Life On Blueberry Hill (Goes On)

Bunches of Blueberries grow thick on the
bushes, reaching up to half an inch in
some cases. They are delicious in pies

 -S. Kramer, Photo

Since I was young, I have memories of hopping in our '92 station wagon, and traveling out into the countryside to pick berries at Bl ueberry Hill Farm. Located off of Roy Rogers Road, at the foot of Bull Mountain, and the edge of the city, the farm has some of the best assortment of berries in town: blueberries nearly half an inch across, raspberries the size of my thumb. It was located right outside the urban growth boundary, as evidenced by the fence and houses lining up against the farm's eastern border silently standing, their open windows watching the berry farm like some sort of army, laying in wait to take the land and swallow it. But they were far away, and on every other side of the farm were orchards, grass fields, gardens, ponds, cattle pastures. It was countryside--never mind the houses. Besides, I was too young at the time to understand about urban growth boundaries.

A tradition continues: My mother picking
Marionberries toward the eastern end of
the property. Marionberries are a boysen-
berry-like fruit unique to Oregon.

-S. Kramer, Photo

The drive on Scholls Ferry Road changed as I grew older: wooded lots shrunk, and subdivisions popped up. On the farm, the rows of raspberries thinned out until there were fewer than ten. Yet that magical border remained, and once across Barrows Road, the houses stopped, and you were in the country. In the last couple of years the boundary expanded outward, ever so slightly to include the farm and its neighbors, and by the time we took our most recent trip to the farm, it was surrounded on all sides by development. Gone were the wilds, orchards and firs, pushed back a quarter mile and nearly out of sight from the road. A traffic light now guards the entrance to the farm, and where there were once cattle and country lanes, there were town houses. In spite of this, the farm still stood, a fact explicitly stated on their website. To paraphrase: 

'We have not sold our farm: we will be opening soon!' 

Customers with buckets full of
berries head downhill to purchase
their harvest. The brand-new traffic
 light and the subdivision serve
as a backdrop. -S. Kramer, photo

When they did open, I joined my parents like I had as a child for a trip down those country lanes, now lined with subdivisions, to the traffic-light. The berries are as big and juicy as ever. The pond was still there, though there were no cattle to drink from it. The smell of dust, and hay fill the air, as you walk the dirt roads out to the U-Pick fields of raspberry, and blueberry, and marionberry. It was different, but the farm was still the same. Driving by so many times leading up to this day, seeing the excavators working on neighboring plots, I had seen a favorite country farm, being choked off by the onslaught of development. In a way, I had already decided what I would say without even seeing my subject. But from the highest point on the property, the country side is still visible, just over the newly built rooftops. The dew-covered grass still soaks your sneakers as you dig around in the thorny bushes for the perfect raspberry. People still chatter quietly (or not so) in the rows of blueberries as you massage the bushes, removing buckets of the  ripe, denim-colored berries. Between the three of us, we collected a flat each of raspberries and marionberreis, and a bucket of blueberries, same as ever.

At checkout, I mentioned this to the worker, who stated that the farm had existed already for: it had done so for thirty-five years, no doubtseeing unimaginable changes to the city in that time. Some day the farm will likely be leveled and built upon. Maybe next year, maybe in ten. And I will walk down those streets, and remember the smell of dust, and the taste of blueberries, and the soft chatter in the bushes. Until then, the berries are still as big and juicy as ever. -KP