Blueberry picking is always a spiritual experience for me, but this year even more so. Trying to work around the excessive humidity and temps, I arrived at 9AM opening time. The leaves still glistened from last night’s thunder shower or was it heavy dew? Clear, blue skies and low humidity seemed like perfection…
Tuning into the cacophy of sweet bird song, I blocked out the chattering noise of other pickers. I usually like to pick in the afternoon when not many are in the patch and it’s quiet except for nature, the swooshing of cars below, and an occasional dog greeting a passerby.
So many bushes, though, were bare. Or laden with green berries. Or berries so tiny they couldn’t be picked. Row after row, I’d never experienced such barreness. Moving deeper into the patch then, I confronted purple and blue dots shouting like a neon sign. No way I could miss it. That one bush filled half my pail and I said a “Thank you, God.”
Moving around the bush, I realized how my perspective changed. Blinding sunlight excluded branches until taking a step or two to the right. Gently turning branches down like the covers before a good night kiss, more and more clusters of plump, dark, rich purplish-blue were tucked deep within. It took more effort to seek and find, but they were there. And plentiful.
Feeling my soul filled up with the simple sweetness of nature, I began contemplating how berries and life look differently depending on our stance.
My thoughts drifting to God, I began thinking how each of us who feels a spirit within is God centered in our own way. It’s never mattered to me if someone calls their God, God, the Universe, Allah (if not doing harm), Buddha, etc. — whatever speaks to the heart. I mean, what’s the difference if they are all inroads to spirit? Like varied languages throughout the world, why shouldn’t each of us have a name for the God of our choosing?
To me, formal, organized religion, in numerous instances, taints the spirit of God. Rather than be loving and kind, it’s used to shame, control, and even profit or mame and kill. That, is not what God or an inner spirit is to me.
About an hour later, Mother Nature began broiling my skin. Suddenly, picking became uncomfortable and I felt grateful for the abundance in my pail.
My God, is a loving God, and thankfully always was. My God, the one I have known my entire life, is protector, teacher and guide. If I did not show tolerance to others, I would not be followng my God who is Love.
And so it goes with blueberry picking. You never know what you will learn from where you stand.
wRighTing My Life 
I think of you often, Sue, even though I’ve let blogging fall by the wayside at least for awhile. Sorry to hear that your blueberry bushes were sans berries this year but I think the rest of your garden is/was robust? It feels like September weather already…not that I mind as it’s a beautiful time of year but does indicate winter will be forthcoming. I finally got my long awaited for West Highland White Scottish Terrier pup today. It will certainly be a better distraction than the worldwide craziness. Hoping to make it through a successful election and then we’ll see. Still need loads of prayers though…for all of us. Love and heartfelt wishes to you dear friend. I hope we stay in touch blogging or not. ā¤ā¤ā¤ā¤:-)
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Our Blue berry bushes had no fruit at all this year… None…. š¤·āāļø Glad you getting out into Mother Nature WG. and yes here in the UK the sun has been scorching hot too Wishing you well ā¤ from England ā¤
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