In August, blackberries are plentiful and free, if you know where to look.I missed the ripe blackberries this year; but I plan to find a great patch of them next summer. Warm blackberry pie, topped with a scoop of ice cream, is well worth wrestling with the vicious thorns
My daughter Jennifer was a baby when I carried her, and a plastic bucket for berries, to a small blackberry patch in our back yard. Picking berries with Jennifer had seemed like a great idea but when I got to the back of the yard I couldn’t find a good place to lay her down. The brushy ground was rough, uneven, and studded with a low-growing tangle of blackberry vines.
I noticed a huge stand of blackberry bushes across our back fence and in the middle of a pleasant field of grass. Big, juicy berries practically dripped off the vines and the grassy field was a perfect spot to lay the baby on her blanket. I had never seen a soul in that field and it was would be a shame to let those berries go to waste.
Holding the baby, I stepped carefully over the fence where it had been crushed by a fallen fir limb. I lay her down on her blanket just two feet from the edge of the blackberries. She was happy there, rocking on her chubby tummy, waving her arms, and gurgling.
The August morning was beautiful. We were all alone and at peace, surrounded by an occasional bird song or buzzing insect. Every minute or two, I glanced at the baby as I quietly filled my bucket. No need to get too close to the vines and risk the thorns because the outside vines were covered in berries. I worked contentedly to about fifteen feet from the baby, who was still gurgling and exercising her limbs.
Only a minute or two went by when some small noise caused me to turn my head. When I did, my stomach lurched in terror.Out of nowhere a huge, white horse had appeared, and was standing directly over the baby. How had it come to stand over the baby while barely making a noise? What should I do?
This horse was thick bodied, tall, and heavily muscled; much larger than horses I’ve seen in fields or those once ridden by Portland’s mounted police. Instinctively, I knew this was a working animal, an animal who could pull something huge and heavy. Chilled to the bone and frozen in place, I stared at my little girl lying under that animal’s front feet.
In mere seconds many thoughts crowded my mind. Why had I stepped over that fence onto this property? Where had this horse come from? Even from this side of the fence I couldn’t see a house or a barn. How could I have been so stupid? How would I live with myself if something happened to the baby?
I wanted to run and grab my child, but she was directly in front of those huge front hooves. If the animal panicked or put a hoof on the baby’s back it would kill her.I couldn’t risk alarming the horse.
Jennifer was a good-natured and easy-going child. Thankfully, that was her mood as she lay there oblivious to the horse and my terror.
The horse seemed calm. I decided not to move. Softly, gently, using a tone I hoped was calming, I pretended I was pleased and comfortable with the animal.
“Hi there, honey. Do you see my baby at your feet?”
After five minutes of one-way conversation, my heart stopped as the horse began to move. The huge creature then stepped calmly, daintily, over my baby, turned his back to us, and quietly wandered off. Stunned for a moment, I then snatched up my baby and took her back across the fence… where we should have been all along.