The farm is actually a tree farm, and this was their first year with blueberries. The farmers said they think the bushes produced some last year, but they think the birds got all of them. This year, they put up a fence and nets. And those little blueberry bushes had lots and lots of berries.
Phoebe picked quite a few berries. She was a bit unclear on the concept of putting the berries into the container, though. When I’d hold the container out to her, she’d reach in to take some out. She had her own ideas for berry storage. One of the farm owners was out in the rows tending to the bushes, and gave us the go-ahead to let Phoebe have her way with the berries. (They don’t spray the bushes with anything, plus the rain of the night before had given the berries a good extra rinse.) The farmer also said she liked it when kids ate the berries right from the bushes, since it let them see where they came from. Phoebe was ever so happy to oblige. Since they charged for the berries by the pound, we thought it would have been fairest to weigh Phoebe going in, and then once more before leaving. But the farmers would have none of it.
It was a remarkably pleasant way to spend part of the morning. The farm was picturesque, and not even remotely crowded. The weather was beautiful. Sunny with a nice breeze, so it wasn’t too hot. We even got to meet the dairy farmer who lives up the road from us, who was also there picking blueberries with his wife.
We ended up picking 2 full quarts of blueberries. (Or at least filling 2 quarts. With Phoebe’s help, we picked more.) We headed home, and within a few minutes were snacking on the fruits of our minimal efforts. I’d thought I’d be making a blueberry cobbler, or some such, to deal with all those berries. But well, we didn’t have too much trouble making a dent in our harvest. I hadn’t realized just how good fresh-picked berries could be, still slightly warm from the morning sun. We may well have to head back down the road for seconds before long.