Today was perfect for picking blueberries. The scent of rain lingered in the air from a light rain that moved through during the night, everything appeared clean and fresh. All the rain we had during June has produced an abundance of fruit.
A beautiful drive across a ridge and back down into the Willamette valley brought us to a family farm staffed by pleasant, helpful teens. After weighing our buckets my friend JH and I set forth down the rows in search for the perfect spot. JH’s daughter is getting married this Saturday and she’s planning to serve fresh berries along with the cake. Lots of fresh berries. I believe the time spent picking 25 pounds provided a pleasant pastime for both of us.
The summer of my eighteenth year I spent several weeks with a family, daily riding my bike to a blueberry field where I picked berries for the fresh market, berries that were bound overnight for NYC. I never was as fast as the farmer’s granddaughters but the work was gratifying. Fresh air, sun, working at your own pace always trying to beat the previous day’s pickings. Until that summer I wasn’t fond of blueberries. Now cereal would be sorely lacking without blueberries.
This little girl loves them too. She put more in her mouth than in her mama’s bucket. They were in the next row over happily chatting up a storm.
View on the way back over the ridge.
The Corriedale/Camel Yarn is finally finished, skeined and set. Details to come.