Harvesting was never a part of my childhood. Besides that one time that Lauren and I picked blackberries on the side of the road and her grandmother made us a pie, I have zero experience with picking and plucking.
For years (even without the kids), we have been picking blueberries in July at my in-laws'. It's almost tranquil. Being out there in sporadic conversation, bucket sharing, searching and picking, and a chorus of insects make me extremely nostalgic for my childhood.
The slowness of it reminds me of summers as a child. We watched a lot of TV, but I still remember a quietness that was in childhood. Maybe it's the difference between being a growing person and a grown person-I'm thinking about more things these days. I'm sure it's the difference of what's coming on TV and let's watch a DVD or Netflx or YouTube or videos I made on my phone. I'm not cynical enough to think that it's *just* a change in times.
When I get right down to it: Picking really delicious blueberries outside with my children and family is utopia. Food + family + outside = few of my favorite things. Simplicity is shift in pace that has stood the test of time-we've always craved it.
Plus, there's this precious picture of Ridge. His fine motor skills and focus are captivating.
We only picked blueberries once or twice this year, but that's another part of the blueberry buses that's special. We can't do it anytime we want, we have to wait. Until next year, we will eat frozen blueberries and anticipate late July 2017.
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