Tuesday, June 09, 2020


We're thankful that our blueberry bushes get ripe in stages. The ones on the west end of the terrace row get early-morning sun. They are also among the first bushes we planted years ago. In March, blueberries as fat as nickels turn a shade of blue that's close to black.

The sweet taste of these blueberries can't be expressed with mere words. An accurate description requires grunts, groans, and other guttural sounds that are not usually apart of most polite conversations...but I digress.

The 15 bushes on the east end of the terrace row have all decided to start offering ripe blueberries simultaneously.

Yesterday we picked eight gallons. Our niece from next door joined us and picked a basket for herself.

Tomorrow we will be in the field before coffee.  Some might think this task was tedious, but I enjoy it. There is something meditative about picking blueberries.

Pick, pick, munch. Pick, pick, munch. Where did the time go?


  1. Ha ha ha. Pick, pick, munch, munch. Where did all the blueberries go?

  2. Jealous thoughts. I have never had a blueberry picked fress from the vine.

  3. That is a great read and shot of the blue berries, You eye does at times show some 'eye' candy. I think even I could enjoy those although I think I prefer black berries, but not sure since I have never icked blueberries, only had the frozen wild ones.
    Sherry & jack
    ps: If this keeps up we will have to plant for Sherry, she is a blue berry fanatic.

  4. Such a beautiful picture. I saved it for my jigsaw puzzle program.


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