It’s funny how the blood on the thorn of a blackberry bush is nearly the same color as the berries themselves. As if the pain suffered by the young determined stranger is the same strength that is tapped for the berrie’s sweet juice. And thus, for the blackberries, there is a price to pay that is well worth the reward.

During mid August of some former time, when that month wasn’t snatched into the heat of football, we all knew where to go first thing in the morning; We went to the Forest. The Forest was 4-acre plot found between our clump houses and the closest big street.  Nature was so untouched by the outside world, that we could even see bunnies if we were quiet. A new world so vast that I was stunned the day I stumbled to the other side; and then I almost felt like crying when I turned and found I was able to see the tree I past to enter. There were ten of us who worked in that forest, although much of the time, several of us were gone; Usually traveling with our families. These long summer days in the forest we did nothing. We never actually changed anything. We broke down branches that would grow back again, imagined kingdoms within the trees that we would never see, and name pathways soon to be overgrown. We had nothing to show but a few worn trail, for those months spent in the forest. And yet those are some of the fondest memories I have.

One of those days, blurred by summer haze we made a plan. We had a dream that by the end of that day, a child would be able to reach the apple tree, not by going around the giant patch of blackberries but by tunneling through them. The apple tree was one the best places in all the forest. Even though it was really just outside the forest, on a peninsula surrounded by a sea a blackberry bushes which created the edge of the forest. The ground next to the tree was always softer than anywhere else in the forest and this tree was the only we could climb. The apples were simply an added bonus for ammunition in our sporadic wars because they never seemed to be ripe. If anyone had dared to eat one, I can’t remember the day.

The project was to drill from inside the forest to the apple tree. The blackberries were so thick, we knew immediately that it was going to take all day. Hedge trimmers, (we called them clippers), were the weapon of choice but a big stick and safety scissors were able to get the job done as well. We dug through the blackberries for hours with smiles on our faces. The tunnel was slightly taller than me and wide enough for another 9-year-old at my side.

About halfway through the project, I looked up. This gave an idea for a project that I wouldn’t create until I was 13-year-old. I saw the canopy of blackberries. The leaves not too far above whispered a certain serenity that gave the feeling of warmth and comfort. “Perfect for a secret clubhouse,” I speculated. The thorns would protect us from the outside world while the canopy would shade from the sun as we discussed topics of the utmost importance to other Forest projects and pulled practical jokes on each other.

Finally we broke through. We burst out, so excited to see the thing we had done. I laid down on one of the tree branches and joined in with the excited chatter of the other kids. We used the pathway at least once a day for the rest of the summer. The weird thing looking back is that we didn’t need that pathway at all. It only took an extra twenty seconds to go around the blackberry bushes. At the time, cutting through those blackberries was hard work. We loved it though. We loved it more than the electronics we all had at home. The joy the work brought us came from the pain. From the struggle of making that tunnel was where the sweet taste of the victory of an accomplished goal came from.