The Old Man and The Blueberry Bush

Hey, it’s Tyler Head

I hope you’ve had a good week.

I hope this week’s writing helps you pause, take a deep breath, and wonder. Maybe even take a walk.

Just a reminder: If you have the time to or simply want to respond - I’ll gladly read it.

Much like last week’s writing, the pace at which I live and we as a society live seems to be something I am noticing a lot right now.

For example, earlier this week, me and my best bud Katherine had dinner with some dear friends. Another couple of best buds, and we were at the dinner table for a little over two hours. We basically shut the place down…. and it was only a little after nine.

What’s curious to me is how rare that feels in my daily, weekly, and monthly cadence of life.

I want to live in a way where being with and being be’d with at a turtle’s pace is a natural occurrence.

Anyways, I hope this week’s writing finds you well. It involves an old man, what I assume to be his dog, and a blueberry bush - so I bet it will.

I once lived in a neighborhood that had a blueberry bush on the corner of two streets.

Most days, if not every day of the year, a man and his dog walked these streets, and they’d pass by this very blueberry bush.

The man, always with his head at a slight tilt downward, hands clasped behind his back, moved forward at a pace just a hair faster than the turtle.

This seemed to be his daily route.

Up ahead of him, his dog, well, what I, as an onlooker, assume to be his dog, trots a bit faster than the old man. There was always a couple of feet between the dog and the old man. Enough distance to notice, but not enough for loneliness to set in. You know, the kind of distance where you are aware of each other's presence. Nothing more, nothing less.

Every day they’d make their rounds. The man and his dog.

Usually in the mid-morning between 9:30 and 11:30.

If it rained, he'd wear a poncho.

If it snowed, he'd wear a big coat and boots to match.

If it were hot and muggy, he'd be in an old shirt and shorts.

The kind of shorts with lots of pockets. The kind with enough space to hold the things that you pick up along the way. Which I like to imagine provides him the opportunity t to store treasures he finds along the way. And upon returning home, he’s able to take a quick inventory of those treasures found along his walk.

His dog's attire was always the same.

Onward they walked.

The man, just a hair faster than the turtle, and the dog was just a bit faster than the man.

The blackberry bush he walked by every day had been there for quite some time; for all I know, it's always been there. And it seemed quite bare; even the area around it appeared sparse.

Yet, the man, with his head at a slight tilt downward, hands clasped behind his back, stopped by the bush often.

He peered at it intensely for what felt like hours in our 100-miles-per-hour society.

But I imagine it was only seconds for him.

Needless to say, upon watching him do this many, many times, I began to wonder.

I wondered what he wondered as he peered into this blueberry bush often and for lengthy amounts of time.

From where I sat, the bush wasn't much. Kind of a dud of a bush at the intersection of two streets.

One day from the stoop of my front porch, I’d had enough wondering. I decided to go check this bush out.

Of course, this was after my good friend and his dog had finished their session of observation.

With my head at a slight tilt downward, hands clasped behind my back, and no dog out in front, I beelined for the blueberry bush.

I stood in front and peered into it, at it, around it, and pretty much through it.

There it was. . . . . . . . . .a subpar blueberry bush that hardly even produced blueberries.

After a few seconds that felt like hours, I turned around to keep on walking.

It was then that I heard it.

A tiny but mighty little chirp -- from deep inside the blueberry bush.

Like anyone with a bit of curiosity, I turned back towards the bush and peered in with a bit more focus. The fastness of the world around me began to melt, and I settled into where I was and what was in front of me.

And wouldn't you know it, a quarter of the way down from the top, nestled into the middle of the blueberry bush, was a little nest with two baby birds.

The next day, or a couple of days later, a day like any other with a bit of rain, there he was again. The man and his dog walking their route. With his head at a slight tilt downward, hands clasped behind his back, moving at a pace just a hair faster than the turtle and his dog a few feet ahead.

I think this old man and his dog are on to something. The way that they make their rounds, stuffing pockets and peering deeply into blueberry bushes. Maybe, just maybe, it's in the beauty of the ordinary that we discover the extraordinary gifts this life has to offer.

What are you walking by every day that beckons for your presence?

And....

What daily treasures are stuffed deep into your pockets that maybe you’ve forgotten about?

May you be encouraged to empty those deep pockets of daily treasures, explore the ordinary, and be reminded that oftentimes it's these things that are quite extraordinary.

Talk again soon.

Thanks for being you!