I thought of you all today. I thought of you because if it weren't for you I wouldn't have even dreamed of putting myself in the middle of a bunch of poison ivy and... hey, what's that sound? That rustling sound? Gah! Snakes!
One year to the day after posting this, I went back for more cranberries in the feral bog across the street. It wasn't on purpose, and I only noticed the date now when I went digging around for the link. But yesterday before dinner I realized I had a few extra minutes so I went crashing through the brambles and into the bog to poach some cranberries.
When I went last year, solely for the purpose of reporting my findings to you lovely people, I only found a few (a beach pail full, according to my report). This year, I was gone for ten minutes and picked at least that much. And then the gluttony kicked in and I went back this morning.
Mornings in the bog are quite different than evenings. Mostly because I've never seen snakes in the evenings. I heard the telltale rustle a couple times and then finally did see a snake chasing a vole. I wasn't sure if I should rustle more loudly, in order to define myself as a possible predator, or be as quiet as, er, maybe not as quiet as a mouse. I rustled loudly. And I picked a lot of cranberries.
So if you are on my Christmas list, you are getting cranberry sauce this year. And before you get all harumphy and "what? just a jar of cranberry sauce?!?" please bear in mind that there were snakes and poison ivy and bees and maybe some rabid coyotes involved, which is almost like the mall. I braved them all for you and the sauce (assuming I remember to make it).
I wanted to take the kids cranberry picking with me because please, how perfectly perfect is that? Autumn on Cape Cod, picking cranberries? This is the stuff of childhood memories - except childhood memories are usually more like "remember the time we threw Studley's shoes out the car window on Route 6 and you LOST YOUR MIND?" And so if I did go to all the trouble of cutting back all the brambles so there was a safe path and if I did wrap the kids from head to toe with anti-poison-ivy garb, they would still remember it as the time I dragged them across the street and threatened to let the snakes eat them if they didn't pick fast enough.
Which is not a terrible idea. Anyone else have childhood memories that went terribly wrong? We're looking for some activities for the long weekend.