How Sweet the Berries; How Sharp the Thorns

Friendships are a lot like blackberries, it seems.... the good ones are juicy and worth waiting for. Worth the time and the energy. Worth the watching and wondering. There are some that look appealing; but you can tell, by a gentle touch, they're not quite ready to savor yet. Even the obvious unripened ones, nestled in the perfect place to be picked, offer promise of more to come, if you can be patient. Then there are those pesky thorns. The thorns are friends who have betrayed, abandoned, or just withered on the vine. No matter how careful you are, one always seems to scratch you on the way to the good fruit.

Like blackberry bushes, some friendships are planted deliberately: nurtured, pruned, well cared for. Easier to harvest with a clear provenance; a known growing location. These are the friendships encouraged by repeated exposure: at school, at work, at worship, at an activity. The shared comfort of a known commonality. Like going to the garden center and letting an expert guide you on your selection. "Part shade? Rocky soil? Low maintenance? Try this." Then there are the bushes that spring up unexpectedly. Sometimes from seeds offered by an existing bush. Sometimes from seeds blown in from elsewhere. These are the serendipitous friendships. The ones involving risk.... a certain leap of faith and commitment to continue...no garden expert wingman.

I've been thinking a lot about friendships in the past two years--how they ebb and flow. How the obvious ones seem to be less cared for and the happenstance ones are somehow more precious. How some stand so strong through whatever life deals them. Challenged by distance or circumstance. Held together by a tenacious bond or even just a wish and a prayer, but sustained, none-the-less. Others fold like a house of cards. Just like that. Years of sharing and caring.... decimated by a single action.... intentional or otherwise. Often there is an effort to rectify things. Just as often, there are those who chose to shut down and drift away. As if to say, this friendship was never worth the effort anyway. Goodbye and good riddance.

To which I say: Dang. Dang that people don't try to put themselves in other's shoes. Dang that one hiccup is deemed worthy of throwing the whole thing away. Dang that in general, friendships are treated as if they are disposable; when they are no longer pretty, or useful or fit into the current state of affairs, they get tossed aside. What happened to reaching out? What happened to caring? What happened to attempting to restore what once was before delegating it to the rubbish heap?

Absolutely there exist poisonous friendships that need to pruned back and even pulled out. But like most things, prudence must be paid. Cutting down the entire berry bush just because the birds got to the berries the week your were on vacation seems a bit extreme. Perhaps the current passion towards organic gardening will offer friendships a more cultivated soil for growth. Seek harmony and think how your efforts will affect the whole system. Don't use any chemicals or synthetics. Work creatively with what nature deals you: storms, pestilence, the unexpected. Revel in the irony that by composting and adding decay, you will be rewarded with a beautiful, healthier product. Still, keep a watch for those thorns.