, and the reptile itself is non-aggressive. If we see one, we’ll give it a wide berth, but we definitely will not kill it.
Next, we move into the blackberry patch and gather a grand total of … six berries. They simply aren’t ripe yet, so we head home, and I promise to take Sam back to the farm soon.
A week later, Sam and I return, this time with Eli. On the way to the patch, Sam informs Eli about the groundhog and red-tail we observed and how his younger brother should not be afraid of snakes. Logically, Eli then wants to know which creatures we should fear. I explain that ticks and mosquitoes are the most dangerous animals in these mountains, and I proceed to spray insect repellent all over the three of us, adding that granddaddy has experienced Lyme disease and doesn’t want them or him to deal with that plague.
As I anticipated, the advent of summer has transformed the patch —blackberry season has arrived! We pick steadily for 90 minutes. Our total haul is three quarts. On the way home, we stop at the farmer’s house to give him a jar of Elaine’s homemade blackberry jam as a way of saying thanks. And once home, my wife invites the grandsons to walk across the hollow after they eat supper this evening, and dine on blackberry cobbler and vanilla ice cream with us for dessert.
The story above first appeared in our May / June 2025 issue.
