blueberries in august.

I arrived at the farm wondering, Did Anders come with us when we picked raspberries? Was that before or after we got back from our trip? (Oddly enough, time–to me, anyway–is being measured by “before” or “after” our trip and sometimes I honestly can’t remember which side the event falls on.) Did he ever pick blueberries with us before? I think I remember! He was here, and he was in a carrier, and it was last summer before we left. But wait, it was raspberries, not blueberries. We were gone before blueberry season. Perhaps this is just the strange and heart-weary thoughts of a Mother who’s first-born (and fifth-born; both, simultaneously) is about to embark upon another year of school, and the last, before it becomes the shuffled rat race of a five-days-a-week schedule. We’ve gone to this farm for years, and it’s such a good way to mark the coming and going of seasons. Physical labor–reaching, picking, pulling, dropping–to say farewell to one thing and to usher in the next. I remember pulling Parker in a cart to the apple trees a few years back. This year he single handedly filled a quart of blueberries requiring none of my help. He took it seriously, he picked the best ones, he’s five. (Not only can the boy pick a great blueberry, but he loves taking pictures and he took some of me and Anders while we were at the farm! He did a good job, didn’t he?)I love Anders’ face peeking around me in that shot. Anders was beyond delighted to find that, what is perhaps his favorite food ever, was surrounding him in rows. Blueberry bushes, heavy with the fruit, within his short reach. His chubby fingers would pick, and eat, pick, and eat. Only when we encouraged him, “Anders! Put one in the container!” would he do it. A few that weren’t ripened would pass his lips, before he’d make a face, and let it fall out of his mouth. I think this picture might capture the very moment when Anders discovered he was amongst blueberry bushes and that I wasn’t telling him to stop eating them. For every blueberry that Parker, with his back to us, would drop in the container, Anders would grab two or three and shovel them in his mouth. It was a true Blueberries for Sal moment. Parker and I talked about apple picking up next. And then will come the freeze followed by another spring, followed by more berries. Oh, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s make this transition smoothly, you and me, okay? We’ll regroup in October and cheers with a pumpkin beer.And we’ll have mums on our front stoops, too.