Springtime in Florida was always a multi-colored landscape of hues of green, buttercup yellow, and pastel pink. We watched for those delicate white blooms to dot prickly vines that grew along roadsides and covered fence lines. Those tiny flowers with pollen-filled centers, swayed in the breeze and honey bees swarmed, promising yummy desserts and black stained fingers.
Lumpy, green balls soon replaced the blossoms and confirmed this was indeed the perfect patch. Our very own blackberry patch. We kept an eye on those hard green spheres as they ballooned into hundreds of scarlet berries. And we waited for sunny days and spring rains to urge their yearly transformation into plump, delicious blackberries.
Eventually the day arrived. And the berries were ripe for picking. One such day, our family piled into our ‘57 Ford, and headed toward our special berry patch alongside a country road near the marshes of the St. Johns River, outside of Jacksonville, Florida.
The Gooding family joined this annual first-blackberry-picking event of the season. There were six of them—three boys and three girls. My brother and I brought the number to eight boisterous youngsters—ready for the hunt!
Parents set our boundaries and issued warnings about snakes, stickers and sandspurs. They might as well-a’-been-talkin’ to the wind. We grabbed our buckets and raced down the slope to be first to find the biggest blackberry in the patch.
Shouts of competitive exuberance filled the air.
“I got the big one!”
“ Nope, I do!”
We shrieked and laughed and scrambled here and there, hoping to find the berry of the day—waiting to be picked by someone—hopefully me. And truth is, we ate as many as we picked, evidenced by toothy grins smeared with tell-tale black juice tinting our lips, our tongues, and grimy fingers.
During one of those scrambles Elaine, running faster than all the rest, lost her balance, bounced bottom first down the sandy slope, and landed right in the middle of a patch of cactus.
Her wails brought an end to our fun. We gathered our juice-stained buckets, full of luscious berries and trudged up the hill. And deposited our black jewels in pans provided by the moms. The two dads carried the wounded berry-picker to the car where she laid, face-down across our laps, and cried all the way home.
Our moms washed the black treasures, then mixed ingredients for the anticipated cobbler. My dad churned the homemade vanilla ice cream that would crown the scrumptious berries already bubbling in the oven.
That left the unpleasant task of removing those nasty stickers from Elaine’s backside to her dad.
I’ll admit, we were not sympathetic onlookers. She had spoiled our fun. We sneaked peeks around the corner and snickered and giggled with every shriek of pain—secretly grateful it wasn’t one of us.
Glasses of iced tea with mint sprigs, bowls filled with warm cobbler and scoops-full of homemade ice cream proved our blackberry-picking day a success.
Then we lingered in the backyard as the last moments of the day slipped away, swaying and singing in old wooden swings that hung by gnarled ropes from aged oak trees. But when fireflies flickered in the hedges, a whole new chase was on—to see who would capture the biggest, brightest insect.
Everyone but Elaine, who stood with her bowl of cobbler and a sore backside. And her reward? The paddle from the ice cream churn!
I no longer search country lanes, but drive to Walmart and buy expensive berries, packed in plastic—not a kid’s bucket—with a layer of moldy ones on the bottom.
This evening I sat on the patio and watched the sun sink below the horizon, while the latest accounts of troubling information blared on the evening news, and my grandchildren texted me in three word sentences.
I recalled these joyful childhood memories as I watched a couple of fireflies dart in and out of the bushes around our pond and marveled that times may change, but God is the same—yesterday, today, and forever. He is sovereign and on His Throne.
But it makes my heart sad that my grandchildren will never experience the excitement of beating their friends to the biggest blackberry in the patch, or catching the brightest firefly in their jar, or joining lighthearted conversation with grown-ups as the day comes to an end.
My memories of a tummy full of cobbler, topped with fresh homemade ice cream, wrapped in the blanket of love provided by family and friends, while holding my jar full of God’s miraculous, little lights, are safely tucked in the secret places of my heart.
Precious memories this world of technology and idols can never duplicate.
“Cease striving and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth” (Psalm 46:10 NAS).
And once again, my heart is filled with emotion as I read your wonderful words…..Precious story and it takes me back (way back) to happy childhood days….running barefoot in the fresh grass Daddy mowed that day, chasing fireflies, lying in the grass and gazing up to the beautiful night sky to find the Milky Way and after the street lights came on begging my Mama to let us stay out and play just a while longer……Funny that as we get older the sounds and smells of summer can still be so real….if we just close our eyes and let our minds go back……to those wonderful days…of childhood….
LikeLike
And Marie, I’ve planted blackberries plants so when my grandkids visit in the summer at least they can pick fresh blackberries. But it’s not the same as a family event, along the roadside, followed by an evening with friends, cobbler and ice cream. I’m delighted it stirred your heart to remember your precious memories.
DiAne
________________________________
LikeLike
another thread that binds us- I used to live in Orange Park before moving to Fort Worth. My mouth watered at your description of the blackberries. Growing up on the Texas Hill Country, we had dewberries that grew by the ravine. Yummy- fabulous fresh desert on a warm summer evening with at least two teaspoons of sugar and then squished by our spoons into a swirling slush of purple and red.
As always, love you mastery of description and your wisdom.
LikeLike
We do have many linking threads, don’t we. Think of the endless days we’ll have in heaven to explore and develop all those threads into a beautiful friendship, Julie. And we can share blackberry/dewberry recipes. There is an old saying: “Make new friends but keep the old, some are silver, some are gold.” I believe we can apply that to our memories and soon to be memories too. Thank you so much for your encouraging words to me.
DiAne
LikeLike
I love reading your account of this outing with our family. Those really were the days, my friend! And, I have so many more memories of our two families, most of which bring a big smile to my face! We are all so very proud of you and your talents, and we continue to share your articles with our friends across the county.
Love you….Kathy Gooding Nordsiek
LikeLike
Kathy, this story is going to appear in the July publications of the online magazine The Chrisian Pulse.com. Don’t know which day yet. It had to be considerably edited to obtain the correct word count for them. So I thought this would be the time to also publish it on my blog.
I still remember that day, etched in my treasure box of memories. We did have a wonderful childhood, didn’t we? BTW, three of my big folks from LifeSavers and one of my teens from Page Masters took contest awards for their writing this past weekend at the North Texas Christian Writers workshop/conference. Seeing them win thrilled my heart! Go to my FB page to see their pictures.
Thank you for reading and encouraging me all these years. Love and blessings.
DiAne
LikeLike
Yes, our grandkids often don’t have those same back to basics memories. However, my 2 grandsons live in a country area & enjoy some super times. If they only didn’t spend so much time with sports. My granddaughter never had the nature type childhood memories. She was city all the way. Great article, Diane.
LikeLike
Thanks for reading Janet and I’m looking forward to our immersion clinic in a few days.
DiAne
________________________________
LikeLike
Diane, are you sure this happened in Florida? I swear it had to be in Mississippi. Thanks for touching those chords again.
LikeLike
Yum yum! Blackberry cobbler, my all time favorite, and homemade vanilla ice cream. I’m feeling seriously deprived about now, I’m not sure I ever had both the cobbler and homemade ice cream simultaneously. That would be to die for. If I haven’t missed it, I’ve heard of a berry patch not too far away. Thanks for the reminder. I may yet take myself there and relive wonderful memories and come home with delicious bounty.
Truly, if there ever were the “good ole days,” it fell to our generation to live in the glory of it. Our grandchildren might think it fiction, but it is far and away better than anything this old world offers today. Except, our sovereign, eternal God and Father, Creator of the Universe. When we have Him, we have it all, and they can too!
LikeLike
Judy, you just convinced me. There’s a place called Hamm Farms over in the next city, about fifteen miles away. Their black and blueberries should be ripe…and they serve the besthomemade ice cream ever! Can I put that on my “to do” list this afternoon? Is that legal? I’m thinkin’ it is. Thank you for reading and responding.
Blessings…DiAne
________________________________
LikeLike