One thing that I’ve learned in the few short months that I’ve lived by this marsh in Maine, is that there’s a lot I’m not seeing.
You have to look closely to see what’s really there. What looks an abandoned field between the stone wall and the water is a blueberry barren.
What looks like a tangle of briars on the hill near the woods are blackberries.
Harvesting these berries is time-consuming and does a number on our backs.
It seems like we’re out there stripping the plants, and yet we go back to the house with only a few cups of berries. We’re not making a dent in the abundance. Which is fine. I know we’re sharing the berries with other residents of this land. The other day, as I stepped outside, a dozen crows lifted up out of the barrens. I didn’t know they were there until they left.
Some of what’s out there is plenty large, but you have to be looking at the right time, in the right place, to see what lives here. I’ve seen the coyotes once. I’m sure, though, that they’ve been back.
The sunlight hitting the tall grasses is golden. The same color as this buck. Sometimes we see him, sometimes we don’t.
I don’t know who else is out there, enjoying the berries. I’m keeping an eye out, but, just like I’m only able to pick a few of the berries, I’m sure that I’m missing most of the stories of those who live here. That’s okay. The glimpses are filling.