When daylight came, I crawled out of bed with the certainty that a day in my favorite huckleberry patch would return me to my retirement happy place.
It just took a few minutes to pack a lunch, find my berry bucket and load up Boo, then it was off to the "Berrymuda Triangle." As a somewhat obsessive huckleberry gatherer, I have a special spot deep in the wilds of the Gifford Pinchot National Forest where I lose myself to find berries every year. I had been travelling during peak gathering season, but I hoped to collect enough late huckleberries to make at least one batch of jam.
Although past their prime, there was a smattering of purple treasure to be found on the bushes, so Boo and I got busy. Gathering huckleberries is a slow but rewarding process. After picking for a half hour or so, I accumulated a reasonable quantity of berries in the bottom of the bucket.
Boo likes huckleberries as much as I do. Nearby, lots of chomping and heavy breathing provided a rhythmical accompaniment to my gathering activities as he pulled berries from nearby bushes. My mutt of many maladies has paralyzed larynx, so his breathing sounds akin to a steam engine. At eleven years old, Boo also retired from going to work with Pat this summer and he was excited to be back in the woods.
It was a beautiful early September day, and time passed as I quietly worked my way through the woods searching for elusive berries.
Quietly? There was no nearby chomping and panting.
The air was suddenly filled with high pitched yips and barks and they weren't dog sounds.
Over a log bounded Boo, streaking towards me at a speed I hadn't seen him achieve since his youth. Two coyotes followed in hot pursuit.
I yelled loudly and grabbed a stick. Then Boo barreled into me, knocked me down and tragedy struck.... I dropped my bucket an spilled a morning's worth of huckleberry gold into the dirt.
The coyotes? They ran off as soon as they saw me.
I gave Boo some water and loaded him into the car for safekeeping. Today was not his day to provide a meal of elderly dog for coyotes. I defiantly resumed my gathering, but it just wasn't the same with a stick in one hand, and yelling like a crazed ninja a couple of times a minute. Yes, I momentarily lost my retirement happy place, but it was restored with a short hike, followed by cooling off in a shady stream.
There will be no huckleberry jam this year, I only came away with enough for pancakes. However, the berry bushes will be there next year and I will be there stalking purple treasure.
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