I didn’t want to come home from camping last week and just blog non stop about camping. I wanted to spread it out so here is another installment of Iron Creek the Huckleberry Fest.
Well it turns out that it wasn’t much of a Huckleberry Fest. Oh, there were lots of berries on the bushes. Lots not even ripe yet. Did I mention that I took some lilies up with me that are usually done blooming a month ago. This summer is not the poster child for global warming that’s for sure. The end times maybe but not by global warming.
So anyway there we were on Friday in the middle of the berry fields at approximately five thousand feet in the alpine region. By the way if you are a cologne developer Dirt would appreciate a cologne that imitates exactly the fragrance of Alpine Fir. I love the fragrance and want to roll all over in the trees every time we’re around them. Christmas times a gazillion million cubed. Dirt would like to ensure the same action for himself.
So there we were on Friday, in the middle of the berry fields at approximately five thousand feet in the alpine region, where usually at this time of the year all the berries are ripe and some are already gone. But not this year. This year bushes that are usually empty by now have ripe berries. A whole other variety has just turned to the red stage, not ripe, not worth picking, and then there are the bushes that are usually just right when we come up on Labor Day only now they are loaded with mostly green berries.
But we manage to pick a fair amount. No worrying, knowing that this is the first day of at least three. One day that is usually spent driving up to Windy Ridge can now be devoted to berry picking instead because Windy Ridge road is washed out. Hope they repair it by next year. So it is only Friday and it was a pretty rainy chilly week, the brush up here is still wet and my shoes and pant legs are soaked by lunch time. The weather report said that it was going to get better weather wise as the weekend continued.
Well Saturday was our big feast night and Sheila’s Mom and Dad were coming up just for the day so we opted not to pick on Saturday after all we have all day Sunday which should be warm by then, cuz Saturday is warmer here at camp but it is still chillier than usual. Fry Night was great. And then Sunday morning came breakfast was over and we were heading back up, lunch packed and we took our chest waders because Tom, who did go up on Saturday said it was rainy and cold still so the brush would still be wet today, Sunday.
Well guess what, this is truly a season of first even for this queen of change. For the first time in approximately forty-five years of huckleberry picking it was snowing while I was picking huckleberries in August! Did I mention that this year is not the poster year for global warming?
Ski lifts were open clear to Memorial Day here in Washington and we had snow at about the five-thousand foot level in August. Not just a few flakes in the rain. It was white air.
Well if it wasn’t for the frozen hands, picking in the snow wasn’t impossible but I knew I was cold when I was dropping about every fifth berry and crushing every seventh one. But when I was dropping every third one and couldn’t tell if I was crushing any because I couldn’t see, it was time to quit. Not many berries in the bucket.
Dad, I am sorry for complaining that year I picked in my mittens. It really wasn’t that cold and it was after the Labor Day weekend. Sunday, August Thirty-first, Two thousand eight, the year of global warming and melting polar ice caps, was colder. Hey I know, they should move the polar ice cap to Washington, it would be safe here.
Soggy, cold sandwich dear? Let’s come back tomorrow?
Nope, we’re done
