She bent back hard when I leaned into her mature branches. For years she had been faithfully producing fruit, each year a little more. This past week, I was worried she wasn’t able to take much more of the intense spring storms. I was concerned she would break when strong winds whipped thought the berry garden. Now, dew glistened in the peach-colored morning light and slowly ran off the shrub, down my arm. To my delight, hundreds of clusters of red juicy currants hung exposed. When I let go of the branches, they easily sprung back into their place, again hiding the harvest under a blanket of dark green leaves. The rest of the morning was quiet, except for the song of the wren, the barking of the blue jay as he kept his brood in check, and the gentle thump of the clustered berries as they fell into bowls and buckets.
In the evening, seventeen jars of red currant jelly set neatly on my counter. Occasionally and throughout the night, a pop could be heard from a jar as it sealed. I smiled each time I heard it. It felt like a gentle knock on my heart from the shrub. And, as if with the tiniest voice, I imaged she said,
“When the Master Gardener comes and leans in to take what is His, will there be good fruit?”
May it be so.
(Text and Photos, Heidi Viars ©2024)
Heidi Viars 
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