I live in the middle of a vast huckleberry forest. Very much like blueberries, huckleberries grow on small bushes, wildly…and last summer, like wildfire. Their fruit is a deep, almost black, purple – the berries either explode in your mouth with sweetness, are just full of normal berry-ness or taste bitter and sour, some of them big, some very small. They grow in clumps.
And, I’m intrigued by their entire life cycle because every fall when the berries are long gone, and we’re busy praying they come back next summer, the branches of their bushes change from brown to a deep purpley red. Like the juice of the fruit to come is building up in the plants’ veins, curing and growing – like in an incubator – and waiting to erupt.
I spoke to a woman a few months ago and when I asked her what she did for work, she told me she was in the incubation business. “Me too!” I exclaimed.
“Really!” she said – thrilled to know that I was of the same ilk. “What industry?”
“I’m a writer,” I said. “So, I guess I my incubation industry is ideas…”
She laughed and said that only a writer could come up with that analogy – she is literally in the business incubation world which as far as I can tell is like Start Up heaven meets Think Tank central.
So I had to concede that I wasn’t in her incubation business – but I know that I’m in my own.
Articles, posts, stories, novels, (yes, even poems) rush into my body on a regular basis – written. I learned quickly and the hard way that if I don’t get up and write them down immediately, they will be gone (which is why I’m writing this at 5 a.m.) My incubator burns a little hot.
The image of the incubating huckleberry plant holds true for this writer…only my skin doesn’t give me away like the berry’s bark. If it did, everytime you’d see me? I’d have words, some that explode in your mouth with sweetness, some just normal, some bitter and sour, some of them big, some very small, growing in clumps and streaming through my veins.