Huckleberry tradition

"That is a great smell," I slowly and deliberately whisper to my wife while deeply engulfing my first whiff of huckleberry as we hike to our secret picking patch. I am not sure why I whisper. As most huckleberry pickers know, the safe and sane method of huckleberry picking is to make as much noise as possible to alert the potential bear searching for the same delicious berry I crave.

I suppose and consciously understand that my two granddaughters, amazed and loudly expressive of every bug, flower and scat on the trail leading to my huckleberry sanctuary will scare any creature from within a mile of our hike.

Speaking of bears, evidence of Ursus Americanus is everywhere. Bark ripped from stumps, huckleberry plants torn from the ground and large piles of stinky poop are evidence a bear is near. Our family begins to pick the berries while making enough noise to scare any creature that might desire our berries more than we do.

Rory, my 9-year-old granddaughter, stands on a thimbleberry bush, looks into the forested valley, smells the air deeply and declares, "Gramps, did you fart?" I giggle and smile, "No Rory, look down." Her gaze turns toward her feet as she quickly jumps backward with a look of disgust on her face. "Yuck, that's gross," she yells as she shakes the poop from her right Nike. "It's not gross, it's life," I offer. As the famously insightful children's book authored by Taro Gomi declares, "Everybody Poops," even bears.

Rory is intrigued. "A bear stood right here," she asks with the wide-eyed excitement of a child learning and exploring her world. "Yes Rory, right where you are standing now," I answer as her inquisitiveness, excitement, spirit and fear begin to heighten. "Gramps, do you think it is a nice bear or a mean bear?" I struggle to find an answer to explain a bear's personality. "Bears are neither nice nor mean, their personality is to survive - not just live but survive. Sometimes they need to be aggressive and act mean to survive."

After minutes of thought Rory offers, "So, bears are mean if you take away what they need to survive, like these huckleberries, and are nice if we leave what they need to live, right?"

Surprised at my granddaughter's insightfulness, I offer, "Exactly."

Rory sprinkles a few berries on the ground and interrupts my picking, "OK gramps, I left some berries for the bears. They should be happy now." I accept her gift to the bears of North Idaho and continue to fill my bucket. It's a good day!

This memory would have never happened if not for our traditional late July journey to hunt berries. Family tradition creates memories and meaning.

Tradition is psychologically necessary for a purposeful life. First, Idaho is huckleberry country. Hunting for huckleberries, preparing huckleberry jam, huckleberry pancake festivals and enjoying this wonderful wild mountain fruit as a family is as traditional in North Idaho as the Fourth of July or Thanksgiving. Creating positive family traditions creates psychologically healthy families.

To establish biological, psychological and philosophical roots in this fast-paced world one must connect with the Earth. Walking mountain dirt roads with children, dogs, the people we love and people we wish to love, creates lifelong traditions and memories seldom forgotten.

Picking huckleberries with my family is not just dirty work but delivers a punch of mental wellness - I regain my roots. The insightful discussion of life without the corrupt and insidious disruption of a cellphone is a gift to offer a child.

Watching a child explore her world by examining beetles, smelling wild flowers and listening to the wind blow through pine trees grounds me. People often lecture, "You work too much, you're too busy, don't you ever relax?" A small break in the backcountry of North Idaho revives my internal vigor, revitalizing me for a week of work.

I look forward to the regional festivals celebrating this little mountain berry. Last year my wife and I visited numerous huckleberry festivals and expect to visit a few this year too.

I have wonderful memories of sitting on a folding chair at last year's Huckleberry Festival in Trout Creek, Mont. I pour maple syrup over my huckleberry pancakes just as I've done for the past 17 years. Chuck, my brother-in-law and I talk about the 49ers' horrific loss in last year's Super Bowl, the upcoming hunting season, my wife asks about Chuck's work and we trade stories of grandchildren, dogs and fishing.

This tradition reminds me of the importance of family, friends, slowing down and enjoying life. Sitting on this hard metal chair in a firehouse in this small Rocky Mountain town I smile and think, "Isn't it funny how a small berry can create so much joy in my life?"

Send comments or other suggestions to Bill Rutherford at bprutherford@hotmail.com or visit pensiveparenting.com.