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Estival Warm Pick Berry 夏季的温馨：采浆果
◎ Nancy Sweetland
Sweet, wild berries plucked from roadside patches are a delightful1 side benefit of camping. Each
summer, my husband Bob and I would send the kids off with their little metal buckets and the next
blackberries to dot a hot cooked-on-the-campfire peanut butter sandwich.
The children looked forward to picking. We could usually find just about anything, from
blueberries in early summer to raspberries and blackberries in August. Every year—except one.
dying fire one late summer evening.
The season had been too dry; what few blackberries were left on the bushes were hard as
marbles.
“Yeah. I looked all over,” added four-year-old Brian. “Wish there was something.”
That night, after the kids were zipped into their sleeping sacks and I was sure they weren’t
awake, I handed Bob a bag of large marshmallows and I grabbed a bag of the miniatures.
“Get the lantern and follow me,” I said. “We’re going to make a memory.”
“What?” He looked puzzled.
I told him about the kids’ campfire conversation and Bob grinned, “Let’s go!”
The next morning over pancakes, I said, “Kids, I think you’re going to have something to pick
today.”
“Really!” Julie’s eyes shone. “What?”
“What?” echoed Brian.
“Marshmallows.” I said, as though I’d said it every summer. “Last night Daddy and I walked
down toward the lake and it looks as though they’re just about ready to pick. It’s a good thing we’re
here now. They only come out one day a year.”
from the store.”
them in bags.”
“Daddy, is that true?” He demanded.
Bob was very busy turning pancakes. “Guess you’ll just have to go find out for yourself,” he
answered.
“Okay!”
They were off in a flurry, little metal buckets reflecting the morning sun.
“You nut.” Bob said to me, laughing. “It won’t work.”
“Be a believer,” I answered.
Minutes later our two excited children rushed into the clearing.
“Look! I got some that were just babies!” Julie held up a miniature.
“I picked the big ones!” said Brian. “Boy, I want to cook one! Light the fire, Daddy, quick!”
sticks while the kids ran for their hot dog forks.
large ones on his fork.
We waited for the culinary verdict.
“Wow!” Brian’s eyes rounded with surprise. “These are sure better than those old ones in the
bags!” He reached for another. “These are so good!”
“Of course,” I said. “These are really fresh!”
Julie looked puzzled. “How come all those marshmallow bushes don’t have the same kinds of
leaves?”
“Just different kinds, that’s all,” I replied quickly. “Like flowers.”
“Oh.” She licked her fingers, seemingly satisfied with my answer. Then, studying the next
marshmallow before she popped it into her mouth, she looked up with the sweetest smile and said
softly, “We’re so lucky that they bloomed today!”
香甜的野生浆果散落在路边，点缀成一片露营的好地方。每年夏天，我和我的丈夫鲍博
就会让孩子们带上他们的金属小篮出去采浆果，第二天我们就会享受这劳动的果实：烤架上
的梅子煎饼，或是黑莓花生酱三明治。
孩子们也都很期待出去采浆果。很多时候我们会什么都没有采到，从初夏的蓝莓到悬钩
子到八月的黑莓。
一个夏日的夜晚，5岁的朱莉抱怨道：“这里什么都没有啊！”说着就一棍子捅进了已经熄
灭的火堆里。
这个季节太干燥了，只剩下了很少一些黑莓，还硬得像弹珠似的。
4岁的布莱恩说：“是啊，我到处都找过了。”接着他补充道，“希望还会有一些。”
那天晚上，当孩子们钻进他们的睡袋以后，我确信他们已经睡着了，就递给鲍博一袋大
浆果，然后我抓起一袋小的。
“拿上灯笼，跟我走，”我说，“我们要去创造记忆了。”
“什么？”他看着我迷惑地问。
我把孩子们的篝火对话告诉了他，他咧嘴笑了，说：“走！”
第二天早饭时，我说：“孩子们，我想今天你们一定可以采到一些野果了。”
“真的！”朱莉的眼睛闪耀着光芒。“什么？”
“什么？”布莱恩回应着。
“浆果啊。”我说，就像每年夏季一样。“昨天晚上我和爸爸顺着小溪散步，好像那里就是
有很多东西啊。我们现在能在这里太好了，因为它们每年只出现一天。”
朱莉看上去有点怀疑，布莱恩却咯咯地笑了。“你真傻，妈妈。浆果是从商店里买来
的。”
我耸了耸肩膀。“那么，黑莓也是，但是你也已经摘了，不是吗？有人把它们装进了袋子
而已。”
“爸爸，那是真的吗？”他好像还不甘心。
鲍博正在忙着翻煎饼。他答道：“我想，你得自己去看看能不能采到吧。”
“好！”
他们提着小篮，在阳光明媚的早晨蹦蹦跳跳地跑去。
“你这个笨蛋。”鲍博笑着对我说，“那没用的。”
“要相信别人。”我答道。
很快，这两个兴奋的孩子跑了回来，开始清算自己的成果。
“看！我采到一些小婴儿浆果！”朱莉提着那些迷你小浆果说。
“我摘到大的！”布莱恩也快活地说。“爸爸，快点生火，我想做一些，快啊！”
“好的，好的，等着啊，”鲍博朝我眨了眨眼睛，“他们没有失望。”
趁着孩子们跑去拿烤热狗的叉子时，他点燃了一些小木棒。
“我的肯定更好，因为它们很小！”朱莉说。布莱恩耸耸肩，用他的叉子穿了两个大果
子。
我们等着做好了之后来裁决。
“哇！”布莱恩的眼睛里闪烁着惊奇。“这些肯定比那旧袋子里装的要好得多！”他拿起了
另一个，说道，“太好了！”
“当然了，”我说，“它们真的很新鲜！”
朱莉看上去有点困惑。“为什么它们都没有相同的叶子呢？”
“种类不同的，孩子，”我赶快回答道，“就像花朵一样。”
“哦。”她舔着她的手指，看上去似乎对我的回答很满意。然后，她开始研究下一个浆
果，然后急忙塞到嘴里。她抬起头来，甜美地笑着，轻声说，“我们太幸运了，它们今天全都
开了！”
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