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Huckleberry Heaven
David C. Emerson
This essay was written for English 101. After years away from
school, I enjoyed the chance to come back and explore my
creativity. I am graduating this spring in Machine Technology.
When I was at the age of 10, I got my first taste of the tangy
red huckleberry. My mother and my aunt Vivian took us
children (all six of us) on an outing to find blackberries to
make some blackberry pies; instead we found a large area full
of huckleberry bushes. That evening after dinner our families
enjoyed two flavors of delicious pies, huckleberry and
blackberry. I did not know it at that time that huckleberry
picking would become a strong family tradition some 20 years
later.
Fifteen years later, I had become a married man and started
my own family. We spent many weekends at my wife’s parents’
home. Her father, Elmer, developed the nickname “Poppy,”
and her mother was lovingly called “Nanny.” Both
grandparents had been renamed by the grandchildren who
were not able to pronounce their real names. One evening after
dinner, Nanny asked, “does anyone want pie?” Of course, you
must eat pie to top off a great pork roast dinner. When I asked
what kind of pie it was, she said, “huckleberry,” and right then