by Marcia McGreevy Lewis
“The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate for the stormy present,” said Abraham Lincoln. Our times may or may not be equally as stormy as the Civil War era, but we would be well advised to re-examine our dogmas. A big issue that itches for scratching in our stormy present is our intolerance of persons from differing cultures.
We, in the United States, have dumped busloads of unsuspecting immigrants into unprepared cities. At the same time, people in Poland are welcoming Ukrainians into their homes. Lined up at the train station in Poland are rows of baby strollers that the Polish leave to help the Ukrainians to transport their families. Recently there was a couple from Denmark on the news with a sign that said, “We will take eight people.” When the interviewer asked them how they could do that, they said, “We brought two cars so we could drive them.”
We may not be able to leave our strollers or drive refugees home, but what are we doing about accepting persons different from ourselves? Where do we start? At the most basic level, we need to examine our prejudices. Are you and I embracing persons from all walks of life? Do Black lives matter to us? Really? Where are we in transitioning our priorities to be inclusive?
Realizing that I needed to shake up my own thinking around acceptance of different cultures, I underwent a self-examination. A perfect way for me to ponder was to perform a mindless task like picking blackberries. Blackberries are abundant in the Northwest, and I can’t resist picking them, so I happily set about my pondering. Foraging among the prickly thorns, though, isn’t for the faint of heart. Here’s my process:
The blackberry-picking warrior makes her equipment check:
One 2-quart plastic container, tied with a long string looped around my neck.
I wear the container to keep my hands free.
One 2-gallon bucket
I dump my berries in the bucket when the container around my neck is full.
One barbeque fork
Sumptuous berries sometimes grow beyond my reach, so I use the fork to bring them close.
Plastic gloves work well to protect my hands from the inevitable prickles.
Black, cotton, long-sleeved shirt and pants, hat, sunscreen, and sunglasses.
I wear black clothing because berries stain.
The clothes are cotton. I may find myself impaled on blackberry thorns if I wear synthetic material. I stick to long sleeves and pants for protection when reaching for those juicy, out-of-reach berries.
I pick each fat, shiny, blackberry, using my fork to probe for hidden ones. I leave not one for the next guy.
Once I have finished, I pick the same area from the opposite direction. I’m amazed in this second pick at how many more berries I find—about 1/3 as many as the first pick, and I was sure I’d picked each one. Why didn’t I see them the first time? How could my perspective have been so off?
When I clean my berries, I soak them in a tub of water. There is always flotsam and jetsam--stems, leaves, spiders and worms float to the surface. I pick out the detritus, swish the berries clean and drain them. Now the young, under-ripe berries and those a little withered are in the same pot.