|
|
|
Wild Blueberry Picking Island Style
My annual Pilgrimage to
Blueberry Island
By Mark
J. Donovan
|
|
Either the last week of July or the
first week of August I inevitably find myself being pulled to do something I’ve
done just about every year of my life, picking wild blueberries. It’s something
I did with my extended family just about every summer growing up. Parents,
sister, aunts, uncles, cousins, and even my grandmother would make the annual
pilgrimage. However instead of picking them on an island called Blueberry
Island, we picked them at the top of a mountain called Pack Monadnock in
southwestern New Hampshire. Again, we’d go in late July or early August to pick,
and pick we did. Inevitably my parents, sister and I alone would pick somewhere
between 15 and 20 quarts, in 1 day.
|
We then returned home, where we
immediately proceeded to clean and can them. In later years, my cousins and I
would bring our own spouses and children to continue the tradition.
Though picking wild blueberries can be monotonous we all still found time to
have fun. First was the 1 hour hike up the mountain, where the younger ones
always raced to the top. Along the trail we invariably stopped and got fresh
water from a mountain spring where we all drank from it and filled our canteens.
None of us ever came down sick with Giardia or any other bacterial related
ailments. Then there was tossing small sheets of toilet paper off the top of the
mountain. We’d try to see whose would fly the furthest across the valleys below.
|
|
There was also a rather sublime
quietness that was cool yet eerie to listen too as we picked. The wind would
whisper through the tree branches, and the bees constantly buzzed and hummed
around us. Occasionally you’d hear someone say something, but for long periods
of time it was just the wind and insects that made a sound. It was both
beautiful and peaceful and I think that’s half the reason we all went. As time
passed on and we grew older, however, the extended family moved away or grew
apart with their separate busy lives. Not so unsimilar to the toilet paper
pieces floating away off the mountain top.
|
But all that said, I still find
myself picking wild blueberries every summer. No longer on Pack Monadnock, but
instead on an uninhabited island on Lake Winnipesaukee called Blueberry Island.
Moreover, I usually find myself picking the blueberries alone as my wife and
grown children have little interest in doing so, and I have no problem with
this. Again, much of the reason I pick them is a chance to relive the experience
of my youth and to commune with nature. It’s particularly cathartic on early
mornings when the sky is clear and the lake is free of boat traffic. The lake is
often both smooth and quiet during the early morning. All you can hear while
picking the blueberries is the lap of the water on the shoreline, and the
occasional morose crying sound of a Loon or the screech of an America Bald Eagle
nesting in its perch on the island.
Picking wild blueberries island style is a lot different than picking them on a
mountain top. First, instead of climbing a mountain I need to get to the island
by boat. Sometimes I take a canoe, other times I row, and on some occasions I
use the 8hp engine to speed up the trip. Second, though Blueberry Island is
uninhabited a lot of boaters visit it on the weekends. Usually they moor or raft
their boats together just off of the shoreline.
| Consequently there are numerous what I call non-serious
blueberry pickers taking a stab at picking their own blueberries. Usually
they have the stamina enough to pick only a handful or two at best. But that
said, there are a lot of them picking. So for me, I need to pick where the
boat rafters don’t go. And that means picking from non-beach areas, where
most of the time I either have to pick from the boat or on small rock
outcroppings on the island. It is these areas that have not been spoiled by
the non-serious wild blueberry pickers and where I can relatively quickly
fill my containers. |
Photo by Mark Donovan |
Standing and balancing in a row boat
or canoe while picking wild blueberries, however, brings another level of
challenge to the task.
Inevitably I find myself back on Blueberry Island picking wild blueberries a few
times in the course of a couple of weeks. In the end, I wind up getting only 3
to 4 quarts at best. But maybe just as important is that I get several hours of
complete solitude and a chance to smell, see, and hear nature at its finest. The
surrounding mountains standing tall out in the distance over the lake, the water
lapping on the shoreline, bees humming all around me, and the sounds and sight
of beautiful and rare birds. It’s simply perfect.
Today’s harvest was good. In just an hour I picked nearly 1-1/2 quarts. But more
importantly I had a chance to step back in time and escape the modern trappings
of life for awhile. Tomorrow off to the Midwest for customer meetings. I can’t
wait until next weekend to pick some more.
Blueberry Picking Tools from
Amazon.com
|
|
|
