The Red Flannel Rag

three children and her husband didn’t make a lot of money. She expressed the need to

pick wild blackberries so her family would have fruit to eat in the cold months ahead.

Ruby was scared of many things. She often talked about being afraid some

strange man might break into her house and hurt her. My knowing these things about

Ruby did not bode well for my berry-picking endurance. It was very hot and humid, we

were stooping over, and the picking was going slowly. Suddenly it dawned on me that

we might need a drink of water from her house not too far from the berry patch. So I

volunteered to go for water. As I neared the house, I picked up a rock and threw it

against the shed door. I yelled, hey Ruby, I just saw a man running from the house! ”

Ruby turned white and said, I’ll bet it was that damned Marvin Roadcap.” She abruptly

ended the berry picking. To this day I feel guilty about that trick. It was one of the

meanest things I ever did. With this writing, I am finally admitting that I stooped to

this level so I could stop picking low blackberries.

When we finished picking low blackberries, the high blackberries were ready for

harvest. If we had experienced a cold spring rain —called the “sheep rains -- while the

high blackberries were blooming, they grew abundantly in the fields and up against the

ridges in Hopkins Gap. High blackberries were very large and quickly filled a bucket. I

enjoyed picking high blackberries, so I spent many days climbing through the briars to

pick for my mother. When she got all she wanted, she let me sell them to the neighbors

for a dollar a gallon.

When two of my nieces were old enough to follow me to the blackberry patches, I

showed them how they could make a little extra money. They loved the experience of

picking berries with Aunt Peg. I kept them laughing with my antics when a blackberry

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