Taking my blueberry-stained jeans out of the soiled-laundry basket today, I did not want to put them into the washer. That’s because I would like the time I spent on my knees in the blueberry fields last weekend to remain indelible forever.
It all began with the news that the blueberry fields on Beech Hill Preserve in Rockport would be opened to the public for two days of free picking. Usually a friend from away joins me in this quintessential Maine outing, but this year all of my out-of-state friends were busy. My local friends were occupied, too. I have to admit, the absence of friends to take on this adventure made me feel a little blue.
And so, I was up with the earliest birds. Laden with berry boxes, I was among the first to arrive on the preserve. With its fabulous views of the Camden Hills and Penobscot Bay, and with its highest point crowned with the sod-roofed stone hut known as Beech Nut, the property is preserved for its historic, natural and agricultural value by the Maine Coast Heritage Trust.
Anyone strolling along the winding path that leads to Beech Nut is bound to be glad this outstanding coastal landscape is preserved for the future. Phrases that are the stuff of tourist brochures irresistibly come to mind: “A gem of the midcoast.” “A prospect that offers breathtaking views.”
Those who look skyward and see large birds circling and soaring also will know the place is a birder’s paradise. Osprey, bald eagles and seven kinds of hawks are among more than 100 bird varieties that have been sighted on a property that is listed as one of the stops on the Maine Birding Trail.
As for wildflowers, Beech Hill Preserve is replete with them. At present, goldenrod, Queen Anne’s lace and black-eyed Susans are among the most noticeable. Of course, that is not all that grows on the open expanses of the preserve. Some 20 acres of the place are devoted to organic blueberry production certified by the Maine Organic Farmers and Gardeners Association. That’s what took me and many other blueberry fanciers to the fields there last weekend.
I have marveled at Beech Hill Preserve before, in all weathers and seasons, but there is something about being there with others in the act of picking berries that enhances the experience. In years past, the oos and aahs happily voiced by friends from away have been a joy to hear. Not only was I pleased to see their pleasure in the place, but also I felt as if I was the perfect host by providing them with a memorable Maine experience and plenty of photos taken in the picture-perfect place.
Without those friends, though, I discovered what Beech Hill Preserve means to others. For instance, I overheard one fiftysomething man tell another, “I’ll bet my mother is looking down on me now. She always said, ‘If you’d only try it, you’d like it.’ Until today, I never did. She’s smiling now.”
I heard two women speaking animatedly in Finnish, evidently talking on and on about blueberries, since I heard that English word spoken again and again throughout their hour-long chat. The content of their discussion could only be imagined, but their enthusiasm was as clear as the cloudless blue sky above their heads.
I overheard a young father ask his little boy, “Do you know what this is? It’s called ‘open space.’ That means it’s here for all of the people to use — just the way we are using it today — forever.”
Glancing at the child, I saw the boy respond with wide eyes to the important-sounding tone his father had used. The child paused and looked around him. He looked at his dad.
“Forever,” the boy said, in a tone that was part question, part exclamation.
As the boy popped a blueberry into his mouth, I thought, “There stands one next-generation steward of this land.”
Grateful to that unknown dad, grateful to that little boy, I stood up from my kneeling to look around, too. The knees of my jeans were stained with blueberry juice. In the space of one short outing, I had gone from feeling blue to cherishing the blue stains that marked one marvelous morning in Maine.