Periodically, I get mail addressed to other people at an apartment number that doesn’t exist within my apartment complex. The other day, after finding seven of these letters in my mailbox, I started feeling a little angry that the post office shoves this mail onto me, and then it becomes my responsibility to do something with it. I wrote a note to the postal carrier, shoved it in the outgoing mail, then walked the letters to the leasing office so they could get passed on to the correct tenants.
Instead of following the sidewalks back to my apartment, I cut across the lawn and took a more scenic stroll. Next to the apartments is a church, and next to that is a plot of land with nothing built on it. I spent a few minutes exploring and discovered a couple small piles of dried cement, a pile of rocks, a weathered log, and some deep ruts formed by tire tracks, now overgrown with weeds. A spring azure fluttered across my path. Bees curlicued through a tangle of Queen Anne’s lace, clover, crown vetch, and scrubby trees. The searing peal of locusts crescendoed in a soundtrack for the baking sun.
A smattering of red dots caught my eye, and I moved closer, interested to identify a new plant in this mountainous region whose flora is still unfamiliar to me. The red spots turned out to be unripened blackberries. Luckily, they clung next to gleaming dark purple ones. What is more summery than feasting on berries right off the bush? They tasted tart and bitter, with no hint of sweetness, but wild and real. What is more satisfying than authenticity?
I’ve lived here for two and a half summers, and this is the first time I’ve ever noticed blackberry canes nearby. If I hadn’t received those wrongly addressed letters, I doubt I would have found those berry bushes. What started out as a resentful chore turned into the highlight of my day! The lesson I learned is to respect even the irritants in your life because you don’t know what pearl may form around them.