This one is for you Grandma Penney. For the last little while, my mother has been telling me about the fame of NJ blueberries. As is my nature I went on a quest to taste these famed berries, touted by Martha Stewart herself as being the best blueberries ever. Okay maybe not in those words, but similar I am sure.
We found a pick your own place free of speed ripening agents and pesticides. It was only about 8.5 acres but at 95 cents a pound we decided we had nothing to lose. We showed up in true Berg style-unprepared.
We knew we were going blueberry picking and yet, we did not bring any buckets or bags or anything to hold the blueberries. Where are the Matthews when you need them? They were always the ones that brought the stuff we didn't- food, first-aid, spare jackets, berry picking baskets...Oh how we miss you NZ ice-cream containers!
Lucky for us, the lady had a variety of buckets on her porch. She showed us the buckets that were the strongest and with thoughts of blueberries dancing in our heads we chose those ones. The girls went for the colorful ones but Mark and I were there for food storage and we were going to need something with some strength. It all started out well and good and we were excited as the girls went running ahead and excitedly picked the berries, seeing who could pick the most. I guess you really could say it was a picture of domestic summer bliss. The berries were huge and velvety soft and there were only about 4 other pickers present. The thing that we weren't planning on was the addictive nature of the blueberry picking.
I admit, I had never seen a full grown blueberry plant and I was thinking I was going to have to bend down with my sun hat on and fight scary bugs for my blueberries but no, the blueberries were up high and bug-free. Mark and I became what we considered to be ADD blueberry pickers. We would start on one bountiful tree and then see some flashes of blue on the next tree and move on even though there were still plenty to be had on the one tree. I have often watched animals grazing, surrounded by grassy yumminess(in their minds, not mine) and wondered why they would walk somewhere else when there was food right in front of them. Blueberry picking really put it all into perspective for me. Something beckons you to leave behind perfectly good berries to move on to the next tree.
It only took about 7 minutes for the kids to lose their enthusiasm and start complaining of thirst. I know we should have brought water but we thought that surely for 95 cents a pound, beverages would be provided-right? Mark and I were well into our picking and yelled at the girls to have fun as a family and pick berries with us or go sit in the shade- but we weren't stopping until we had had enough(Mark later confessed he was prepared to put in another 2 hours and I probably could have as well).
I am glad we took pictures early on because this way you blog readers are spared the sight of us dripping with sweat from the humidity, my huge afro, and burnt faces. Poor little Eddie had his bowl cut drenched and just sat down with his bucket of green berries (I think he may be color blind) in the middle of the path. We wound up with 15 pounds of blueberries, but three belonged to Lucy's BFF Sydney that came along for the fun. Blueberry smoothies here we come. Thanks for the advice mom.
The loot.
My hair was in a ponytail and you can see the frizz working its evil way out. Jersey Huge. 
On the hunt.
Maya had some good effort.
Ed just collected by the handful, regardless of color.
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