Fifth time was a charm for our 2022 berry-picking quest.
Those expensive white buckets finally got a little use, and we ate huckleberry pancakes last night for dinner.
Thanks to a very nice friend who gave me some tips, we found an okay patch yesterday afternoon.
Dust serves as great camouflage for huckleberries.
That's not a big problem because I've been picking dusty blueberries from my yard the past few pickings.
BUT, I know exactly where the blueberry bushes are.
Not so easy with huckleberries this time of year.
Bill said he saw a berry as we were driving down a mountain road.
"A berry?" I said.
"Yes," he answered, stopping to switch the pickup in reverse and telling me I could pick that berry right out the window.
Well, I never did see said berry, but agreed that we should park in a wide spot and at least look around.
By golly, that was a good stroke of business because that one berry Bill saw out the window had lots of friends.
We just had to look in the right places, mostly under the leaves and through thick coats of dust.
Eventually, we both went silent in our respective spots: Bill on one side the road, I on the other.
Only the buzzing of annoying horse flies threatening to strike or crackle of brush from footsteps broke the afternoon silence on that mountain.
After picking a while from the road, I could see a few well-populated berry bushes up the hillside with good-sized fruit.
So, knowing it would not be easy to come back down the hillside but figuring I'd worry about that problem later, I carefully made my way up the incline to the bushes.
From that point on, it was mostly sidehill-gouger berry picking.
Very few level spots and a continuous assortment of branches and rocks and holes for an old lady to practice her most defined and seasoned art: tripping and falling with a bucket of berries.
Yesterday, however, I took extra precautions, slowly and carefully making my way from bush to bush, relying on my trusty trekking pole for support.
My bucket was attached to my belt, so thankfully hands were free to pick berries and to catch myself if need be.
The berries on that hillside were plentiful and fairly good-sized.
We probably picked for about 45 minutes, and then it was time to descend.
I yelled out to Bill, "Please come over here and get my bucket.
"I don't know how I'm gonna get down this hillside but I don't want to spill the berries."
Soon Bill came with his trusty trekking pole.
Our poles then passed the baton---er---bucket from one pole to another.
Mission completed, Bill stood on the relatively level road with berries and bucket in hand.
Now, it was time for me to figure out how the heck to get down to the road without killing myself.
"Turn around and come down backward," Bill advised, adding, "There's a good huckleberry bush for you to hold on to as you come down."
With all kinds of visions of how I was surely going to tumble and break my body, I hedged a bit, knowing the descent had to happen or I'd be on that hillside picking berries all night.
Upon hearing that comment, Bill offered to go home to get me supplies.
That's when I decided to "let 'er rip."
Thankfully, the huckleberry bush held as I slowly backed down, only sliding a few inches and eventually landing my feet in three or four inches of very powdery dust.
Twas a great feeling back at the pickup to empty my contents into Bill's bucket, which had almost as many berries.
And, so we've added about half a gallon to the quart of berries we found in Jeru Creek.
Dinner was a no brainer last night: huckleberry hotcakes smothered with melted margarine and syrup with a slice of ham on the side.
Life is good and tasty.
Happy Wednesday.
Oh yes, I've included a couple of pictures of the surroundings from yesterday so eager berry pickers can go and find our spot.
Good luck!
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