Pickers

My kids are pickers.  Maybe it goes back to my heritage.  Maybe their trying to go way back to their farm picking roots.  Who knows. They pick their scabs and their noses, sometimes even their butts, and who knows what else.

I figured with all of this picking experience, I should put it to good use.  I heard of a local blueberry farm that lets you pick your own fruit and off we went.  I gave the kids a short little talk about safety and what a ripe blueberry looked like.  We found a good row and away we went.   Everyone had a great time.  The older kids picked like it was a race.  The whole time talking about all of the good things we were going to make with their bounty.  I felt like I was in the Forest Gump movie.  Blueberry pancakes, blueberry waffles, blueberry muffins, blueberry smoothies, blueberry ice cream, blueberry yogurt.  It went on and on and on.

Nathaniel was a champion blueberry picker.  He didn’t want anything to do with the berries themselves though.  He’d pick berries and dump them in Jacob’s buckets.  He absolutely refused to even taste them.  He still won’t consider putting them in his mouth.  Jacob on the other hand, picked only to eat them.  He’d find one and yell, “Mommy!  Yummy!  Yummy!” and pop it into his mouth.  It was rather cute the first fifty times.

After only a couple of hours  we left with $50 worth of blueberries in three large boxes.  All the way to the car I heard: blueberry pie, blueberry cobbler, blueberry juice, blueberry syrup…

I’m thinking about calling all of the local farms and offering my kids for the day.  Will work for watermelon.