Huckleberry Picking

I can remember every Memorial Day weekend the family would pack up the motor home, jeep, and suburban for the annual camping trip at Mack Mountain. At the mountain we would go jeeping, hiking, and huckleberry picking. Picking huckleberries was a tradition. My sisters, mom, and family friend, Andee, would load into the jeep. For hours we would have a mini competition to see who would collect the most huckleberries before it was time to head back to camp. I would make myself sick for eating every other huckleberry I picked, I ate another. I was addicted to the sour fruity taste and the way the juice would squeeze into my mouth. By the time we loaded back into the jeep I had eaten myself sick and was covered in sticky juice.
This particular tradition is very important to me and my family. As my sister and I aged the conversations matured. We became very close to Andee. She was more like an older sister or mom than a family friend. Countless conversations were held through the huckleberry bushes. The tradition has continued to this day. However, instead of eating myself sick I watch as Andee's children continuously shove huckleberries into their mouths. I reminisce my childhood as I listen to the innocent chatter of whatever is currently occupying Andee's youngest daughter's attention. This is a lovely tradition that represents love and family. I plan to continue the tradition with my own family someday.