Fresh picked

I suggested that we all go blueberry picking this morning, but of course it was a whim and I had no idea what we were getting ourselves in to. Turns out it was a great call, and we have 13 pounds (yes, pounds) of delicious blueberries to show for it.

None of us had been to the farm before, and we had some vague directions from the web, and when we tried to call no one was picking up the phone, so it's a miracle that we found our way there. The farm was in the boonies, and it took us at least three wrong turns before we found our way to the right place (including driving up a very long driveway next to the farm - so close but not the right one).

When we got there we were all a little hot and irritated, but the proprietor, Farmer Fred, was such a charming old guy (age 87) that we were immediately smitten. He showed us how to tie the big metal buckets around our waist, and then he told us all to hop in the back of his pickup truck and he'd haul us over to the fields. And this is where I am just dying without the ability to post the pictures from my camera. Picture this: Mom and Dad sitting in the very back of the pickup truck, legs swinging off the edge, as the truck bounced along a dirt path. The rest of us sat in the wagon part, trying to avoid injury from the pile of very sharp tools and cans of gasoline rattling around next to us.

And then we got to the fields. There in front of us were rows and rows of the biggest, juiciest, bluest blueberries you've ever seen. Someone was describing them as the size of nickels, but that doesn't even quite do them justice because they were just so darned round and plump and beautiful. We all went to work right away, everyone picking and putting them in their cans; Zach picking and eating as much as he could fit in his mouth.

Farmer Fred had sized up Mom and Dad and declared, "She'll be finished in fifteen minutes. He'll be finished in two hours." And sure enough, within about 15 minutes, Mom had filled up the whole three-pound can, and Dad was still picking through individual bunches looking for only the most perfect berries.

Too bad it was one of the hottest days of the year, because I would have stayed out there for hours, but it was scorching out there in the fields with 90-degree heat and humidity. After about a half-hour of sheer blueberry heaven, Mom summoned Farmer Fred to come and bring us back, and he dutifully drove the truck back and bounced and bumped us all the way back to our cars.

Total take: 13 pounds. Yield thus far: One blueberry pie, five jars of blueberry jam, and two enormous buckets of blueberries (still warm from the sun) just waiting to be eaten.