oregon grape

by underswansea


It ain’t often you find what you’re looking for. At least that’s my experience anyway.

We went looking for a sign of fall. Changing colours, yellows and reds. It’s been dipping down in the morning. Has it been enough for a freeze, in the mountains, along the creek past the mine?

The Oregon Grape is putting out fruit. I squished a few between my fingers and it looked like I’d had a knife accident. My hand is still stained. I munched a bunch and they were sour. I spit the stones out beside Willow. She didn’t look at them twice. They were bitter sour.

I tried to cajole Lisa into trying them. I mentioned how great they were; sweet I said! Somehow she knew I was trying to trick her. Like when the water is freezing after you’ve dived in and you reassure everyone on shore the water is fine – warm even!

Lisa wasn’t having any of it. She saw right through me. Later I told her she was smart she didn’t try them, because they are awful.

She said, oh so you were lying to me!

Indeed, I said.

I’ve told her plenty of lies over the years. Some to ease her pain, some to get her in the sack (I pretend I’m virile, God’s gift, if you will) she falls for it every time.

After all these years, to know now she sees through me. It doesn’t come as much of a surprise. Perhaps I’ve known it all along.

We found some yellow and red. It is hard to tell if it was caused by frost or drought. I doubt we were looking for either colour anyway.