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Blackberries and raspberries are ready and waiting to be plucked, or fall, whichever their suicidal tendencies may lean. Medium and I stopped at the top of our driveway, and slowly walked the half mile down, gathering what we could reach, bloodying our hands purple. 

Medium immediately started to complain when he realized how thick the thorns were. Between the blackberries, the rose bushes, stinging nettles, and something I have yet to identify, cat scratch fever was proclaimed by my middle son. Suck it up buttercup. I received a glare to my laughing reply. A few scratches, no real blood, however we discovered that one of the thorny plants enjoyed breaking its talons off into the soft flesh of mammals. I think I still have one in the back of my neck.

Being interrogated by the locals, lead me to believe I would be fighting off territorial 25ft snakes, with venom dripping from their eyes. I was vexed by the thorns, spiders and hornets. Oh dear, the hornets were our bane! We could have that berry, but woe is you if you plucked that one, or that one! The buzzing of the hornets changed swiftly from the medolic hum to a high pitch “mine mine mine”. At one point Medium suggested pushing me down the hill and running for it. “I know where you live boyo”.

Once the hornets realized we were superior, having thumbs and all, they let us be. And we resumed our plucking. The woods alive with birds and other insects, yet left us alone to enjoy light banter and thorn drama. 

“I wasn't calling Rapunzel.” I suddenly yelled. “Don't scratch out my eyes!”   Thorns in my hair, my ear, grasping desperately to my back. I, stuck in a frozen runners pose, please no, I pleaded. “Relax mom. I'll save you.” Oh Medium, my hero.