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I grew up in the Poconos of PA. and when berry season came along, everyone joined in. First we rowed out to the overgrown end of the lake. We could just let the branches hang over the boat and fill our buckets (not to tall a bucket, the berries end up squished) . When we tired of that, we pulled the boat onto the bank and walked around through the bushes which were more than head high.
It was a squishy spaghnum swamp mixed in with many interesting 'swamp' plants so we went bare foot there was always time to grab a bug and feed the pitcher plants.
Many times my Pop would whisper hush and we knew to stand still long enough for a browsing black bear to pass within a few yards of our spot.
After we we tired of eating the freshly picked, they were canned or made into wine. There was always enough jars (and jugs) to last the winter till the next picking season.
MISS THOSE DAYS! Too many places have been bulldozed and built upon.
