A B'rer Rabbit kinda story

Me and brother Dave took straight pins on the bus one day. We were 12 and 14, maybe more, maybe less. But close to that. And why do you think we took pins on the bus? Yep. To stick people. And we did.

We hadn't really considered that we might get kicked off the bus. We rarely wasted our time with thinking a plan all the way through. But anyway, there we found ourselves. Removed from free transportation to school on Columbus County, NC's dime.

We told Mom we would be needing a ride for a while, to which she replied something like, "What do you want me to do about it?" "Well, you'll have to drive us." "Says who?" "Mom, we can't ride the bus. Aren't you listening?" "Well, I didn't tell you to act the fool so I don't guess I got to drive you."

Hmmmm, this might need a new tack. "Well, mom, I suppose I could ride my bike. But it's stuck in 5th gear which makes it near impossible to pedal up the hill." By the way, brother Dave was offering up his expert, though still unheeded, expert opinions all the time also.

And you know what? That woman did not care. Just kept coming back to that tired old refrain of "If you don't want to be punished, do do bad stuff." That logic ain't gonna work. We're boys, for crying out loud. Bad stuff is what we know best.

So there we were, developing giant leg muscles for pedaling all the way to school on 5 speed bikes that were old and incapable of shifting gears.

And every day we got in to school later and later. And it wasn't because of the bikes. And it wasn't because we didn't leave early enough. It was because we had to cross the bridge over the railroad tracks. (The same place where we used to hop in to the pulpwood chip cars, if you recall that post. If you don't, nevermind. Sorry for the interruption.)

Now, in South Eastern NC one of the greatest things, besides Michael Jordan, is the weeds that grow wild. You can eat them. Surely you've heard of polk salad. Well, blackberries is a weed also. And they grow wild in huge thickets that can be found in places like the slope that runs along side a highway bridge over some railroad tracks that lead into a paper mill. They grow good and thick there. And, I might add, they got big old juicy berries. Big as your thumb and sweet as all get out.

Now, if you have ever enjoyed the fruits of a blackberry patch you know one thing for sure. No matter where you are standing and no matter how big the berries are right there, there is ALWAYS a batch of bigger, blacker, juicier berries a few feet farther in.

So what would start as a quick stop for a few berries on our way to school would end up with us, an hour later, 50 yards deep in the brambles, with big old blackberry smiles, picking and eating with wild abandon. One eye always open for snakes and not another care in the world. And, as I recall it, we were pretty regular, too.

They let us back on the bus. It seemed that me and Dave weren't really learning our lesson.

Thanks AI for your post on blackberries. Made me rememberize this good memory.

Travelin' Ed