It’s been a prodigious huckleberry season. I’ve been out several times in the last weeks picking tiny berries which grow wild in this area. Much smaller than blueberries, more elusive to find and definitely more difficult to pick, they are slightly tart, have a unique flavor and can change ho hum pancakes into something Food Network chefs would drool over. Add a few cups to a peach pie, as my daughter did, and who needs to eat anything else? Except huckleberry ice cream. Right?

Huckleberries are part of this area’s cultural identity. The town of Donnelly named a festival for them, huckleberry flavors local ice cream and milk shakes and every shop has huckleberry jams, syrup and chocolates for tourists. It’s part of the barter system. One time a client owed my husband quite a lot for legal fees and offered his secret huckleberry picking spot in exchange for the payment. I presume my hubby was thrilled. Only your very best friends or members of your family, maybe, will share locations where they found a patch. While casually dropping the fact that they picked “tons or gallons” in an hour or two, when asked where, the answer will be something like “Oh, they’re everywhere in Ponderosa Park or “ Just go to Goose Creek.” Never mind that both places are acres in size or cover hillsides that only a goat can climb. Additionally, having some experience in berry picking over the years, the only way I might get a gallon in an hour or so is to drive north of Riggins to Fiddle Creek and buy some frozen!

All that said, finding a nice harvest of berries is very rewarding, but I do not go out just for that. Last Friday morning , Dan and I went to OUR favorite place. We had to climb a little but it didn’t take long to find countless bushes loaded with berries, more profuse than anyone could gather. Dan stayed in a lower spot to pick while I went uphill a little farther. The morning was warming up, the air was pristine and the sky above the canopy of trees shimmered a summer blue. Insects circled my head and I saw a butterfly flitting light as air onto shaded branches. The only sound was that of individual berries plunking into the bottom of my tin can. I sat down on a fallen log in a thicket amid the huckleberries and picked as far as I could reach.

Pretty soon the plinks turned more solid as the can very slowly filled up. It is definitely not quick or “easy pickins”. My mind stilled in the stillness. God was very nigh for I realized that I was silently praying. I had had a very troubling family situation earlier in the week and was seeking answers. They did come, but not all at once. Little by little, as I moved among the berry bushes, I heard God’s beautiful voice whispering His solutions into my heart. It wasn’t until I was done that the big picture of my situation unfolded. It came to me that perhaps, just perhaps, Almighty God intended the action of picking huckleberries to be slow and deliberate. As I focused on gathering, I was silently seeking Him in my troubles and tarried a while longer with Him in His garden of wild berries.

It is my Huckleberry Prayer .

Tomorrow I am going back out with two friends who haven’t found huckleberries before. Yes, I will share the spot – and probably make them pinky promise to keep it our secret!