A blueberry bush in Bethel offers lesson after lesson on how we move through life | Opinion

Who knew that a blueberry bush could teach me lessons about life for so long?

That bush, which sits atop a hill about a hundred yards from our home of two decades in the Town of Bethel, has been a source of comfort and inspiration during these often despairing times that have been so crazy with lies, disease and war. Through Sullivan County’s pounding winter storms that flattened the bush until its bent branches were buried beneath icy snow to scorching, rain-less heat that left the mossy ground around it brown and crunchy, that bush has yielded the most delicious, deepest blue blueberries — while so many of the other blueberry bushes around it on the spot we call “blueberry hill” went bare. That taught me to keep the faith in nature’s power of rebirth even in the face so much deadening negativity.

That bush also taught me another lesson. A few years ago, when I walked around the bush and saw fewer berries than ever, I thought it was starting its decline towards a natural death. But then I walked around the six-foot-wide, seven-foot-tall bush in the opposite direction, and I saw berries tucked under leaves and branches that I hadn’t noticed walking the other way. Looking at the bush from a different angle made me realize that I should try and see life from new and fresh perspectives instead of staying in the same old rigid rut.

But earlier this summer, it seemed like the berry Gods had finally decided it was time to call the berry-producing spirit of our bush home to that great fruit orchard in the sky.

Our bush looked straggly instead of lush, with fewer baby green berries than ever. I saw more bare branches amidst the green leaves. The fact that delicate raspberries seemed to be growing all over the place seemed like the berry Gods were compensating for our barer blueberry bush.

As those few green berries slowly turned pale blue, it looked like I had to come to grips with another lesson: all things must pass.

So every time I walked up to the bush, I only gave it a brief glance, although I did say a silent keep-the-faith “hello.” And as those few berries ripened, I picked them. But I could only pluck one at a time, because there were none of the clumps that once yielded handfuls in one grab. Even when I walked the other way around the bush, it was still pretty bereft of berries.

Even though I secretly hoped for a miracle, I decided to give that bush a rest, grab a few blueberries from the other bushes and feast on those tangy/sweet raspberries.

But after about a week, I figured I owed it to the bush to give it one more try. After all, it had given me so much.

I could hardly believe my eyes. It was popping with berries — particularly at the harder-to-reach top of the bush, which was loaded with those familiar, reassuring clumps. When I walked around the bush in the opposite direction, I saw even more berries — so many that I needed a container, not just my hands, to hold them.

That late-blooming bush was somehow yielding more berries than ever — at least five cups and still counting.

Once again, our blueberry bush had taught me a lesson. During these days when too many of us dismiss one another because of how we look or what political party we belong to, we shouldn’t be so quick to make assumptions solely based on appearances. We should be open to the changing, unpredictable world around us.

But there is one lesson I don’t think even that still-booming bush can teach me:

How to make a great blueberry pie from all those extra berries.

Steve Israel, a longtime Times Herald-Record editor and columnist, can be reached at steveisrael53@outlook.com.