These blackberries are actual berry bushes, not small hand-held computing devices. When we go up to Whidbey to do one of the various tasks in preparation for the building of a house, I attack blackberries and other unwanted plants.

I am not a gardener of the  sort who loves to spend hours in a garden and as a result manages to produce a beautiful, abundant garden. Rather, I am a binge attacker, who manages to devastate 5- 7 years worth of both fresh and very ancient berry canes in my efforts to clear away the unwanted plants in the hope of creating more space for the wanted kind.

This land on Whidbey –4.2 acres — mostly in trees, native bushes, and field grass — presents something of a high level of challenge in terms of managing the unwanted black berries and thistles.  And I don’t well understand why I find it so very satisfying to attack these impenetrable mounds with only leather gloves and a small hand clipper. But, I do. I enjoy these attacks greatly. It is one of the very few things that I do which offers immediate satisfaction of accomplishment, and  the smallest hint of doing something good for Creation.

(Yes, Himalayan Blackberries ARE also part of Creation, but they don’t belong here. They are cousins to the kind of people who show up in meetings, and do ALL of the talking so that no one else is allowed any light, or space or opportunity for expression, or in this case, for life.)

A year ago I was most upset at the thought of having to move to this island; that is no longer the case. I still love the city in many ways and hope that I will contiune to enjoy the richness of what is over “here.” I don’t at all think that God lives only in the Country.

Still, this very new experience of hanging out in the rough, of being in a place where most of the people I come across actually speak to me, of taking great delight in ant hills, hawk cries, and reclaiming land from blackberries for something less domineering, is life giving.