Blackberry memories

Blackberry bushes besides the country lane outside the village were laden with sun-warmed fruit. I could not help but eat a few, and as the flavor burst in my mouth memories swamped me from eating blackberries on another summer day in a woods walk with my best friend from high school at her family’s Maine cottage a few decades back. We had become friends when the same boy dated us both, only to discover we were a lot more fun than he was. Thus, started a 46 year friendship.

Her father saw to it that I could attend all father and daughter banquets at Rainbow with him and her. (My father was not in my life at that time, although he reappeared years later and we made up for last time). Their apartment was often my refuge and her mother considered corn chowder the New England equivalent to Jewish chicken soup as a remedy to everything including broken hearts.

Even after my divorce, her mother came to see me and my infant daughter every Tuesday night often bringing clothes gleaned from the Unitarian consignment shop where she volunteered making my daughter the best dressed baby in day care. Her father was quick to help with repairs and showed up one night with a moon wagon for my daughter.

My friend too often came out from her beautiful Boston apartment, decorated with things found and refinished, making a cozy home that reflected her personality with taste and imagination. We would play cards, eat potato sticks, drink Coke, marvel at my daughter’s tiny nose that she swore was too small to breathe through. She coached me through those first painful days and weeks of my separation and taught me it was okay to be good to myself.

There wasn’t a life crisis we didn’t share, and once, when things were going well and we hadn’t talked for a while, she called to remind me we were more than FOUL weather friends. There was much laughter and rooting for each other mingled among the problems that we talked about. Those problems always seemed lighter, and so often we found solutions or at least how helped each other cope better.

Thanks to the joys of email and voipcheap.com we can still chat on the phone, despite a half-day plane ride distance between us. Happily, these days we keep problems to a minimum, each of us finding our own happiness, each of us celebrating the other’s good fortune.

Thus with each blackberry I ate I was transported back to that day in Maine. I could see her father’s garden with his unique garden watering system of wine bottles turned upside down in the soil and a chipmunk he had trained to run up his leg and eat from his hand. I remember the unconditional sharing that day built on the trust that still exists whenever we talk or write.

Those blackberries were really powerful to bring forth so many good memories and so much love.