Our life is frittered away by detail. Simplify, simplify. Henry David Thoreau

The good news is I’ve got blackberries; the bad news is I’ve got blackberries. Wowzer, do I have blackberries. When I’m not cursing them and fighting them, I revel in having my own personal berry patch, with its seemingly endless supply of plump, juicy blackberries.  

As much as I complain about the blackberries, I admit I enjoy picking fresh berries in the mornings for my oatmeal and at midday for my blackberry smoothie.

Maybe it was making peace with the brambles that’s allowing me to appreciate their goodness instead of focusing on their contrariness.  The birds love them. The field mice love them. For them, its good habitat.

A couple of weeks ago, I donned my berry picking attire; shorts, Muckboots, long-sleeved denim shirt, gloves and my fashion backward pith helmet.  I sauntered into the backyard, thinking how beautiful the day, how perfect the temperature, and how lovely to be in the garden in the afternoon. I was just blessing out on the perfection of life and being grateful for the abundance of berries, when I heard a voice calling, “Are you going to bake a pie?” I looked around, then I looked up, and there on my neighbor’s roof stood this handsome caramel-colored man with a thick silky voice.

I confirmed my intention to bake a pie and he asked if the berries were good. I confirmed their goodness and he said he liked pies, but he preferred just eating the berries straight from the bushes. Being a generous person, I invited him to partake, at his leisure, of the berries, it being quite obvious that I had enough berries for all of Columbia City.

A few minutes later, this guy in Carhartt overalls strolled up into my yard and took a position alongside me. We introduced ourselves and begin picking and eating berries in companionable silence.  Chris, that’s his name, asked me if I liked poetry.  I was intrigued and answered, “Yes, I like poetry, but I like having poetry recited to me even more because I can’t even remember a joke to tell, much less a poem.”  With that, Chris recited several lines from Wordsworth, paused and then a few lines from a different poet.  I can’t remember the lines now, but they were sensuous fragments of love poems.  I was appropriately appreciative and we kept picking and eating, when Chris excused himself and returned with a binder of his poems.

Being in my garden, picking berries on a perfect summer day while a delightful stranger read me his love poems. I have to tell you – that was one of the most delicious days in the garden I’ve had in a long time.  It was truly a blackberry blessing.  Mental note to self: Remember to give up the fight, to go with the flow, and be one with the berries more often.

You might catch Chris reading his poems or playing music at the Ugly Mug Café at 11425 Rainier Avenue S (near the Renton Airport). Not only do they have an ugly mug collection, they have a monthly poetry night and frequent live jazz sessions. The Ugly Mug is a cozy, friendly neighborhood spot for coffee, and while you are down there check out the new Green Fresh Market, a mostly organic grocery store new to the ‘hood.