Read to Me!: Jamming In Berryland

I didn’t know you could see the Milky Way without a telescope. I was born and raised a city girl, so until I visited my Nana and Grandfeathers at their Thunder Mountain Ranch in Northern California, I had never heard a brook babble, smelled a forest, or truly seen the stars. Of course, I knew what stars looked like and could find the Big Dipper, but until that trip, all the jaw dropping splendor the cosmos has to offer had been completely

drowned out by light pollution. Seeing it for the first time was magical. Another experience that stands out for me on that visit is “discovering” Indian Rock, where Native American women ground holes for making acorn flour, for the first of many times. I felt so connected to history near that rock and, because it was outside the split rail fence “no rattlesnake zone,” more than a little brave for spending time exploring it. California is rightfully known for its natural abundance, so there were always plenty of acorns around, but the most sumptuous delicacies served up by Mother Nature around Indian Rock are…the berries. Blackberries, raspberries, and I don’t even know what other berries grow in tangly, scratchy, juicy, totally-worth-the effort profusion. We’d have to fight the birds, dodge the bugs, and beware the snakes, but those sticky, finger-staining berries warm from the sun still live vividly in my memory. I think of them every time we read Bruce Degen’s delicious Jamberry. What a jam jamboree!