Ann Ferro: Jane’s place

The heat was oppressive, but we were determined to finally pick some black raspberries. I was my jam making time of the year and I wouldn’t be deterred. Outfitted with buckets, baskets and fans that hung around the neck, we headed to Navarino Orchards. One sticking point had me bit worried. The berries are a tad bit on the far away side from the parking lot and since my walking ability is what you might categorize as minimal, getting from said parking lot to the picking area was a problem.
But, ever the resourceful, I had a plan. Cane at the ready, I started the trek out to the berries patch ahead of the spouse, thinking that at his normal pace, he would catch up to me when I was about half way there. While it was a scorcher of a day, with humidity near 90 percent, the lack of rain had left the ground dry. As I teetered and wobbled along, my footfalls and cane sent clouds of dust into the air.
I heard it before I saw it. An interesting, rather beat up vehicle looking like a cross between a truck and a jeep, pulled up beside me. In the driver’s seat, a athletically slim gal of what we might call a “certain age” offered me and my fast-approaching spouse a ride. I enthusiastically accepted. We scrambled into the seat and our driver whose name was Jane took us the rest of the way to the area of the patch “where few go to pick”. According to Jane, “ Most start in the front and never reach this back area. It’s full of berries.” Jane stayed with us as we began to pick, adding berries to the baskets of each of us and offered us a few pointers on how to gather our harvest quickly. “Pull back the leaves, she said. Everyone forgets to do that, Look underneath”. I complemented her on the way the berries had been cared for, obviously wired up, watered and weeded out, morphing into a reminiscence of the wild black caps that my grandmother and I picked … a thousand years ago. Jane responded with her own memories of the same where she grew up on a farm in Marcellus. “I’m a Leach. Married a man from South Onondaga,” she said. “ I never finished high school. We got married young. People did that in those days. My life has been my family and this,” as she waved her hand indicating the wide expanse of berries and apple trees.
Our volunteer chauffer and expert berry picker stayed with us as we filled our containers as we chatted about life and family when she asked, “How old are you? I responded, “82”. “Me too”, she said. “When’s your birthday?” “June 7th” “Well, I’ll be, mine is June 4th. She sidled next to me and told me how lucky I was to have my husband with me in a voice meant for my spouse to hear. “My husband died … too young. He was so good at everything he did. He created this business. He was the best carpenter.” She stepped back and waved her hand at the farm … “all this and my house and the barn. When you are finished I’ll take you on a tour of the place.”
Off again on the ancient Gator, our guide took us past the various field where the different varieties of apples were grown, adding a lively narration about their uses and when they would be ripe. As we rounded one of the apple orchards, there, in the middle of the ripening apples, was Jane’s lovely house. “He built that for me”, she said with great pride. It was a lovely house.
The narration continued as we passed the fields where the fall vegetables were growing and we learned which member of the family was responsible for them.
It was to the Barn at the Farm Café we headed next. Jane had told us about its origins as a hundred year old barn. We were interested after a hot and more than humid afternoon of berry picking. Inside we saw the result of expert craftmanship in the addition, faithful to age of the hundred-year-old barn to which is was attached. . The cocktails were great too.
Jane’s daughter, Brenda, joined us and expanded on the birth of this café. “ A relative wanted to get married here and so we did built this venue. There is even a bridal suite upstairs.
As we were leaving, I thanked Jane for her hospitality and asked her how she maintained her health and energy? “What do you eat?”, I asked. “Dry Cheerios, water and coffee … that’s it.” Her daughter and the bartender verified her claim.
As we headed home, I said to no one in particular…” I think Jane’s diet a try.” After my spouse stopped laughing, I continued… after I make and eat a black raspberry pie.