So today I went blueberry picking for the first time. I really, really liked it. :) The farm we went to was beautiful and quiet, and the morning fog refused to let go of the hills, trees, and gently used tractor paths. Blueberry picking somehow made everyone friends, whether or not they knew each other. The people sitting around us in the wagon were first talking blueberries, but then they were talking about their families, and how every year they come and make contests out of it, making traditions. Mothers loved telling their children that whoever picks the most gets TWO scoops of ice cream, and children loved racing around grabbing handfuls of the blue goodness and dropping it into the silver pails. Everywhere the hum of conversation of how to freeze the berries and what to make with them and "this was the sweetest one yet!", all accompanied by the soft sound of blueberries upon blueberries being gathered. Cold water waited at the end of rows, waiting to be drunk out of tiny paper cups. Then, when your arm is tired from hauling the 12+ lb. pail full, the wagon rolls around and you hop on and your berry picking is finished. People are smiling and fingers are blue and no one's hair is perfect, and it's wonderful.
And now I am going to tend to my 9 pounds of hand-picked blueberries, and then ceremoniously read Blueberries for Sal. ;)