Today I went blueberry picking (a summer passion of mine) just a few minutes from home. Close to the Lake, Lake Superior!

Today I could hear the rollers crashing into the shore as I picked. A cool, gentle breeze refreshed me as I labored in the warm sun. Just a few warm weeks has shorn the nor’easter of her bitter, winter cold and made her a delight.

Nearby, I could hear the voices of those walking the path just out of sight. I wondered if they knew of this bounty so near. If they did, would they kneel to join me?

One stranger who walked by just as I finally filled my picking bucket greeted me with “I’ll be over for blueberry pancakes in the morning.” Of course, I did not know him and he did not know me. I smiled. What else to say to a happy old man picking berries in the brush who might more easily have gone to a grocery store and bought a pint for a few dollars?

But, of course, this requires work. One must endure aching muscles as one stoops to the earth again and again or kneels as a hunched supplicant. I relearn that I am part of nature. A few days ago Nicholas Kristoff wrote a line in the New York Times which described why, in part, I pick. “We come and go, but nature is forever. It puts us in our place, underscoring that we are not lords of the universe but components of it.”