Blueberry Picking Rules
I went blueberry picking today. Late-season, late-in-the-afternoon is just the way I love it. The air is still, the rows of bushes straight and beckoning. Blueberry-picking is a serene activity.
I wish that everyone could experience blueberry-picking.
By ‘everyone’ – I don’t mean, like, ‘everyone’ everyone.
I’d like to suggest a few exclusions:
– If you are bound to be loudly disappointed because you remember when the blueberries were bigger, sweeter, firmer, juicier – please don’t come.
– If your children have an attention span under seven minutes and/or you are forced to yell “Stop That!” more than seven times a minute – please don’t come.
– If you have a story to tell that requires multiple uses of the phrases, “So then she goes…” and “So then I go…” – please don’t come.
– If you wish the bushes were closer to the parking lot – please don’t come.
– If your cell phone rings more than three times in a half-hour – please don’t come.
– If Rover has to participate – and has to poop – please don’t come.
– If you and your loved ones can’t keep track of each other, and you have to shout “Marco”/”Polo” on a regular schedule – please don’t come.
– If you feel the need to smuggle out blueberries in your purse to avoid the weigh-in – please don’t come
– If you shriek when a bee comes within 24 inches of you – please don’t come
– If the ambiance of blueberries compels you to grope your significant other’s private parts – please don’t come.
– If you can’t bear the thought of your kid eating something that has not yet been de-germed – please don’t come.
– If you need to sing more than one stanza of “I Found My Thrill on Blueberry Hill” – please don’t come.
– If, despite the 1,200 bushes available, you still want to pick from the one bush I have chosen – please don’t come.
Other than that –