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It’s halfway through July already. Ack. It’s huckleberry time! It snuck up on me this year, and I wasn’t ready. But this morning I trekked the girls around looking for that purple gold. We had fun, and picked a few. I had to let go of my own agenda, which is always MORE BERRIES, and just enjoy hanging out in the woods with my intrepid foragers. They did great. We made ice cream, and have more left over to snack on during the week, and this weekend we will hit it hard and get the gallons. Good day, but I didn’t think much about poeming. I could write a huckleberry poem, and I probably will at some point, but it hasn’t come to me yet. I’m going to try a new strategy, in which I list every preoccupation during my day, and see what comes of it:

Preoccupations in Mid-July

1) Slavoj Zizek, because he’s been in the newsfeed, and because I’ve been feeling especially bougie lately and uncomfortable with my small clicks of resistance. 2) Birdwatching. Who does it and why? Is there a world series of birdwatching? Yes. Could I ever do it? Do I care to try? What is a nuthatch and do we have them here? (internet says yes). 3) When is the first time I remember huckleberry picking? Can I remember when the bushes came up to my head like they do hers? 4) How far can a mother pick from toddlers before accidentally re-enacting Blueberries for Sal? 5) Can a poem be just a list of preoccupations? Or does that cheapen the words that are used for true efforts of reaction? 6) Why my life feels too busy for revolt and how to fix this. 7) How much more art is needed, both in necessity and quantity. How there must be some way to unleash it. 8) how investment in arts education in this country makes me sad. And angry. 8) How to sneak spinach into huckleberry popsicles. 9) How many more times I will have to perform the sliver-removal operation with the pin and tweezers, and how I’m becoming expert. 10) How to surrender the preoccupations and resistance, how to listen to the passerines and listen to her little fake whistle answer them back, how to show crossing over the tiny stream by stepping on the rocks, how maybe teaching them to leave a berry or two on each branch to nurture next year’s harvest, to listen for the creek to orient, to know that up here on the mountain, a dropped berry no small outrage.


This kind of feels like cheating, but I kind of like it. Here’s one I forgot to add: How huckleberries are probably a superfood, but let’s keep that underwraps, ‘else they’ll get ’em all and then sell them too us in little juice bottles in the supermarket. This is why we keep our secret spots secret. Happy Tuesday!