Way back on Strong Street we had a row of currant bushes. As I recall they were green when they set on, then as they grew bigger, the turned red, then maroon and finally black. When they were black they were "ready" and momma would make them into something. I really don't remember what, but I do remember the ripening process. Of course we always had to eat one that was just turning red so we would remember why we didn't eat the red ones. Then we would eat a maroon one and while it was not sweet it at least did not choke us like the green and red ones did. As I remember, the bushes had little stickers on them. I may have forgotten way more than I remember about those damn currants!
See, a couple years back I found currant bushes growing in the wild area behind the house. I was thrilled beyond words that the birds had planted them their for me, and I anxiously awaited the first black currant. It did not happen that year. I got one red one and by the time I quit spitting the birds had eaten the others.
So another year came and more bushes appeared and it became clear that if I wanted a currant I was going to need to sleep on top of the currant bush. Not wanting to do that, I devised a plan this year that entailed netting, sticks, and and mouth ready for a juicy, black, sweet currant. Sadly, I missed looking one or two days and when I next checked, it was too late for netting.
Now the plan is that NEXT year, I will be more vigilant. I will check the bushes every day and I will be rewarded with sweet, black currants. Wait! I now recall that I went through this same crap when I remembered the black, juicy Mulberries that also grew on Strong Street! Every time I got ready to harvest them, they were rotten. The only thing they were good for was squishing up between my toes and getting me a paddling for tracking them in the house.
Maybe I am learning something about life in Nickerson. I remember it as a Utopic place. A place where I was always happy, but perhaps that was not the case. Maybe the bitter currants and the messy mulberries were just that! Maybe escaping to Nickerson was my way of escaping the reality of life. It was all so easy when mom and dad were responsible for me, but now I am old and looking back mother really was on to something when she used to tell me "Hind sight is 20/20."
I guess I will think about that for a while and see where that leads me.
See, a couple years back I found currant bushes growing in the wild area behind the house. I was thrilled beyond words that the birds had planted them their for me, and I anxiously awaited the first black currant. It did not happen that year. I got one red one and by the time I quit spitting the birds had eaten the others.
So another year came and more bushes appeared and it became clear that if I wanted a currant I was going to need to sleep on top of the currant bush. Not wanting to do that, I devised a plan this year that entailed netting, sticks, and and mouth ready for a juicy, black, sweet currant. Sadly, I missed looking one or two days and when I next checked, it was too late for netting.
Now the plan is that NEXT year, I will be more vigilant. I will check the bushes every day and I will be rewarded with sweet, black currants. Wait! I now recall that I went through this same crap when I remembered the black, juicy Mulberries that also grew on Strong Street! Every time I got ready to harvest them, they were rotten. The only thing they were good for was squishing up between my toes and getting me a paddling for tracking them in the house.
Maybe I am learning something about life in Nickerson. I remember it as a Utopic place. A place where I was always happy, but perhaps that was not the case. Maybe the bitter currants and the messy mulberries were just that! Maybe escaping to Nickerson was my way of escaping the reality of life. It was all so easy when mom and dad were responsible for me, but now I am old and looking back mother really was on to something when she used to tell me "Hind sight is 20/20."
I guess I will think about that for a while and see where that leads me.
No comments:
Post a Comment