Exceptional A yucky story for gobble guts children. Too Much of a Good Thing by LisaMay

My Mum loved cooking tasty treats for Dad and my brother, Jeff, and me. The biscuit tins were always full of delicious home baking and she could whip up a batch of huge, fluffy scones as soon as visitors were on the way, or make a scrumptious pavlova oozing with passionfruit and whipped cream for the family to enjoy. Also, when it was fruit season she always made chutneys and pickles and jams. At our home, Mum had the front yard for her pretty flowers, with a bird bath in front of the kitchen window so she could watch the colourful parrots and galahs when they flew in for a drink. You probably know what parrots look like, but maybe you are not familiar with galahs. They are large pink and grey birds. They are very noisy and make a harsh screeching sound. A lot of Australian birds screech rather than having musical songs. My Dad did his gardening in the back yard, where he had a large vegetable patch. He grew carrots and cabbages and potatoes and beans and peas and silver beet and rhubarb. He was also very proud of his four fruit trees. We had apples, pears, peaches and apricots. We made a funny scarecrow to try and keep the birds away from pecking the fruit as it got ripe. As well as eating the fresh fruit, we had jam that Mum made, but we all really, really loved it when she made our favourite – blackberry jam. To get the blackberries we made a special Sunday picnic expedition to a lovely place about an hour’s drive from our home in Canberra. It was called Tidbinbilla Valley. These days, that area is a Nature Reserve and a Sanctuary for the native Australian animals such as kangaroos, emus, platypus and koalas. There is also a rock shelter where the local Aboriginal people lived more than 20,000 years ago. Guess what they sometimes ate – moths. Yes, moths! You know, like butterflies. The Aborigines caught the big Bogong moths, cooked them and ground them up to a paste which they ate. It tasted a bit like peanut butter and was very nutritious, full of fat and protein.  Let’s get back to the blackberry story – to one picnic in particular. We went on a summer Sunday. We all jumped into the car, along with our dog Winkie. He was a black and white cocker spaniel. When we arrived at our special spot at Tidbinbilla Valley, we laid out the picnic rug and ate our cheese sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs and drank some lemonade. Then we were ready.  For collecting the blackberries, we had some big tin cans with wire loops for the handles. There were plenty of huge, scraggly blackberry bushes growing beside a stream with mossy rocks. Dad told us to watch out for any snakes that might be hiding there. We walked in the water with our sandals on and picked the fattest, most luscious, juiciest blackberries from the bushes. Those bushes were very prickly and we sometimes got snagged by the thorns. We wore old clothes when we went blackberrying so it didn’t matter if they ripped when the prickles entangled us. Our hands and clothes got purple stains on them from the squishy berries. I ate a few of them while I was collecting them because they were just so yummy, but I liked to see how fast I could fill my tin can then get another one to fill. My brother thought it was a good idea to have “one for him, one for the pot, one for him, one for the pot, one for him, one for the pot” all afternoon. He had purple stains all around his mouth and down his chin – what a greedy-guts he was! When it was time to go home we loaded all the tins filled with blackberries into the boot of the car. I got in the back seat with Mum and Winkie. Jeff and Dad were in the front. It was a very hot day and all the car windows were wound down. Winkie loved having his head out, with his ears flapping in the breeze, his long tongue slobbering and a big silly grin on his face. He was happy because he had been chasing rabbits all afternoon. The dirt road was bumpy and twisted around corners through the gum trees along the valley. Jeff started to turn a weird green colour, which along with his purple chin and red hair looked quite spectacular. All of a sudden he did a gurgling chunder out the car window. In Australia, that’s what we call being sick, or vomiting. Maybe you call it spewing or puking or throwing up.  Thank goodness the window was open! Boy, did he let rip! What a waste of good berries! Unfortunately, Winkie’s head was out the back window at the same time so he got purple chunder all over him. There was purple spew all down the side of the white car too. Dad was not impressed!   Because all the containers were filled with berries we could not fill them with water to wash the car down, so Dad tried to drive through the stream quickly to make the water fly up and spray the chunder off.  But that did not work, and then we hit a rock which made the car stop suddenly, and all the cans fell over, and there was squashed fruit all through the boot of the car. Dad was even less impressed! Anyhow, after all that drama we eventually got home, Jeff went to bed to nurse his tummy ache, I washed the dog and Dad cleaned the car, while Mum made a batch of delicious jam. Funnily enough, Jeff never ate blackberry jam again. Author Notes This story is preoccupied with food. I always looked forward to eating when I was a kid... not because I was neglected and hungry but because Mum was such a good cook. Here a family picnic from my childhood is described. It did actually happen ... it was a family legend. Much to my brother Jeff's discomfort it was told over and over again. And he definitely never ate blackberry jam ever after.

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