The Huckleberry Impersonation (It's called impersonating an officer, and in case you didn't know...it's not a good idea.)

     I seem to be having adventures of every color, shape, and size this summer, but this particular adventure includes purple, tiny round spots, and is...well...quite large.  I dub it "The Huckleberry Impersonation". 

     First I must admit  that I was not looking forward to trudging through the woods in long jeans (it was a scorcher of a day) filling a bucket with berries,  no matter how big, purple, and delicious.  I love huckleberries, but pick them today?  I only just got back from helping out with a VBS at an Indian Reservation seven or so hours from home, which by the way, was a lot of fun.  I was tired and I was grumpy, but I made up my mind to pick huckleberries even if it killed me.  Ok, no.  Actually, I would rather go with-out berries and keep my life rather than visa-versa. 

     Three of us were piled in the car.  My uncle rode the moped.  Not far up the mountain the moped decided to loose an engine.  Of course, it seems to be just our luck lately.  One car has lost the transmission, and another nearly an engine in the past month.  So you would only expect this, right?  Not wanting to leave the moped and not being quitters when it comes to purple splotches of gold, we chose to tow the moped behind the bright, sunshine-yellow car.  We hadn't gone far when a car began following us from behind.  A car.  We are on a road.  Cars belong on roads.  Cool.  We didn't think much of it.  Suddenly, there was a red flashing light on their dashboard.  We stopped.  An older guy, the driver, stuck his head out and in a deep, gruff, and VERY authoritative voice commanded us to pull over at a wide spot in the road.  We were being pulled over by three people in a random vehicle, unmarked and old, way up in the mountains.  They wore no uniforms.  Yeah.  Weird.  When a wide spot came we pulled over.  They pulled up beside us. 
     "You, ok?", it was the driver again. 
     "Yeah, the moped lost its engine and we're just towing it up to our huckleberry spot", our driver, my mother, replied. 
     "We are Forest Rangers."
    
     They drove on.  Forest Rangers?  No marked vehicle, no uniforms, and one red light.  They pulled us over to get past.  Forest Rangers?  Huh.  It sounded fishy, but what were we gonna do?  We continued. 

    My story would be interesting enough if it ended here, but it doesn't.  We were planning on meeting a few other people up the mountain.  When we arrived we got the rest of the story.  These "Forest Rangers" had apparently been intimidating (or trying to intimidate) every group of pickers along the road.  They had succeeded with a few groups.  When they reached the other part of our group their words went something like this.
     "We are undercover forest rangers.  [Undercover?] Are you commercial pickers?  If you are you better have a license.  By the way...there is a group of people farther down the road that you may want to watch out for.  It's this Mexican guy, and this strange lady is towing him up the mountain."
In case you are wondering, my uncle isn't Mexican, and he doesn't look it.  At all.  That strange lady?  That's my mother, and my uncle's sister.  So now we're the crazy people?  This is just getting weird.  Oh, and did I mention, these "Rangers" are armed? 

     You would think we would give up on our purple gold rush.  It may have been wise.  But sometimes wisdom and huckleberry lust don't go hand in hand.  Instead, we just decided to invite the police to join us.  :) 

    We began to pick.  That was just about the only normal part of our day.  When the police came we told him the story.  Sure enough.  No legit Rangers were patrolling the mountain that day.  These guys were only pretending/impersonating.  After getting the full story our policeman continued driving up the mountain in hot pursuit of the "Rangers of Huckleberry Mountain". 

     I was sitting in a patch, with my hands stained pink and purple when the conclusion to our story happens.  I wasn't there, and I think I'm thankful for that.  My mother was there.

    After a while, probably 30 to 45 minutes later, our rangers and policeman came down the mountain. 
     "Sorry, I scared, you", the Ranger Driver said to my mom.
My mom, being the non-intimidated sort and very mad replied, "You didn't scare me.  You lied to me."
     "Well, I used to be a Forest Ranger", came the gruff authoritative voice. 
     "You used to be."  She walked on. 
For the most part that's the end of my purple, round and large adventure.  We did come home with a lot of berries, but if I told you just how many you would feel jealous.  You would want to know where our secret berry vein is, and that's a secret.  Then again...you might feel safer somewhere else anyway. 

~ Brooke