Blueberries!

Today the kids and I met up with our friends at the blueberry patch. This is the first I've heard of a u-pick blueberry patch in the area, even after being here for 3 summers now. It goes to show how long it really does take to settle into a neighborhood!

The weather has been super warm lately but today was only forecast to be in the 80's so we chanced it and headed out early. Sunscreen on the kids, hats in place, let the sweat fest commence! We were greeted by Gloria, a sun-battered and very knowledgeable woman. She led us by the hand to the closest blueberry bush and demonstrated clean picking technique (use two hands and leave the bucket on the ground), how to gently move the branches so as not to break them, what colors were considered ripe for each variety we would encounter and so on. Armed with this knowledge and knowing full well the kids would go ahead and commit fruit picking sins right and left immediately, we gamely headed into row 10.

Turns out the first thing you really must do when visiting a blueberry patch and trying to pick berries before the midday sun drives you out of there is find the nearest port-a-potty for your three-year-old. Then, having dispensed of such mundane tasks, you should trek back to your row of berry heaven, put the baby on the ground and proceed to rip off as many blueberries as you can, paying no attention to Gloria's ideas of color ripeness or the delicate plants themselves as you race to fill the bucket before the baby fills her stomach with soft, damp dirt. If she only manages a few handfuls, dust her chubby fingers off and relocate her to another patch of ground. This time, place a few obstacles in her path to keep her on the grass and then resume your berry "picking". Now you are just blindly slapping your palms at anything larger than the size of a pencil eraser, hoping to fill your bucket with at least these smaller specimens because you can grab handfuls of them at a time. Now look over and see your baby hasn't moved.

Congratulate yourself on that minor miracle until you notice the green grass hanging out of her mouth and the two fists more on their way in. Put the baby back in your Ergo carrier and sweat out another 20 minutes with this wiggling 20lb. mass trying to stick her hands in your bucket, in your mouth, in the bushes, in your toddler's mouth, in your toddler's hair, down your shirt, and the air in general. Wave to someone you know who just arrived to pick berries (it's a small town and this happens CONSTANTLY), gesticulate madly about how hot it is, how yummy the fruit is (and consequently how little you have managed to put in your bucket having been waylaid by your mouth) and negotiate with your toddler to have her bend over and get the car keys that have now slipped from your pocket to the ground for the 10th time in 10 minutes. Make it to the car wrangling all your tired, sweaty, thirsty progeny, yourself and your pittance of blueberries. Now go to your friend's house to decompress and gorge on the fruit of your labors. The kids fall asleep way past their usual nap time but when they wake up Papa is already home from work, early on a Friday. Hand the kids off to him and plead heat stroke or insanity or both. Mission Accomplished! Now I am going to go put some blueberries on my ice cream and go to bed.  Who knows what's in store for the weekend after a day like today!