Blueberry Picking

Right by the Bug River, on the left-hand side, Stands a great green forest, deep and wide. Night spreads a raven wing of shade; Dawn's silver key unlocks the glade. And the golden glow of the setting sun Slams the bright gates shut when day is done.

Ladies and gentlemen, who could say What wonders fill these woods each day? How huge the trees are, standing tall! How many birds sing on them all! What wondrous flowers, every kind! What blue, blue streams you'd find! How the oak talks with the wind when it blows! What wondrous tales the old oak knows!

Hardly anyone feasts their eyes On those wonders, hidden away; Hardly anyone, in the evening hush, Hears the forest's tale at the end of day; Hardly anyone does the forest let Into its secret depths, where lie Its marvels—like a fairy tale, But real! As real as you and I!

We wait until the wild winds cease, All rocked at last to sleep in peace. Till moss makes paths that are soft to tread, Till the woodpecker leads us ahead, Till the owls are asleep in their hollows, deep, Till the old man of the woods has dozed off too, Till the dew has dried on every blade, And the heather has woven a carpet for you.

Then—come what may— Come on, children! Into the woods! Away!

Let's just hope—heaven forbid— We don't meet a snail on the track… He could block our way, just like that— That terrible bully could turn us back! His cloak is rolled upon his back, His horns stand guard against attack. A whole platoon goes tramping by: "One, two, three—march!" they cry.

And overhead the wasps fly by, Playing, trumpeting to the sky, Till forest echoes fill the air… They're armed! Don't tease them—take good care! One short buzz, and that's the call, The bugle-buzz: "Attack them all!" With bayonets raised, in they fly… Will one sting? Help! Oh, help! I cry.

And there in his fortress sits The spider with a cross on his back— Cross Spider is his name: A fierce little beast, all set to attack! You think it's nothing—but it's a trap: He'll grab you and hold you tight, Tie you up in threads and ropes, Till you're wrapped and bound out of sight! And though it doesn't hurt a bit, You're a prisoner, friend—that's it!

Frights at every step, and fears… Straggling behind the army, here Come caterpillars across the road; And from headquarters, somewhere near, The adjutants in gold all fly On butterfly wings across the sky, Steam puffs from their crests as they go: "Left about—and forward, ho!"

Before we get there, before we stand Under the forest's rustling trees, Before the forest world swings open— Ours, and God's—now listen, please: How Janek went one morning bright To pick wild berries, ripe and sweet— And what adventures he would meet!

The sun had barely risen— Look! He's walking through the trees! Boldly he walks between the pines, With baskets swinging by his knees. He put on his little red hat To scare the crows away, And though his heart goes pit-a-pat, He's brave, whatever comes his way!

"Out of my way, thorns! Let me through! It's Mama's name day—I've work to do: I'll give my Mama a surprise— Two baskets full of berries—what a prize! The forest dew will wash them clean, I'll cover them with fern leaves green. Then hush, hush, through the clearing I'll creep, And reach home while Mama's still asleep. A woodland gift—how glad she'll be! From these green woods and little me!"

Had someone cast a magic spell?… Janek hunts with all his might, And—not a berry! Not a seed! That's how well they'd hidden from sight. He looks right, he looks left, Through pine and birch, till hope has fled, Till there, where a tree had been cut down, He sits on the stump and hangs his head. He's very nearly in tears… When, by a clod as gray as stone, Right in the grass before him, A bearded little Gnome stands alone.

Don't fear this smallest man of all— He loves you children, big and small! Gnomes come in all kinds, it's true: The Field Gnome sees the harvest through; The Bee Gnome rules where bee wings sing— And this one was—the Blueberry King!

The Blueberry King walks through the trees; It's his own court; he roams at ease. The moss makes him a soft green bed; Orioles and thrushes sing overhead. Wherever he steps, flowers and herbs Bow their fragrant heads low, And even in the deepest hush, The reeds bow down wherever he may go.

The Blueberry King—how his robes shine! His robe is woven wondrously fine, But he wears no crown at all— Too big and crooked—it would fall. Yet, crown or not, the little man And Janek quickly made a plan!

The King blew his nut-shell whistle: "Tweet!" At once came a rustle of scurrying feet— His red-tailed squirrels, quick and true, Come scampering out—a splendid crew! They grabbed both baskets and made a dash, Off through the woods in a red-tailed flash.

"Well then, let's follow them!" The King told Janek with a smile. They walk—and the ground is black: Big ants crawl past in file on file… They'd barely passed when a fierce spider Comes creeping near on hairy feet… Our little boy got scared. "Don't fear the friends we're here to meet! No harm will come to you today! He's a kind old friend—put your fears away. The first weaver of my court, For satins and silks of every sort. This belt, look—silver and gold— His handiwork, in every fold… These ants build bridges over streams, And paths, all working hard in teams. We've got heaps of them—heaps!"

Then a chill shadow took them, They stepped where thick green ferns grow, With Janek right behind the King, Who led the way through shade below. Janek cried out, raised his head: Like plum trees, standing side by side, A grove of blueberries stood instead. With berries hanging far and wide, They sway on stems in dappled light, So full of juice and black as night.

Our little boy stared and stared, The King, hands on his hips, declared: "Here is where my kingdom starts: How do you like these woodland parts?" He smiled beneath a mustache wide, Like roof thatch spread from side to side!

And now a wondrous sight appears: The royal palace. How grand! A silver-white roof covers it, A snail stands guard, close at hand, And a thin wall of resin Shines, gilded by the sun. Before the palace, as is proper, Stand the young princes, every one, And greet the guest most nicely, And their father, with smiles so bright. Each wears a coat of berry blue; Their shining eyes are washed with dew. With rounded caps and feet all bare, All seven brothers greet him there!

The King said not a word, He blew his golden horn—a call! And at once the Blueberry children Leaped into action, one and all. What shouting! What laughter! What fun! What a hurry, everyone! Up the bushes, up the stalks, They clamber upward in a race, Racing each other, bush to bush, To pick the finest, keeping pace. And so, in almost a moment, They'd filled one basket, round and deep, Which squirrel-messengers had brought Across the treetops, leap by leap.

"Now farther on we'll sail today, To cranberry country—anchors aweigh!" The little princes say. "In the name of the Father, the Spirit, the Son— Splash on the water! Our voyage has begun!" A sturdy bark boat starts to glide; A maple-leaf sail spreads open wide… No need for oars to move along; The stream will carry us, swift and strong. We need no one to steer us through— A wild duck guides our little crew!

The reeds and the sweet flag stir and sigh; A blue dragonfly glides softly by… A frog pipes up: "Now who are you?" "The Blueberry children—sailing through!"

Past the stream, past the water, Riding on horseback through the weeds! Four horses led out from the stable, Four strong and splendid steeds. They leap on bareback, holding tight: "Giddyup! Gallop with all your might!" Out of the way, grasses and ferns, We'll trample everything as we fly! Run for it, thorns and hawthorns! Little lizards, off the road—goodbye! Through wilds the hoofbeats thunder, strong; The echoes chase them all along… They race! Who'd ever guess—think twice!— That the horses were forest mice?

What joy he feels upon the ride! Janek's laughing deep inside, He nearly lost, as on they sped, His little red hat from his head. And then—whoa!—they all cry as one, And rein in the horses; the gallop is done. They look: maidens sit in a ring (Bindweed twines above everything). Each has a little white dress, And a little red cap to wear. Each has golden braids, And busy hands that work with care. Their aunt shows how the work is done, And each one copies, one by one.

The boys all make a lively bow, Eyes to the left, noses to the right, For boys brought up among the trees Must bow just so, to be polite! And the eldest boldly speaks: "This is our guest—come say hello!— Our little Janek. Here, my friend, Are five Cranberry Maidens you should know!"

Their chatter skips from this to that; They soon are deep in friendly chat. Five orphaned girls, all in the care Of Mrs. Cranberry, sitting there, Tell all the woodland news they've heard— Of moonlit trees and beast and bird: How the siskin squabbles with his wife, How the hawk, that wicked bird, Was hanged for stealing thrushes' chicks, What tricks the hoopoe likes to play, How the moon shines here at night, And gilds their hair with every ray, How they wash in drops of dew, How birches weave their gowns that glow, With silver bark to trim the cloth, How green their knitted stockings show, All knit on needles plucked from pine, In tiny rows, so neat and fine, How ladybugs know nothing of style And wear polka dots all the while, How one maiden is called Basia, The second Julka, the third Kasia, With Zosia and Hania, five in a ring, How the nightingale teaches them all to sing…

They nod and curtsy, then off they go— Whoosh! To the patch where the cranberries grow!

Not a moment had gone by On the butterfly's watch, wound tight— Set by the sun in its golden tower, To keep the woodland hours right— When all five girls had quickly filled A basket with berries, heaped high. Then for Mrs. Cranberry they bring A spiderweb hammock to swing to the sky. They tie it to the goosefoot—whee!— Who'll swing the highest? Wait and see! When it's playtime, it's fun for all! The grass is soft if you should fall.

The Blueberry princes, a merry band, Went off to braid their whips from sand. Hania helps her aunt nearby; Basia pushes the hammock high. Julka, Zosia, and Kasia sing A song that makes the woodland ring.

Then their aunt's voice comes calling: "Girls! Girls! Children, come this way! Come eat what the forest gives— Hania's our hostess today!"

They run, and each one takes a seat, In comes Hania, dark-lashed and sweet. The Blueberry princes eat and eat Till their ears shake—what a treat! Mrs. Cranberry brings a dish Straight from the fire, hot as you'd wish, And beside her, helpers on the run: Now this maiden, now that one…

Laughter and hubbub! Voices ring: "Shoo, wasps! Shoo, bumblebees on the wing!" And already the grass is full of dew, Already the purple bells sing, too… From beyond the hills, beyond the sea, The evening glow walks over field and tree.

So the boys leap up from the ground: "Thank you!" their happy voices sound. Their bare feet swish—they leap and go, Up on the farm wagon—heave-ho! The horses snort and neigh (They'd munched a pot of oats that day), They trot so hard the harness strains, And girths creak loudly with the reins!

The wagon flies as if on the wind… Janek holds the basket tight, The others, as best they can, Grip slatted sides with all their might!

The stars had not yet come out, The sunset still played above the wood, When, at the end of that wild ride, They pulled up where the royal court stood.

The old King came out to greet them, A kind smile shining on his face. "Whoa, there, Bay! Whoa, there, Black! Fire away! Whip—crack! crack! crack!"

Janek woke at the crack of the whip: "What was that? Where did it go?" The King's silver house had vanished… Was it all just a dream? Who could know? For all that time, had Janek stayed On that pine stump, asleep in shade?

Not a bit! For, plain as day, He sees the King, whose gray beard flows, The barefoot princes, And Hania's face, pink as a rose, The four horses, the farm wagon, Mrs. Cranberry's cap, He hears the laughter and the shouts, He hears the wheels go tap-a-tap! And all around him—nothing. Not a trace…

Janek tries to think it through: What was dream, and what was true? Both baskets stand beside his feet— Piled high with berries, ripe and sweet!

He reached the door. Not one small peep! Thank God—dear Mama lay asleep. He picked golden buttercups for a jug, Spread flowers on white cloth—gifts from the wood, And beside the coffee cups, Two little baskets of berries stood.

He wrote on paper: "Mama, for you— Good health to last the whole year through!" And above it, full of spirit, He painted the princes—every one, And below, like a wreath of roses, The five Cranberry Maidens—done!

How happy Mama was that day, How fine the coffee—what a treat, How the berries were served right away With powdered sugar and cream so sweet, How everyone, old and small, Marveled at the princes, one and all, How all shook their heads in surprise At painted maids before their eyes— A whole new book! That's what I'll do— Another time, I'll write it for you!