Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Blueberry SCARS

Since I quite adore my cousin let's share a first SCARS story about her experience as a ten year old girl wandering through the greener parts of outer New York City.

As a city girl, she and her mom were in the "country" picking fresh wild blueberries on a beautiful spring morning during the halcyon days only a few years after WWII ended.

Walking through the woods, cousin Annie encountered a barrier. She negotiated a funny looking wired fence but realized too late that it was barbed wire. Having succeeded in the climb, she also wound up with a deep wound in her hand. Gushing a thick crimson liquid she and her mom rushed to the nearest farm house where they screamed and battered on the front door until the overall clad farmer opened the door.

He saw the blood flow but wouldn't allow them in his home. Instead he pointed them in the direction of the old fashioned outdoor water pump. They pumped enough water to clean the wound and eventually went on their way to properly dress the injury.

Annie told me that although she cut herself and was in pain, the entire experience was one she will always remember. But not as a painful experience rather as an interesting memory where she picked fresh blueberries with her mom who has long passed on.

Thank you cousin.

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