Blackberry Winter

Last fall I scoffingly wrote about the locals predicting it was going to be a hard winter based on the fur color of wooly caterpillars. It turned out the locals were right. It was an unusually harsh winter for these parts.

A couple of months ago, when everyone’s thoughts turned to spring, people started to warn me about something called blackberry winter. According to them, blackberry winter is the last cold snap of the year, and it happens about the time the blackberries bloom. I was skeptical that blooming blackberry bushes could be predictive of a cold spell, especially after a stretch of a several days when the afternoon temps were in the 80’s.

Once again, the locals were right. A few days ago, the blackberries bloomed throughout the county in an ostentatiously exuberant display, and the very next day the overnight low temperature was 39 degrees. The following night the low temperature was 37 degrees. If it was any colder my tomato plants would have been at risk. I quickly put my shorts, t-shirts and flip-flops back into the closet and got out my long pants, sweaters and shoes again.

Things are warming up now, and the locals are saying blackberry winter means that summer is in the offing. I’ve learned to scoff less and believe more in local lore and wisdom so my shorts, t-shirts and flip-flops are coming back out of the closet.

Here’s another example of country wisdom and knowledge. A couple of weeks ago, Ed Howard was at the house to discuss putting in a water line to the workshop. Ed has lived in Fannin County all his life. He built the original cabin back in 1980.

I was concerned that the line might intercept the buried pipe running from the well to the house. I knew approximately where the well line was, but I did not know its exact location. Ed confidently said he could find it and asked whether I had any copper wire. I rummaged around and found a couple of thick pieces of wire about eight inches long. Ed fashioned these into two “L” shapes.

I realized he intended to divine where the well line was. “Aw, come on Ed, that doesn’t work,” I told him. “It surely does,” he replied.

Holding a wire loosely in each hand so that it pointed straight ahead, he proceeded to walk across the area where we suspected the well line was. When he got to a certain point the wires turned toward each other along the direction of the well line. “Here’s where your line is,” he announced. Skeptical, I grabbed the two wires and tried it myself. I’ll be damned if the wires did not turn toward each other every time I walked over the buried well water line.

Now I’m very cynical when it comes to witching rods, superstitions, UFOs, Big Foot, and anything like that. Some of that can be traced to the summer in graduate school when I worked in the Pentagon for the Air Force as Federal Executive Intern. My principle job that summer was to answer inquiries to the Air Force about UFOs. The experience convinced me that there are a lot of people who want to believe in things like UFOs, ghosts, the paranormal and the supernatural.

As a result I simply will not take anyone’s word for such things no matter how close, sincere and believable the person is. If my wife or closest friend told me they saw a ghost, I would believe that they thought they saw a ghost, but I would not take it as evidence that ghosts exist. Unless I personally witness or experience a thing like that, I don’t believe it.

So, if you’re like me, you’re not going to believe it when I say that I think the copper wire divining thing works. That’s not to say I wouldn’t have done a test dig if I thought the new water line was going to be close to the well line. Belief and reliability and precision are different concepts.

Ed’s explanation is that running water in a pipe creates an electrical field, and the wires react to the field. I don’t know whether that’s true or not. All I can tell you is that it worked for me. You’ll have to try the experiment for yourself. Be sure to hold the wires very loosely so that they can swing freely. It might be best if you try it when there is no one around so that your neighbors don’t think you’re nuts.

I asked Ed whether he believed people could divine water in the ground with forked sticks. “Nah, that’s bullshit,” was his response.

Rural wisdom is one of the many things I enjoy about living in the country. I also enjoy rural humor. It tends to be understated and wry. That seems to be true regardless of whether you are in Maine or North Georgia.

Last week Ed and his brother, Vernon, were at the house to put in the water line to the workshop. He and Vernon wandered down to my garden where I was working, and I pointed out where Colorado potato bugs had been chewing on my potato plants. Ed said that Sevin, an insecticide, would take care of the problem. Vernon said no, he thought I needed Eight. If you can’t see this coming, you’re awfully slow. The next day I was at Home Depot looking for a pesticide by the name of Eight. It was only after the salesman told me that there is no such product that I realized Vernon was having a little joke at my expense.

They make jokes about the ignorance of a rube in the big city. I’m learning that it works the other way too.