By Rebecca Solnit
Publication Date: 2026-01-29 05:00:00
Assembly
Summer after summer I descended into a stream that had formed a deep bed shaded by trees and bordered by blackberry bushes, their long, thorny canes arching from the bank and dripping with clusters of fruit. Down in that stream I spent hours picking berries, until I had a few gallons of berries, until my hands and wrists were scratched by the thorns and dyed purple by the sap, until the calm of the place had sunk into me.
The berries of a single spray can range from green to shades of red to the darkness that gives the fruit its name. Partly by sight, partly by touch, I determined which berries were too hard and which were too soft, picking only those in between, listening to the birds and the hum of the bees, the music of the running water, noticing little jewel-like insects among the berries, dragonflies in the open, and sandpipers in the quiet stretches of the stream.
I was there for the berries, but also for the peace…
