There is a different pace in Summer.
Different traditions.
Picking berries is one of mine
and the rewards are so worth it.
The view from the berry patch.
Mt. Hood is in the distance.
This day we were picking marionberries,
a berry particularly unique to the Pacific Northwest.
For an Old Woman Picking Wild Blackberries by Ethel Romig Fuller
There always will be clusters left
Where someone first has been-
What if the children did pick here?
They broke the bushes in.
Take your time, old woman,
It is youth that hurries
To the next alluring patch;
Youth takes the easy berries.
The hidden fruit, the luscious fruit
Waits for one who lingers;
For one with peering, patient eyes,
With slow, exploring fingers.
And ripening on berry vines
Is always something too
No child will be discovering
Till he is old as you.
