Blueberry Fields Forever

I finally understand how little Sal and her mother could get “all mixed up on Blueberry Hill”. I took the kids blueberry picking this week, and it was delightful. Except for the part where Sheridan kept running off down the hill and to the right. Or was it to the left? Whatever the direction, in two seconds flat, she was down the hill, around the bend, behind multiple rows of berries and out of sight, apparently with the sole intention of getting lost. Thank goodness for Caed, who had matured since the last season of picking when he only tasted “tremendous mouthfuls”, and was now actually making a contribution to the produce in our basket. But even with Caed’s help, we brought home only enough blueberries to make a batch of muffins, and to freeze an extra pint.

So for those of you waiting breathlessly for your Martha-esque taste of Maine gift to arrive, complete with scrumptious hand-picked, home-canned blueberry jelly, you might want to take a breath now. Because let’s be honest. Even if the girl had cooperated and we brought home buckets of berries, there is a higher probability of Dani sitting perfectly still and staying blissfully quiet for 10 minutes straight than of me bringing a complicated domestic project to a successful completion. And if you must have a blueberry jam fix, now that I’ve put the idea in your head and gone nowhere with it, don’t despair. There is always Stonewall Kitchen.
As for our afternoon among the berries, I will say only for purposes of having a nice play on words that we could have stayed in the blueberry fields forever. But staying for just an hour was good too. Plenty of time to pick a handful of berries, and play multiple rounds of hide and seek!