Blackberry Rain

It's the rainy season. We have entered the season that I have most feared about the Pacific Northwest. Every time that I step outside, my eyes peruse a 180 across the dome: no sun today. We are only a few days in.

My friend, Laura, has been visiting for the past week, and I've been showing her around town and the many "must-see" sights of the area.

"I would be disappointed if I came to Seattle and it didn't rain," she told me. I sighed.

We saw the sights anyways. We walked the loop around Discovery Park. We even took a side path with a sign that said "beach access" which lead us to a lighthouse and a fantastic shore along Puget Sound. We found a driftwood log propped perpendicular to another: the perfect beach see-saw. On either side of the log, we took turns pushing off--squat, straight, squat, straight. The angle was short, so we went quickly. Updownupdown. We laughed. Both of us laughed at how silly we must have looked. Both of us laughed at how great and rare these moments are when we feel like children, even though we're officially out of childhood.

Other hikers walked passed us. They pointed and laughed, and we laughed back. It didn't matter that we looked ridiculous. It didn't matter that there was a light drizzle mixed with salty spray from the waterline. It didn't matter that the sun hid behind clouds, save for a small section reflected off the water.

On the walk back, we had a plan. We had passed huge blackberry bushes on the way in. Then, we had paused to snack, but now, we were going to take them with us. Laura folded the maps of the park that we had picked up at the beginning of the trail into origami boxes. We filled them so full of berries that we back them up with the giant sycamore leaves that scattered the path.

The berries were cold. I'm learning that a lot out here--everything is cold but only in a way that makes it all seem so fresh. The berries quickly seeped through the paper and the leaves, dripping down our fingers in a purple stain.

"I love getting berry seeds stuck in my teeth." Laura commented. I laughed, and she replied, "No, I'm serious; I really like it." We picked away at all of the berries within reach.

And we oo-ed and aw-ed at the ones that we couldn't. Bundles of bulging berries hung out of reach. I stood, imagining myself grabbing them, imagining the juice pop in my mouth. But I could never really pick them.

"Look at these!" Laura found even bigger black berries close to the ground. I made some joke about her short-people advantage and joined in, scavenging whichever berries she hadn't gotten yet.

When we got back to my apartment, we changed in to dry clothes and blended the blackberries into two tall smoothies. Sitting side-by-side, crunching down blackberry seeds, we reflected on the joy of being able to pick fresh berries and bring them home to eat.

I gulped down the sweet purple and wondered why I had my hopes set for the high berries in the first place--the others taste just as well. And, though the sun made an appearance for a whopping twenty seconds between the trees, it's still raining.