 |
| Our favorite sheep, Snowball, greeting one of our goats over a blackberry bush. |
But oh do I hate those darn thorns. Or prickles as I have learned they are actually called.
It isn't even about how hard those thorns make picking blackberries. I don't even care about picking them. What I really loathe is just happening upon one out in the field.
I'm minding my own business when one of those buggers catches my thigh or my hand and just tears it to shreds. Pants help. But they can't protect all of you. And even if you have pants on they can snag you something fierce.
I'll have a lot of questions for God when I get to heaven. I suppose if I ask him why he had to put those prickles on blackberries, he will tell me that it was the only way to keep the predators and birds off of them. And I'll have to concede that he is God after all and probably knew best.
But right now I don't like them at all.
(Oh and when I talk to God someday about the things that cause the farmer a lot of grief, I am pretty sure he won't have any reason at all for creating ticks!!)
No comments:
Post a Comment