Huckleberries

Huckleberries

         July 15, 1969 dawned over Eastern Kentucky with all appearances of being a typical day in the hills. When he woke, thirteen-year-old Brian certainly had no inkling that it would turn out to be memorable. Since his family home did not yet have indoor plumbing, his first action was to go outside for relief. As he stood on the front porch inhaling the sweet perfume of the honeysuckle and enjoying the caresses of a midsummer breeze on his shirtless upper body, he felt that life couldn’t get any better. His chores had all been accomplished yesterday; the garden was cleaned up and the lawn was mowed. That left today open for anything. The possibilities seemed unlimited. Since this was only July, school was so far in the future that it didn’t loom over his freedom yet. Summer vacation seemed to last as long as the academic year back then.

         Brian was brought out of his reverie by two simultaneous sensations, the aroma of food wafting through the screen door and his stomach growling a demand for it. Deciding that he agreed with his belly, he proceeded inside and back to the kitchen, where the rest of his family was already having breakfast. The smell that enticed him inside was coming from the pancakes his mother was frying. He helped himself to a stack of three from the heaping platter, slathered butter on top of and between them and ladled on home-made syrup from the pan that was being kept hot on the back burner. Leaving his plate on the table, he went to the refrigerator for something to drink. Inside there were 2 gallons of milk procured from his grandparents’ cows. While he was pouring a glass from the half empty jar, he noticed that the other had a thick layer of cream separated out on top. This gave him an idea. That cream would taste great with some fresh huckleberries.

         While eating, Brian asked his brother, Dale, if he had any plans for the day. Upon learning that his 14-month-younger sibling wasn’t committed to anything else, Brian asked if he was interested in picking some huckleberries. Dale signed on immediately and their younger brother, Malcom, agreed to join them.

         So, shortly after breakfast, the three boys came out the front door carrying the plastic bowls that they would be picking berries in and started across the lawn toward the hill. They walked in single file, with Bryan at point, Dale in the middle and Malcom, who at a week shy of 10 was the youngest, bringing up the rear. All three were dressed in jeans rolled up above their ankles and none of them were wearing shoes. Their habitual lack of shirts, both revealed their dark tans and along with the majority of their time being spent outdoors, was the reason for their melanin surplus. Normally they would have been treading carefully to avoid a painful bee sting, but since the lawn had been mowed the day before, there were no clover blossoms to attract those insects. Their bare feet soon became speckled green from the grass clippings, which were still damp from the un-evaporated dew of the previous night.

         They crossed the dirt lane in front of the lawn and waded Hughes Creek branch. Although the day wasn’t uncomfortably hot yet, the significant drop in temperature when they stepped into the shadow of the trees felt good as they started their climb. The boys were headed for the top of the hill. The wild blueberries that they were after grew in profusion up there. They climbed steadily, without a lot of talking. Although they were all in good shape, they needed their wind for the climb. A short while later they arrived at the base of the 2 large rocks which crowned the hill and observed that the berry bushes, which covered the ridge top, were indeed loaded with small dark fruit.

         Deciding that berry picking could wait, they first did some rock climbing. Years before they had named these 2 stone formations, as well as the rocks on the hill behind the house. On the opposite hill there was Ship rock and the difficult-to-climb Dinosaur rock. These two were called Bare rock and Pine rock. Because Pine rock was overshadowed by its namesake, a large tree growing just behind and shading it, it did not provide either the spectacular panoramic view or the sense of actually being in the sky that Bare rock did. The boys never tired of these attributes and they spent quite some time on top of the latter.

         Finally, remembering the primary reason for their excursion, they climbed down to begin picking the wild berries. The bowls they were attempting to fill were not large, but it took some time to accomplish because the fruit was small and of course they started off eating as many as they put in their receptacles. Eventually, when they felt they had secured a large enough supply, they started for home.

         Then, almost simultaneously, they all saw the same thing. Beside the path was a three foot snake with a head that gleamed like a new penny. It was a large copperhead, which must have just shed its skin, thus accounting for its atypically bright coloration.

         For just a moment, time seemed to stand still. The snake hesitated, the boys froze and even the leaves stopped moving, as the wind hushed. There was a moment of absolute calm. Then, from far off in the distance, came the caw of a lone crow and everything happened at once. The snake started to crawl away, its sinuous coils glistening in the bright July sunlight. The boys hurriedly laid aside their berry-filled bowls and began picking up rocks to use as projectiles against the fleeing pit viper. The surrounding vegetation resumed its fluttering, as the normal top-of-the-hill winds started up again.

         Unlike most of their neighbors, the boys were not in the habit of killing every snake they saw, but they felt it was their responsibility to kill poisonous serpents because they might eventually harm someone.

         They started heaving rocks at the venomous reptile, but didn’t seem to be affecting it very much. Either they missed completely or, if they did make contact, the thick layer of dead leaves under their target cushioned it against any damage. The snake was heading for a large flat rock, under which it would be safe from its three young attackers.

         Just as its head was disappearing under the rock, Dale picked up a long stick and hooked their adversary. He yanked it from its almost realized sanctuary. It flew through the air and ended up wrapped around Brian’s bare ankle. Dropping the stick, Dale joined Malcom in a renewed effort to stone the copperhead. They did not appear to be very concerned about where the snake was now; they were still trying to kill it.

         Brian, on the other hand, was very aware of the exact location of their target and the uppermost thought on his mind was not what you would think it would be. He was hopping around on one leg trying to kick off the writhing reptile and he was very afraid, but it hadn’t occurred to him yet that he might be bitten. He was trying to avoid getting his bare foot smashed by a flying rock and trying to dislodge the serpent so his brothers would stop throwing at his feet.

         Finally, after what seemed like a much longer interval than it was, he managed to fling the copperhead from his person with an energetic kick. The snake landed at the hideout it had been trying to reach earlier. This time it successfully crawled to safety underneath.

         There were definitely mixed reactions from the boys at this outcome. Brian was giddy with relief that his feet were still intact and now that he thought of it, he had avoided being bitten! Dale and Malcom were disappointed at losing the battle against their reptilian foe.

         “What’d you do that for? You let it get away!” was Dale’s indignant response.

         Once it became apparent that the snake was going to survive this encounter, the boys retrieved their berries and resumed their journey home.

         When they got there, they took the fruit of their labor into the kitchen. After adding some sugar, they spooned off some of the thick cream from the previously unopened jar of unprocessed milk. Then taking their hard-earned treats to the table, they prepared to feast.

         Readers who have experience with picking any kind of berries may notice that the boys left out an essential step in the process. They didn’t wash the berries! This should have been done to facilitate the removal of sticks and leaves, but the main reason is to wash out any insect stowaways.

         As a result of this omission, the first bite of juicy berries, cream and sugar that Brian took also contained a large stink bug. Any of you who have smelled one of these noxious insects can imagine what one must taste like. The automatic response of Brian’s mouth to this unwelcome flavor was to fly open, allowing the crushed bug to fall back into his bowl along with the rest of its contents. This rendered his fruit inedible, but taught him a valuable lesson. He might not have got to eat any that time, but he invariably washes his berries to this day.



         In conclusion, I would like to add a few comments. The reason the story is written in the third person is that, although everything in the story did actually happen, it wasn’t necessarily all on the same day. It’s a composite of real events compressed into one incident. Also, a note about the difference between bugs and beetles: a beetle has jaws for biting, thus they should be called lady beetles and June beetles. A true bug has a sucking mouth like a mosquito, which is not a bug. Most bugs live on the juices of plants and the favorite food of stinkbugs is the berry.




         Here is a bonus story. It's three years later and Brian is going to the prom.

The Prom Plot

         Old Brian was tired. If he had thought about such things, he would have noticed that he felt fatigue a lot more now than in his previous 15 years. His sensitive nose, a gift inherited from the beagle side of his decidedly mixed ancestry, picked up the scent of a rabbit, which had crossed the road in the recent past. Old Brian flirted with the idea of following its trail, but he just didn't have the energy. He padded on down the dirt lane toward his goal, a dark maroon '63 Fairlane. He spent most of his time these days sleeping in the shade under that vehicle.

         From this angle, approaching the passenger side, the car looked in pretty good shape for being over 10 years old. Of course Old Brian never noticed, but the driver's side was a mess. As a result of an accident by the car's young owner, it was badly crumpled along that whole side. Both front and rear fenders had been cut away, so they wouldn't rub the tires. The old dog crawled under the front of the vehicle and made himself comfortable on the ground underneath.

         He had been sleeping here ever since he adopted the family who lived in the house nearby. Even though they were about the same age, he had been named Old Brian after the young owner of the car, which had become his shelter. Personally, he didn't care what they called him, as long as they didn't call him late for dinner. He had wandered in one day and since the family fed him and Queen, the female German Shepherd who stayed over at the house, didn't have a problem with it; he had never left.

         His nap didn't last long. He was awakened by the sound of the hood being opened a few feet over his head. His namesake was standing in front of the vehicle. Old Brian slunk from his shady refuge and went over to lie down in the weeds beside the lane. Experience had taught him that when its owner came over to the car; his shade was going to be driven away. He would just lay here until it returned.

         Young Brian was oblivious to the dog leaving. His mind was totally occupied by a plan. The prom was going to be held at his high school tonight and he would be leaving shortly to attend. He did not want to have to drive his banged up vehicle. He had just gone through a long session of begging his parents to, just this once; let him drive their undamaged vehicle to the dance. He had not been successful with his pleading. The hard and fast rule was that he did not get to drive the family car; only his mom and dad were allowed to do that.

         Young Brian's devious mind had cooked up a strategy that might give him an exception to their prohibition. He was going to do something subtle to disable his car and surely they would allow him to drive theirs, rather than force him to miss the prom. From his bed in the tall weeds, Old Brian watched the formally dressed 16-year-old reach under the hood and then step back and close it.

         Young Brian got in his car and turned the ignition. He was not surprised when the motor cranked fruitlessly. He had disconnected the coil wire from the distributor cap, so he knew it was not going to start. This was the first step in his plan. Now he wouldn't be lying when he told his parents that his car was having a problem.

         He went back inside the house. Pretending to be very upset, he informed the family that his car wouldn't start.

         "I guess you won't be going to the prom then", his dad responded, without much sympathy.

         His scheme wasn't working so far, but Young Brian continued hopefully, "I could always drive your car."

         "We have already had that discussion. You know you're not allowed to do that.”

         "So y'all are not going to let me go?"

         His mother spoke up at this point. "I bet you did something to your car, so it won't start, but if it is a real problem, we can give you a push to get you going."

         Young Brian was amazed that his mother had seen through his plot so easily, but he concealed his dismay. "I will go try it again, but I'll probably need that push."

         He went back to his car and, while pretending to check things under the hood, he re-attached the loosened coil wire. He waited a few more minutes, to make it appear that he had been trying to start it and then left his vehicle to return to the living room.

         "It still won't start, so I guess I need to be pushed." He was lying this time, but he knew that his standard transmission equipped car would respond to that maneuver.

         A few minutes later, Old Brian watched curiously from his bed in the tall weeds, as the whole family pushed Young Brian's car, backwards into the road and then down the lane in front of the house, where he popped his clutch. It started, of course, and he waved to his family as he headed for Jackson.

         The family went back in the house and, the excitement over, Old Brian laid his head back down to wait patiently for his roof to return.