I looked up at the clouds breaking apart the summer’s blue sky. So hot, the flies would stick to you and any effort to brush them off was a waste of energy. We sat at the Koi pond and swirled our hands in the water as sunlight turned the surface to glitter.

“Is this it?” she asked, keeping her hand in the water to avoid my glance.

“Is what it?” I answered, knowing the conversation was unavoidable.

“Is this the last summer.” She asked, voice soft.

My sister and I came to our grandparent’s ranch every summer as a vacation for our parents. I was sixteen and she was thirteen.

“There’ll be plenty more summers during our lifetime.”

“No more here. Mom said since now you’re old enough you’ll get a job in town.”

I wiped the sweat off of my forehead and squinted into the blinding sunlight. We were poorer than most, richer than the rest, and fell somewhere between keeping ourselves alive but never having enough for a life. If I ever wanted to make something of myself after high school I needed to start saving now. There was a community college a town away, but a university about fifty miles out. I never mentioned it to anyone, but left the dreams of me walking across a university campus to the times I was alone with my thoughts.

“Maybe I won’t be able to come back here, but I’ll still make sure to spend some days with you” I reassured her.

“It’s not the same.”

I left it at that and dipped my now dry hand back into the pond. One of the koi swam to my fingertip. I held my breath as it stared for a moment at my dangling limb, before darting deeper under the water.

I tapped her shoulder and she faced me with those big, earth brown eyes.

“Wanna go get some more blackberries? The week is almost over and you know what that means.”

“No more blackberries until next summer.” She paused, thinking about her words before saying, “Unless you don’t come back. Then it’s no more blackberries… ever.”

“Then we for sure need to get our last share.” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

We took off up the steep hiking trail, our feet finding the path worn countless years before. Our childhood was wrapped in the ranch that stood by the mountainside. Our favorite pastime being picking the blackberries from the bushes on the far end of the ranch. The sweet and sour flavors were always unexpected, requiring a delicate touch so as to not squeeze them as they were plucked from their vines.

We raced up the hill, laughing at old memories on the way. The hot July sun baked our ears and necks but we were without care. We reached the top of the hill overlooking the valley, and saw the blackberry bushes below. As we approached the garden, a hush fell over our childlike demeanor when we both realized something had changed. What once was never-ending fields of blackberries was whittled down to small, sickly bushes. No fruit was born on their branches, and what was left was brittle and wilted.

Our grandfather approached us from the side of the field.

“All of them were hit by a pest. Ate every damn last piece of fruit they could find. Im’a gonna have to pull them all up. Sorry kids, I don’t know if there will be anymore pickin’. Im gettin’ too old to take care of these bushes anymore.”

Silence fell as a chilling breeze rolled off of the mountainside and onto our bare shoulders. The last memory with the blackberries was suddenly unreachable. They were gone in a moment of pure enjoyment and naive to what lay ahead.

It was their time.

Now maybe it’s our time to grow up.

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Kelley Scoleri is a college freshman working towards her Bachelors in English from Azusa Pacific University in Southern California. She is also an avid photographer.

Photo: Irina Kostenich