Stopped by a farm and bought some blueberries on the way home today. Two Hindoos were sitting in the shade waiting for customers. One was old and thin, the other fat and middle-aged. In front of them were many small baskets of my Valley's finest berries. The two men continued to talk in their foreign language as I stood there. Finally I had to interrupt.
"I want ten pounds," I told them. "How much?"
"That will be $15," the fat farmer told me. "Come with me and we will get them from the field." He grabbed a box and I followed him through his patch to where some pickers were working. The pickers too were from a foreign country but do not ask me which one. There are so many foreign people in my country now I get them all mixed up.
After I had my fresh-picked ten pounds weighed out for me and the farmer and I were on the way back to his shady stand the two of us got to talking.
"I lived a long time there before I moved here," he told me after I told him I lived in Steepleton. "Used to be very good there. Peaceful. No problems. Now bad. Too much killing and violence there."
I agreed with him. My town has gone to shit.
I then learned he had worked in the forest industry for many years. "Fucking assholes shut down my mill and fucking near every other mill and sell just the logs to the Americans and overseas. Fucking assholes all of them."
I agreed with him again. My industry has gone to shit too. Then I got to ask him what I really wanted to ask. I figured his big gut was not from eating his wife's cooking. You would shit yourself to death in no time overeating Indian food. His gut had to be from drinking.
"You ever make any wine from your berries?" I asked hopefully.
"As a matter of fact I do," he told me with a grin. "Come inside and I will get you a glass from the fridge. It is very fresh. Very good."
The wine was served in a beer glass. It was cold as the gold medals that got hung around the necks of the Olympic athletes we have already forgotten the names of. It was fresh as morning dew on a tall field of marijuana. And it was very, very good.
"You come back in ten days," he told me as I left his farm. I had told him I would need another twenty pounds. "Other variety will be ready then. And I will have more wine then too!"
You know what's really scary? The Hindoos are just like me.
2 comments:
Every time I see a picture of blackberries - brambles - up here I dive right in. I like blackberries too.
Blueberries nearly as much. Though only when they're sharp and tart.
10lb for $15 ? That is a fucking deal. Even allowing for buying from source. Supermarketed up, we are occasionally forced to fork out close to £2 for a measly punnet. I have no idea on the precise weight. I threw away an empty container just the other day. If it was still in the fridge - or even close to the top of the refuse sack - I would have checked before sitting down to type this shit.
I see the government in Delhi illegally siphoned off several millions of foreign aid to finance their Commonwealth Games. It was earmarked, I think, to help stop the untouchables from being compelled to shovel up the shit of the higher castes. It will pay instead for a canopy to be built now over a new athletics stadium. Maybe. Or some shiny new Nike tracksuits for the offspring of corrupt officials.
Wine from a blueberry ? That I would like to try.
Everybody should drink too much fruit wine at least once a summer. Fucks you right up. Apple, pear and cranberry are are fine, but blueberry wine, that's drinking wine spo-dee-o-dee drinking wine.
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