There’s only one good reason to put on long pants during the time of year when temperatures are above 90.

Don’t get me wrong, there are lots of reasons to don long pants in hot weather: cutting grass, weed eating, working tobacco (yes, I’ve done it), gardening, hiking and horseback riding, etc. But I said one GOOD reason.

It’s blackberry season, folks.

It doesn’t matter where you’re from, there’s not much better than a bowl full of hot blackberry cobbler with vanilla ice cream on top. And to get the best blackberry cobbler, you have to pick blackberries – preferably wild ones.

I remember as a young girl my mother announcing it was blackberry picking time. We’d put on our jeans, socks and old tennis shoes and head out to the nearest cow pasture. My mother used to explain that cow pastures were the best blackberry picking locations because the cows kept the grass “cut” low enough that you could walk all the way around the blackberry bush without being knee high in snake-infested grass. She sure knew how to phrase things! Two words: snake-infested, led me to agree with her philosophy 100%! I remember climbing over barbed wire fences, dodging cow piles and finding huge monstrous bushes covered in more berries than we could possibly pick. What an adventure!

Not too long ago, a friend asked me when blackberry season was. Remembering my adventures of old, I scouted out the wild blackberries that grow close to my house. We are not, unfortunately, blessed with too many cow pastures around here – at least not ones cows currently inhabit. There are, however, a fair amount of blackberry bushes with more than a few ripe berries.

One evening last week, I announced to my two daughters that we were going picking. My oldest, the blessed age of 14, grumbled her disbelief and displeasure but the youngest at age 8 was up for any adventure. That is, until I asked her to put on jeans. Knowing that even hinting at the word “snake” would drive both of my offspring into their rooms, I explained that jeans would keep us safe from things like ticks and spiders and that tennis shoes and socks were just smart if one was going to be in a field of high grass. Lucky for me, they both bought it. Dressed (and fairly protected), off we went.

The first bush we came to introduced my children to something I had forgotten to warn them about…briars. After complaining that bushes aren’t supposed to need blood samples, they got the hang of gently pulling the berries without snagging their hands/shirts/etc. on the surrounding stickers. As they learned to pull the berry not the branch, they discovered something else I forgot to warn them about…bees. We then talked about what other kinds of creatures like blackberries and I was amazed that talk of deer, bears, birds and ants didn’t send them screaming to the car.

We covered the bottom of our small bowl and headed to the next bush. I was so happy that we were picking memories! How special it felt to share something positive from my own childhood with my children!

It was at that moment that my nostalgia was shaken to its very core. Ear-splitting screams erupted from my youngest and my eye was drawn to the ground. Searching her feet and mine, I found no slithering creatures to explain her hysteria. Only then looking at her, I saw she was pointing to my own arm. Folks, that’s not a good feeling at all. What on earth could possibly have driven my adventurous, sometimes care free daughter to such loud hysterics? I took a deep breath, swallowed hard and looked down at my arm. There, just below my watch band was two ticks.

Some of you are thinking, “Ticks? Really?” But there are some of you who are, like me, beginning to itch all over at the thought of the disease carrying, blood sucking evil insects.

You see, I have another childhood memory that isn’t so nice. My cousin had been in the hospital VERY sick with what they eventually diagnosed as Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. After seeing her so sick and knowing what caused her to be that way, I developed a pretty serious phobia of ticks. Apparently, a phobia that my children inherited.

I brushed off the ticks and turned to tell her it was okay. Again, she screamed at the top of her lungs and pointed, backing away as if I yielded a knife. After willing my heart to beat again, I found I had another tick on my shirt. Brushing it off as well, I had her turn for me to make sure she didn’t have any visible on her. She did as instructed, turning until she saw the car and then making a dash for where her sister was taunting about being the “smart one who stayed in the car.” Sighing, knowing that our special time was over, I followed and we drove back home.

A “tick inspection” was warranted and resulted in four more ticks, two on my oldest (who apparently wasn’t safe in the car) and two more on me. Seven ticks total in about 30 minutes. I shared with my girls that I don’t remember there being that many ticks when we went blackberry picking as a child and they both agreed that “times were a-changing.”

But they also told me something I hadn’t expected – especially in light of our outing ending so abruptly. They had fun. They loved hearing about happy times when I was a kid. They loved that we were together having an adventure. I warmed inside knowing that, some day, my own grandchildren would hear the stories of both my experiences and theirs. And I hope that they in turn, add their own version to the stories – picking memories for generations to come.

Growing up in the mountains of our great state afforded me the education of lots of folk sayings. Everything from “a watch pot never boils” to “fair is a place where pigs squeal for money” has crossed my ears (and lips) at one point in time or another. But this past Sunday, I was exposed to one I’d never heard before.

Get in the washing machine with Jesus.

I am sure that, like me, the mental image of that is enough to give you pause. However, the more I thought about it, the more I liked it.

You see, none of us can ever be clean enough to come to Jesus. Sure, lots of folks try to clean up both inside and out prior to accepting the grace, love and mercy He gives but we never really accomplish the task. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that even AFTER we come to Him, we’re not clean. There’s the backsliding we tend to do, the “unknown” sin that the Holy Spirit exposes to us and those “worldly traps” we walk into so regularly. When you really think about it, we’re all really very filthy.

Considering all that, getting in the washing machine with Jesus describes the way Christians should be even more than I originally realized. There’s the Holy Spirit that turns the dials and gets us going on the correct cycle. Then, the generous portion of soap to clean up the messes we’ve already made; the agitator of God’s guidance that works out the less “seen” dirt and the falling water of Grace that rinses us clean. Even the spin cycle plays a part as we go about spreading what we’ve received to others.

So many times we get wrapped up in who is clean and who is not. We try to hide from God because we view ourselves as unclean. We are quick to point out other’s spots as well. But the truth be told, we all need a good run through the washing machine regularly. We all need to be set on the right path, cleansed, agitated and washed in grace to keep us growing toward Him. Without any one of those steps, we very well may fall short of a full cycle and find ourselves mildewing in this box we call life.

And I don’t know about you, but if I’m going to have to get in the washing machine, I’d just as soon it be with Jesus than anyone else!