A few minutes from my house, and just down the road from
where I keep Tank, there is a blueberry farm that is now open for U-picking.
After several weeks of unseasonably hot and humid weather, this weekend was
fresh and spring like—the sun shining from a cobalt sky dotted with cottony
clouds, so I decided to go blueberry picking for the first time. Here’s what happened:
 |
| Acres of blueberry bushes |
After I park my car, the farm proprietor ties a white plastic
bucket around my waist and tells me which sections were picked for market and
which should have berries left. I walk down the grassy road between berry
sections and choose my spot. There are other pickers scattered through the
rows, a few with children in tow. U-picking with kids is popular, and this is
one of the first weekends the farm is open. I see several generations of family
members, from grandparents to toddlers, enjoying the experience.
And that’s why I’m here: to enjoy the experience. This is an
artist’s date as well as a way to stock my freezer with fresh blueberries.
Once I choose my section, I begin slowly walking between the
rows of shoulder- to head-high blueberry bushes. It takes me a few moments for
my eyes to adjust to seeing the plump purple berries hidden in the foliage. I
drop my first berries in my bucket with a thunk. While I search with my eyes,
my ears listen to the sounds around me: the breeze flirting with berry bushes,
the lady in the red t-shirt humming along with her iPod, the children calling
out excitedly, and even the loud speakers periodically blaring screechy bird
sounds to keep away other birds who would eat the berries. My mind is free to
wander, but I find it mostly stays quiet, absorbed in the task of looking
carefully for the ripe berries. I deliberately pick a few unripe berries to
paint because they’re such pretty colors. I also remember and use Laure
Ferlita’s advice to look up, look down, look all around.
As in life, in blueberry picking, it pays to go slowly, look
carefully, and be gentle (so the fruit doesn’t fall on the ground instead of
into your fingers). You need to look at the bushes from several different
angles, and sometimes you will find perfect berries missed by others who have
worked the same row. This is sort of like the process of creativity—good ideas,
ripe for the picking are out there, waiting for the right person to come along.
It takes me about two hours to fill my bucket. I probably
could have moved to a section with more berries per bush, but for once I’m not
in a hurry. It is a pleasure to be doing one thing and one thing only. Once my
bucket is full, I return to the entrance, pay my money, and carry a plastic
grocery bag to my car filled with my bounty.
When I get home, I’ll have the work of drying out the
berries (they don’t like to be wet), freezing them, and deciding what I want to
do with the ones I won’t freeze. Blueberry muffins for my son, and lemon
blueberry scones for me, I think.
What did you do this weekend?
