Allen's schedule has been so hectic, that we decided not to wait for Father's Day weekend to do our annual blueberry picking (just in case he had to work at the last minute.) He had a free weekend that happened to also be a cool weekend, so just before going to bed last night, we decided to head for the patch first thing this morning. Each year since the first, our blueberry trip is something our kids talk about through the year -- remembering egg muffins for breakfast in the car, remembering the big red barn, remembering eating as much as they wanted, remembering who filled the baskets the quickest, remembering the melt-in-your mouth blueberry muffins and cool sweet frozen yogurt we eat for our second breakfast, remembering the dry sandy dirt they covered themselves with, remembering the special hats they've worn each time. We feast on the memories all through the year, and I can't imagine ever NOT picking blueberries. Just as we have the last four years, we had a blast. We made more memories. We came home with lots of sweet berries. We took long afternoon naps. We talk about doing it again next year. And we smile.
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