Kuplink, Kuplank, Kuplunk

These, the sounds of blueberry picking on a gorgeous Maine morning.“Mommy, I am doing what Sal doos!”, Caed exclaimed as he dropped blueberries in his pail, referring to his well-worn book, Blueberries for Sal. I managed to pick one quart of blueberries while Caed managed to eat (or drop) at least a pint. The bright sun seemed to be burning blue right onto the berries as we picked, working in tandem with the cool breeze to wave the blue-dotted branches like flags of tribute to a beautiful summer day.

I watched Caed skip back and forth among the blueberry bushes, yelling "kuplink, kuplank" in between gulps of blueberries, taking a break only to play in the dirt with his friends Joseph & Graham. And I thought to myself, I love this place. I love driving a half hour away and finding myself in the pages of a storybook. I love having time to see and savor the sparkle in my children's eyes, as they experience the wonders of childhood in a place that brings me back to those same simple pleasures.

This little sliver of paradise, far from the horrors of the nightly news and the frantic race to get ahead on the path to nowhere, this little moment of beauty, brings me back to a place where I can believe that there is a God who is indeed good.

Kuplink. Kuplunk. Kuplank.

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