A Picturesque Life

I truly do!

On Saturday, my dad and I spent two hours picking blueberries. Can you guess how many we picked? Might you guess five gallons? Six? Eight?

Oh…but we were in the most beautiful overgrown blueberry patch ever! These neglected bushes were growing over our heads, filling the old, little traveled paths with branch after branch of blueberry goodness. Top it off with a cooling sprinkle that sent the mosquitoes hiding out with the ninety-eight degree weather, somewhere, far from this sacred grove. Oh yes. It was delightful.

On most of our blueberry outings, we work for an hour, a hard hour, for four to six gallons of blueberries. Usually, by that time, the mosquitoes have chased our sweat drenched selves in search of a Barq’s rootbeer and some air conditioning. But Saturday was charmed…

The berries were so plentiful that I reached out to pick some and came back with a handful of mist covered, deep purple, almost bursting with sweetness, blueberries. Handful after handful, while the rain gently cooled us. After the usual hour, my father asked if I was too tired to continue…but I must admit, the quiet, cool of the blueberry bushes had me enchanted. I had no desire to leave. No desire to end one of the most pleasant outings I’ve been on in a while. It was so relaxing.

So we picked, and picked. And luckily, being prepared is one of my daddy’s specialties. Bucket, after bucket magically appeared from the depths of his truck bed. We chatted. We picked quietly. We chatted some more. We listened to the plunking of blueberries hitting the bottom of the bucket. We listened to the sounds of cars driving by on the other side of the tree line…sounds that had no place in this fairytale like place.

Finally, because of plans for the evening, we dragged our blue stained fingers and mouths from the place. The damage? Sixteen gallons of juicy, plump, delicious, sweet, fragrant blueberries.

My mom asked what on earth we needed with so many berries. Well, I dunno. But I do know that if it was possible, I’d e-mail you a gallon to put into a pie, bake muffins with or just eat out of the bowl.

I wish you blueberries.