Filling the Bucket
“Did you fill the bucket yet?”
“Not yet!” I yelled back, pushing off a sweaty strand of hair from my forehead to tuck it behind my ear. I sat back on my heels, careful not to lay my red-stained fingers on my shirt or pants from the residue of the berries. I glanced up at the berry-filled bush, seeing rows upon rows of raspberries and blackberries with seemingly no end in sight. I sighed, feeling the skin on the back of my neck tighten and my fingers grow swollen with each ray of sun that beamed down on my reddening skin. I smacked my ear, killing yet another bug nipping at my salty skin before hollering out, “Hey Grandpa, do you have that vanilla?” I turned my head over in his direction only to see a swarm of bugs hovering in the air.
“Bugs have gotten worse this year.” He chuckled while walking over, carrying his own bucket that was filled to the brim, so much so the handle was starting to tear off. He stepped carefully towards me, avoiding the tracks from the four-wheeler that dug into the cracked mud path. He plopped down beside me, taking off his sweat-filled hat to ring it out. He shook the vanilla bottle, the remainder of it was merely a few drops but I sprayed it on myself anyway, knowing I couldn’t handle another bug bite so early in the summer.
“Want to go inside? I’m sure grandma will want to use some of these berries for her pie.” I nodded, hopping…
