Picky readers pen purple poetry
Newspaper readers are well-versed in the art of huckleberry picking.
When asked if this year’s bumper crop of berries could inspire literary achievement, dozens responded.
For the record, six readers ignored the request for poetry and simply wanted to know specifically where they could find this bumper crop of berries. None offered enough money to get detailed directions.
Meantime, there was no shortage of Huckleberry Haiku coming in by phone and e-mail.
One of the most intriguing pieces was called in by Linda MacDonald of Bonners Ferry:
Camaraderie
Hands picking nimbly
Grandma chats on happily
to the rustling bear
The poem refers to a gem of family lore dating back 50 years.
“Grandma was at her favorite huckleberry patch in Boundary County,” MacDonald said. “She went on picking for quite a while, talking away and thinking that was grandpa moving around in the brush next to her until the bear went ‘snort, snort.’
“But she always reminded us, she didn’t spill her berries.”
That misfortune, which has fouled many picking missions, inspired Timothy Braatz of Bonners Ferry:
Bitter end
The end of summer
Huckleberries on the ground
Dad kicked the bucket
Bloomsday founder Don Kardong was moved to reveal what may be a secret to his marathoning prowess:
Move on
Plump purple berries
But we hustle down the path
Purple bear scat too
Steve Heaps, a retired psychologist from Spokane Valley, has a more domesticated rivalry going:
Huckleberry hound
Big dog strips off fruit
He learn’d the trick this morning
Now I must compete
Jim McGowan, Colville National Forest wildlife biologist, had an even sadder story of huckleberry competition.
Too late
Barren twigs I see
The only color is green
Being second sucks!
Being a two-time NCAA champion rower and recent Yale graduate, Jamie Redman of Spokane appeared to have college loans on her mind as she sampled her recent harvest:
Cash crop
Forty bucks a quart
My purple lips tell no lies
I ate a month’s rent
Kitty Kennedy of Spokane started writing Huckleberry Haiku when she couldn’t sleep one night, then dribbled in submissions for days.
“This is worse than knitting,” she lamented by e-mail. “I can’t stop.”
Here’s a favorite from her batch:
Home SWEET home
Fiftieth birthday gift
12-by-12 outfitter’s tent
Off to berry camp
Dee Sowards of Cheney offered a cook’s perspective:
Baker’s lament
Frozen stash in hand
So few fruit, so many dreams
Pies, muffins, pancakes
Paul Lindholt of Spokane was moved to purple passion in a series of “Huckleberry Love Haikus” written for his wife, Karen. Here are two that seem to work together, the least erotic of the bunch (captions mine):
Working up to it
You rest while I pick.
Then I’ll feed you soft pebbles
Sprung from Earth’s rough flank.
Whoopie!
We know muskrat love,
Huckleberry longing, too.
Come, sweetheart. Let’s eat.
Michael Riley of Potlatch wrote in thanks for the incentive “that kicked our butts out of the house, down the back roads, and up the mountain.
“I was moved to poetry after the nice haul and the great time had with my wife, two boys, and yellow Lab:”
Bottom line
Stained fingers and tongue
Berry-picking gluttony
Red badge of courage
Indeed, clothing stains were a common theme in the many more Huckleberry Haikus readers submitted —which inspires me to one last informational nugget of my own:
Hot treatment
Grandma’s trick for stains:
Pour boiling water through cloth.
Best to disrobe first.