Bakeapple Picking Time

Sometimes when you think you’re in the worst of times, you are actually in the best of times. These are the kind of worst of times when you’re pulled in multiple directions and you’re racing from one place to the other, too much to do and no time to get to doing what you think you want to do, nothing drastic, nothing earthshattering, nothing really worst about it, just momentary busyness that, looking back, is fleeting, and was actually the best of times.

In my FB memories this morning I was reminded of one such time fifteen years ago. Neither my father-in-law, John, nor my mother, were any longer able berry-pickers. For solid ground berries, like blueberries, they would have gotten by, but for bakeapple picking wandering the marshes, it is not a task for the less than able-bodied. I picked some last year and when I got to the road, if somebody had to offer me a million dollars for the few in my bucket, I think I would have said it’s not enough. Well, I would have took it then, but you get the idea. At least if you ever picked bakeapples, you’d get the idea. I digress.

Some friends had come along who’d never picked the golden berries before, so they were first-timers and didn’t know what to expect. My mother, and John, both had this faraway look in their eyes of their heydays of yearly berry picking. Neither asked nor said anything as we had a mug up in St. Bride’s before we got our bags, a little lunch, our buckets, and readied to head out.

I couldn’t not take them. I asked John if he’d like to go. He allowed he would. Then Mom, she said she’d love to go. So, of course, they both were in my car with their buckets soon after and we were making our way to the marshes.

It is very squishy and suctiony on the marshes as you move around looking for the berries. There are bees and stouts swarming you and pitching and biting- I mention this because I hate them.

As we scrambled down the embankment, John pointed to a rise in the marsh in the distance and say he was going there. He’d gotten berries there before, and off he went. Mom was on oxygen and couldn’t lift her legs too well, so she stayed closer to the road. Luckily there was a spot and she could manage. The new-comers were not roaming pickers, like John, so they picked as they went and hung close to the marsh near the road. The berries weren’t plenty, plenty, but plenty enough when you didn’t know the difference like us roaming pickers who forever chase the next golden marsh. Yes, I’m a roaming picker like John.

As the wind moaned (because on the marshes it moans and groans and whistles) John would wave and shout for me. I’d go over to him, he’d tell me a story about how many bakeapples he picked in his lifetime and that he was going to try over a bit farther. Mom would shout out that she was stuck so I’d leave him and work my way back to her. Once she actually fell and we had to pull her up. She was not hurt. She laughed, we laughed, and then John shouted for me again.

So, I spent the bakeapple picking time going from John to Mom and the distance grew exponentially each time I crossed the marsh. Did I mention the suction and how high you have to lift your knees. One does not simply walk on the marsh. Did I mention the bees.

By the time we finished, John had several cups in his bucket, Mom had several in hers, the Lewis’ had a wonderful time picking and had lots for their first experience. I got a handful of berries because I spent the time going back and forth.

In the end, my momentary worst of times (not really, but you get the drift) turned into a good day. As hindsight would reveal, it was the best of times. It would be the last time picking bakeapples for John and Mom. It was a privilege to experience that. When we went back to the Young’s for tea, you wouldn’t wipe the happy grin of either of them. They were exhausted but happy. This time of the year—bakeapple time, I always think of them on the marsh. I see John beckoning me. I hear Mom shouting that she needed to move but her rubber boot was still in the bog. These kind of worst of times are always remarkable and make the best memories. I’m so happy to have been there with them on their last great bakeapple pick.