I took my husband, my daughters and a friend berry picking today. It was a perfect morning of small pleasures. The bigger daughter and her friend picked like mad. They're such little capitalists. Within minutes of beginning, they had plans to make jam and smoothies and muffins to sell. They set goals for how quickly they would fill their bucket.
My husband could reach the tall branches and gathered by the handfuls and slipped his blueberries into the girls' bucket, to help them reach their goal all the faster.
The littlest one (age 2), stretched to reach the lowest branches. We'd pull them down and hold them for her and she'd pinch her tiny fingers and tug so carefully and drop her treasure in the bucket (or maybe in her mouth, with a wicked grin to follow). She was so proud when she found a big one and so quickly learned which ones were blue enough.
And me? I picked a little. I watched a lot.
It was a morning of images that will stay etched in the sunnier patches of my mind to revisit on cloudier days.
(For any locals who wants to check it out: It's called Cedar Grove Blueberry Farm, on N86, about 15 miles north of Hillsoborough. They had a swingset for distractions when little ones got bored, lots of shade, buckets you could use if you didn't bring one and free ice water. It really was great.)
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