(Independence) Day in the Life

This year I celebrated Independence Day with three red-white-and-blue activities: morning church, evening family picnic, and afternoon rubus phoenicolasius.

Began the day attending Holy Eucharist at my home parish, St. James Langhorne. Great to see friends I hadn't seen in six months. Rev. Barbara Kelley gave an informative homily/history lesson - without notes, no less! - reminding us that the balance of church and state has been a long-standing issue in the Church of England, not to mention its ensuing mutations (ie the Episcopal Church).

At night, I gathered with my family for a 4th picnic. My bro-in-law used the grill, but nobody wanted to stay outside very long because it was 999 degrees out there. So we enjoyed burgers & mom's premier potato salad in the comforts of my sister's air-conditioned dining room. Nice to have low-key family time.

In between these social outings, I picked Wineberries, aka rubus phoenicolasius. Evidently, these plants are indigenous to Asia. Explorers brought them to Western Europe and then to North America for decoration. They escaped, multiplied, and have found a home for themselves in Southeastern Pennsylvania, including my 'rents property north of New Hope. Although somewhat tart, Wineberries are delicious when ripe and easy to pick.

There's a catch to berry-ing, however. Central Bucks has been a hot zone for Lyme Disease, an ailment that can be transmitted via tick bite. Yuck. Spend any time in the deep woods around here, and it's amazing how quickly the ticks find you. (Insert favorite joke about ex-partners, telemarketers, lawyers, etc.) It's laughable that picking little berries in the woods is a dangerous enterprise, but such is life East of Edensville.

My mom, sister and I used to pick berries when sis & I were youngsters. Lots of fun memories doing that, in part because the Wineberries ripen in early July, aka the beginning of summer vacation. This year, for some reason, I'm feeling my age and wanted to refresh a childhood joy. So I got it into my head that I wasn't letting any teeny-tiny punk interfere with my walk down memory-berried lane.

As a precaution, I dressed like a character from Michael Crichton's The Andromeda Strain: long white pants, white socks rolled over the pant legs, white tee shirt, and white baseball cap. With this all-white getup, I could either hunt for berries or do a morning power walk at a shopping mall.

The sun was out, scorching everything in its view. I didn't linger outside too long, maybe twenty minutes. Those minutes yielded about two cups worth - not bad for a first day of picking. Since they are just starting to ripen, I left quite a few small ones on the bushes.

As soon as I walked back into my parents' house, I barely had time to show off my harvest when Hawkeye Mom spotted... guess what? Yep, a creepy crawly on my shirt. She removed him/her promptly, and she/he was last seen "white water rafting" towards the septic tank. Life in the country has its hazards.

It's a blessing to have the time and freedom to enjoy the simple pleasures of life: good liturgy among friends, good food among family, and time amidst God's creation. Can't help but wonder, though: why didn't Noah throw those two ticks overboard?