The Blueberry Door #SOL

Blueberry Door

Once a year we step through this magical doorway, my mother, my sister, and me. What lies beyond its threshold? Blueberries. Rows and rows of succulent high bush blueberries ripe for the picking. And pick we do, the first week of August. I’ve lost track of how many years we’ve stepped into this black net-surrounded box to do this together. We arrive early in the morning, as soon as the orchard opens, to beat the heat and the crowds. The berries are large enough that it doesn’t take long to fill the green cardboard quart container and secure its precious antioxident-filled contents with a red hair net, as we refer to them.  It fills up even faster if you don’t stop to put them in your mouth so often! But who can resist?

While we pick, we chat, catch up on how our summers are progressing, gossip, and giggle. Oh yes, we giggle while the birds cheerily chirp in the woods nearby and while the orchard’s seasonal help, far from home, works steadily in the heat alongside us, conversing occasionally in a language we don’t understand. And when we are finished picking, we make our way back to the farm store in search of other delicious offerings — early apples, ripe peaches, sweet corn, and donuts. Hot out of the fryer apple cider donuts to be devoured back on my shady porch with cold lemonade. A sweet ending to our annual outing.

***********************************************

Many thanks to the crew at Two Writing Teachers, and the extended SOL community, for giving us the time, space, and encouragement to live the writerly life here each Tuesday. Won’t you join us?

screen-shot-2017-02-20-at-2-05-35-pm

Advertisements

12 thoughts on “The Blueberry Door #SOL

  1. Yum Yum Yum! I went blueberry picking with my sister and one daughter (the only one home at the time) earlier this summer! Only those who have actually partaken in the act of picking can truly relate to this line – “It fills up even faster if you don’t stop to put them in your mouth so often! But who can resist?” I know I can’t resist – I didn’t resist – those plump warm blueberries just pop in your mouth! Enjoy your pickings! Thanks for sharing!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I wish I was there with you. I do like going to orchards to pick apples. I even went pepper picking but never to a blueberry orchard. How wonderful to spend a day with your family each summer. Could this turn into an art of summering digital inspiration for my summer gallery, Christie?

    Liked by 1 person

  3. This is beautifully written. I love the detail and how I get the sense it’s more about the bonding than the blueberries, even though they sound delicious. Beautiful. Could be a mentor text about a small moment for sure.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Ahh…there’s nothing quite like freshly picked blueberries! I felt that I went along on this year’s annual outing with your female family members! We stopped to pick blueberries on our way home from the lake this afternoon. Our visit was quite different from the first (which was more like how you describe your experience above) as the fields have been picked and the bear have been frequent visitors, too! I will enjoy this batch of blueberries even more because we had to work harder to pick them! What will you make with your new stash?

    Liked by 1 person

  5. What a sweet small moment! You’ve painted such a picture with your details. I can just hear your giggles weaving in with bird song. Delightful! I especially love your title and the feeling it evokes that you’ve stepped through that blueberry door into a special realm. So glad you enjoyed this tradition with your family!

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s