The Season of Migration

Every day when I go out to pick blueberries I see that there are fewer left on the bushes, and not just because I’ve been devouring them as if they were the last fruit on earth.  Many kinds of birds migrate through our garden, snatching blueberries and huckleberries for their autumn journey, then holly berries on their way north as winter draws to a close.  The robins and I are on the same wavelength these days, stocking up for the end of this summer life, not leaving quite yet, but preparing to take to the skies and land in warmer climes.

We’re caught on the cusp now, torn between looking ahead and looking back.   We laze in our deliciously comfortable bed on this drizzly Sunday morning, nestled with cats, and wonder who will be sleeping between these sheets next month.  Who will pick the berries next summer? 

I expect that, once freed from the merciless hunting ways of Sushi and Beppo, the birds will enjoy a population boom and will claim most of the berries for themselves.  An as yet unknown French blueberry farmer will have a new and devoted customer.  Although I’m still in the dark about the details, I know that life will rebalance itself, for the birds and for us.

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