Wow. Trent and I just got back from a long weekend in New Brunswick. Aunt Maureen, Uncle Terry and Trent's cousin Jeff and his partner Melanie spoiled us for four fantastic days in Moncton and at the... "cottage" (think: log mansion) at Bass River. We had a fabulous time hanging out with family--including Mom & Dad Soholt (while poor Mom Esme got stuck petsitting--ha! that'll learn you to move to Nova Scotia!)--and doing various and sundry water sports. Stay tuned for pics.
One morning, we walked over to the "shed" (actually a massive garage containing, among other things, a righteous model train set and a vintage T-Bird), where Dad S and I noticed some raspberries growing next to the pond. Dd and Terry mentioned that there were more raspberries growing in the bush on the quad path.
"Oh, good," I said. "I'd like to go berry picking."
I asked Trent whether he wanted to join me. He said he'd rather watch paint dry.
As we walked back towards the house, I asked where the raspberries were. Terry said that they were near the back of the trail and that Trent could take me on the Rhino. (A Rhino is the unholy... and AWESOME spawn of a Jeep and a quad.) Before Trent could roll his eyes, I said, "No, no, just tell me where. I'll find it." After all, I'm a backwoods girl from way back.
"No, they're way back in there," Terry replied. "I'll have to show you."
I started to get uncomfortable. After all, I didn't want to make a big production of it. I just wanted to pck some raspberries!
We get back to the house and word gets out that I want to go berry picking. Immediately, Maureen goes hunting for a bucket. "No, no, no!" I cry. "I'll find a plastic bag or--something!" My vision of myself, tripping merrily through the forest, eating berries as I go is vanishing, morphing into this giant, embarassing production. I'm really uncomfortable now--everyone seems to be preparing for some sort of massive excursion. Maureen and Mom S are hunting for a berry receptacle, Trent and Dad S are prepping the quads, and Terry is out getting the chainsaw ready.
"Wait! What?! Chainsaw!" Good god! Now berry picking involves power tools?
"Yes, we'll need to clear the trail," Terry replies. "I'll take one Rhino on ahead and you and Trent can follow in the other."
I look guiltily at Bear. "We can watch paint dry later," I promise quietly. My bucolic vision of me as berry gatherer is dissolving into realities of enormous motorized bush vehicles, berry receptable quests and... chainsaws. And, next thing we know, when Trent isn't hauling freshly cut brush off the quad path, he's helping me AND Terry fill a bag with raspberries. Glancing at me reproachfully every few minutes.
Damn, those were good raspberries.
3 comments:
Somewhere on earth, brad just peed himself a little bit.... If that's what berry picking becomes I'm sure he'll sign up to take you anytime :). And Trent can... watch paint dry.
You should have just attached three chainsaws to the front of the Rhino and started them up, then the Rhino could have done all of the work.
Why am I never around for these adventures?
-Phil
Man, that was a great adventure story! Funny as heck too! You cack me up Becca.
Bob
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