Strange thing is, as a teenager I hated picking berries. Whenever my mom asked me, I really did not want to do it. It felt like work I was forced into, work that took me away from what I wanted, which was to be with my friends, to be in the company of others.
Even at night, if I happened to wake up, I would check the window to see what the weather would be. Rain meant I could stay in, read, play with my own stuff. Sun meant I could go swim in the lake. Both felt like a kind of freedom, just pointed in different directions.
Now, decades later, I plan my vacations around making sure I have time for it. I would miss it so much if I did not get the chance to pick berries.
Maybe it is about the life phase. Back then, I wanted to be out there with people. Now I am doing quite a lot, and I need these moments of solitude, of quietness, to actually think.
At first, when I am out there picking, it is ruminating. I am processing work, processing life, whatever tension I am carrying that day. Some berries are sour, some are sweet, and I eat them as I go. It is just part of the work. The birds are only a summer presence at this point, background noise while my head is still busy.
But slowly, I get fewer new ideas, fewer new things to think about. It gets quieter, calmer. And that is when I actually start noticing the birds properly. The young ones, still learning to fly, are curious. They come close, checking out who I am and what I am doing there among their bushes. The parents stay further back, more careful, singing warnings to their chicks, telling them to watch out for this creature.
That is usually where I end up. Not thinking about anything in particular anymore. Just the berries in my hand, sour and sweet, the birds around me, the sky above. Nothing to process, nothing to figure out. Just being there.
