This is the field below the housing development where I grew up. The only reason it isn’t covered with houses that are too big and too close together is that it floods every winter — in a big way. Ducks fly in from everywhere. One thousand frogs become ten thousand frogs and make a marvelous noise in celebration.
I once tried to move far away from here. After just a few months, I felt like the heroine in one of those melodramatic tragedies who, separated from her one true love, begins to wither and die. I’ve never been so depressed in my life.
When I came back, this mountain — Mt. Burdell — let me walk up her grassy flanks every day. I would lie down and breathe in the sharp scrubby smell of summer in the place I’m from. I did this until I knew I was home.
Now when I walk out into the field in summer, it gives me so much.
The blackberries are just the part that you can see.