BLACKBERRY WINTER

The mountain people call it Blackberry Winter. Just as the first pure white blossoms appear on the vines, the temperature drops and the weather stays chilly for quite a few days. I enjoy this temporary halt in the mad growth and greening. It is a quiet pause before the earth yields to the riot of fecundity we call summer. The scent of wild roses, also in bloom, is piquant and pure in this cocktail of oxygen and cool, damp air.

Once again I take out companionable sweaters or reach for my homespun afghan in the night when the temperatures dip low enough to require extra covers on the bed. The pup, nearly grown, shivers in the mornings and regresses to her need to cuddle on a lap, burrowing into a soft blanket. These pleasures seem superior to the constant beckoning of the outdoors during spring and summer. The people of Spruce Pine are devoted gardeners, both of veggies and flowers, and the sight of their handiwork puts my hours of fiddling or journaling to shame. Dig in the earth, people tell me. Send away for catalogs. Plan your garden. It’s very therapeutic.

I want to belong to this community, but the lust for coffeehouses, cafes, films, and bookstores is still strong in me, though it’s now almost four years since we left our urban lifestyle in Chapel Hill to live here in relative isolation from The Stuff. I am weak and spend time shopping on the internet now that our limited budget and the soaring price of fuel makes the one hour trip to Asheville a luxury rather than a casual option to simple country days. I should be buying tomato plants but I’m on eBay looking for a spring handbag.

Owning acreage on the side of a mountain was not one of my life goals, but now that it has happened, I find it has ups and downs like any relationship. Some days I am overcome with love for the familiar trees, the rushing of the creek after a good rain, the mounds of quartz embedded in the soil, the shining flecks of mica everywhere. Others, the silence and beauty do not call me. Instead I long for the stimulation and buzz of culture. My heart is here; my mind wanders elsewhere.