Okay. Here’s the thing: it’s blueberry season again. It is strange that the arrival of blueberry season is not marked so much by the actual fruiting of the blueberry bushes as it is by the numerous and seemingly abandoned cars and trucks parked along the highway as people seek out this perennial fruit. And, further to this oddity is the appearance of the blueberry seller along the highway. It’s this guy who has me puzzled.
The berries must be good here…
In this part of the world, blueberries are not scarce. They are everywhere – unless of course you live in the city with a nicely manicured lawn; then, they are not everywhere. Even still, though, they are not hard to find and so most people will go out and forage for them. Some only want a litre or so for some baking, others, like my old landlord, are more hardcore about blueberry gathering and will take in somewhere around 80 litres or so for the year. Yeah, I said eighty litres – his wife makes fantastic doughnuts with them, as well as a soup which I am sure isn’t so fantastic. Especially ’cause it’s served cold. So these people will spend anywhere from a few hours to a few days, even a few weeks, gathering their desired amount. It’s a mid-summer ritual, really. And it’s this ease of collection that has me baffled, though, because I can’t figure out why or how people have come up with the idea that it is profitable and worth their time to sit on the side of the road and sell blueberries to passers-by. Often, these people will pick berries in the morning and then try to sell them in the afternoon, and here’s what’s funny about it: the berries sell.
A slightly out of focus blueberry stem. Most of them are not ready yet. I took this on Saturday.
When we lived in the Yukon and it was cranberry season did we see anybody selling berries on the side of the road? Nope; and I expect the reason for that is the look you’d get from those to whom you were trying to sell. It wouldn’t be the condecending, Ant and Grasshopper look of being unwilling to forage for one’s self, or the ‘luck favours the prepared’ attitude of it all, it would just be the audacity of trying to sell berries to someone who, for free, could walk fifty yards into the bush and pick as many as they pleased. And yet, for mile after mile along the Sudbury highways, there sits the berry seller – some in a beat up Oldsmobile with cracked vinyl seats and a stale-smoke interior, the container of blueberries either baking in the hot sun on the hood of the car or under the magnification of the rear window. There are others, though, who sit under fancy umbrellas with a lawn chair and a cooler full of drinks and snacks, the sacrificial display-pint of berries carefully shaded and nestled on a towel. Some have even gone so far as to commandeer a disused parking lot where they have set up a shanty town of sorts, complete with vendor stalls. Oh, it’s a serious thing, this berry selling. Luckily for me this picker-and-purchaser relationship has been established a long time ago.
One of the incidentals that you can find picking blueberries: a late ripening strawberry.
Two summers past, I was on my way down to Killarney to pick up fish for the dogs and I left thinking I had enough gas for the trip down and back. It turns out I underestimated the fuel requirements and I didn’t have enough for the trip back. Since either: a) we were broke; or, b) I had forgotten my wallet – and I choose a) here as it’s more believable - I was facing the very real possibility of sitting on the roadside a long time. We didn’t have our cell phones yet and even if we did, there is only one spot along the highway where cell reception is available and I wasn’t there. I knew I had enough gas to make it back to the main highway and possibly to the nearest gas station, but with no money it would be a difficult thing to get gas. So, I decided I’d pick a bunch of blueberries and see if I couldn’t sell them. I pulled off the road and looked around in the truck for a suitable container, wondering as I looked what amount of bears a truckload of fish would draw. I wandered into the bush and soon found a decent patch of berries. I think I only picked for fifteen minutes or so and by then, my container was full. It was close to a quart or more, I think. On my way out, I found a bunch of raspberries, too, so I picked them intending on bringing them home for Jenn. I filled my hat with them and then went to the truck.
Another of the incidentals: a well-fed-and-wanting-to-be-left-alone garter snake.
I think I was only standing by the truck a few minutes when somebody stopped. They were on their way to the Killarney Provincial Park and thought that they’d like some berries for breakfast in the morning. (Why they couldn’t go find some themselves I didn’t ask. Afterall, once the tent is set up, what else are you going to do?) They asked how much I was selling them for and I said: “I need luck to make it to a gas station and I need twenty dollars when I get there.” They looked over my offering – with it’s leaves and twigs mixed in with the berries – and decided to haggle. In the end, I had to throw in my raspberries, too, but I managed to get twenty dollars for gas. My luck held and I made it home with no further incidents.
Hunter, off to the berry patch.
*A mnemonic from my Forestry days: Velvet-leaf Blueberry (Vaccinium myrtilloides) has fine hairs on the underside of it’s leaves, whereas Low-bush Blueberry (V. angustifolium) doesn’t.
Filed under: Writing | Tagged: blueberries, blueberry picking, Killarney, Sudbury, unique way to make money
