The beau and I recently visited a cute little farm in Franklin, TN with some friends. It was a bright, hot Saturday morning, and we were greeted by an old guard-dog who barely had the energy to swat a fly. Rows upon rows of tall blueberry bushes awaited us! We each grabbed a bucket, and went wandering.
Blueberries, pinkberries, purpleberries! We made a pact to eat just one blueberry per ten that we picked. We ended up eating one for every two we picked, and left with purple-stained fingertips; our skin tinted a light shade of blue. Sweet children's laughter (and a few tears) bubbled from the bushes, deer pranced through the surrounding fields, the sun warmed our shoulders and we chatted about what scrumptious blueberry treats we would make, and our buckets got heavier and heavier. With but one casualty, we each left the farm carrying several pounds each.
The blueberry crisp I made for a dinner party disappeared quicker than I could photograph. Until next berry season!
