With blue plastic buckets on lanyards around our necks (I even have a blueberry blue shirt on), and soft afternoon breezes wafting about us, Kevin and I took our eager, and hungry positions at the hilltop blueberry farm, in Vermont. This blueberry picking afternoon is a tasty and favorite tradition of ours. As Kevin and I walked about the farm rows, picking and sampling the many different kinds of blueberries, we could hear other berry catchers voices interspersed among the rows. Voices carry, and we enjoyed the amusing family conversations coming out from different places. I love it that the families like to work together …and I love hearing the children eating berries. “Hey, I found an enormous one, Mom.”, and “stay in this row near us Emmy.”
One can get into the picking as a contest, almost. Plink, plink, the buckets seem to fill slowly, yet they get heavy with goodness fast. You taste, you pick, repeating it over and over again, and always there is another bright berry beckoning for you to reach it. In other words, it is hard to stop. Even as you walk back to the shed to pay for the blue gems, you keep picking and eating…each one is the last? Laden with bounty, Kevin and I drove home, with blue tongues and joyful hearts.