I LOVE fresh berries. I enjoy going to a farm and picking strawberries because they just taste better straight from the plant. I also think tromping through the woods on a hike and happening upon a patch of ripe raspberries or blackberries and then spending a while picking and eating them is great fun. Some of my best memories of childhood involve collecting fruit of various kinds on different adventures, following my intrepid father into the bush. But, I don't think I'm going to make it to the strawberry patch this year and slogging through a briar patch with toddlers probably isn't feasible, so I have to make do with my own little patch of black raspberries in the backyard.
I noticed several days ago that the berries were starting to get ripe, but I held back. As sorely tempted as I was, I knew that if I picked the ripe ones every morning I would get about 15 berries each time, which is a nice mouthful but nothing more. After 5 days of waiting, I braved the mosquitoes (which did require actual bravery, since even total immersion in bug spray did little to deter them), and picked this lovely bowlful. Oh the deliciousness.
Then I made the mistake of sharing some with my baby. He likes blueberries and strawberries, so I didn't think twice about giving him some of my precious produce.
He laughed at me as he squashed them into goo and then threw them on the floor.
It's a good thing I love my children, but this naughty boy is not getting any more of my berries.
Happy berry picking, everyone!
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