The last wineberries are drawing me deeper into the woods these days. I had all but given up on finding any more the other day when I stumbled upon a patch growing in the crater left by a tree that had blown over a couple of years ago. I’d come prepared for heavy cover: jeans and a long-sleeved shirt despite the heat, and old leather gloves (thorn protection) with the tips cut off the first three fingers (dexterity). The patch was tiny but extremely thick. 

Once I’d picked the berries at the edge I could scarcely bull my way any deeper in to get at the others. This was because there were thick vines growing all through the wineberries. Upon finally succeeding at crashing forward three feet, I had a momentary feeling of vulnerability, thinking how easy it must have been for our ancestors to be working a patch just like this only to discover there was a cave bear doing the same thing from the other side. To a critter like that, running into a homo sapiens stuck in a berry patch, his spear leaning against a bush well beyond arm’s reach, must have been like hitting the meat lotto. “Boy, did I get lucky today!” he’d say when he got back to the other bears at the cave.

I picked until I had nearly filled my small container, then noticed that my hands and arms suddenly felt aflame. Alongside the vines, a healthy patch of stinging nettles was pushing up through the wineberries. The nettles attacked the patch of skin I invariably bared between my shirt cuffs and gloves when stretching for the furthest berries, my face, and had even penetrated the shirt itself in other places.

Next, attempting to back track along the trunk of the tree, I yanked myself free of a vine only to lose my balance and fall into a muddy place on the downhill side of the trunk. By then I’d had enough. I left. By the time I got back to my vehicle, I was sporting muddy jeans, a ripped shirt, and welts all down one side of my face. The young couple stretching in preparation for their morning jog seemed to be making a note of my license plate number as I backed out of my parking spot. It was a lot of work for a small container of berries, which I’d eaten long before I got home.