going for the blues

We made our annual pilgrimage down to south Jersey for blueberries yesterday... strangely enough, the exact same date as last year. But this year we remembered a camera!

Secondo was riding shotgun in the truck, because Primo was still on pilgrimage (he returned safely last night) and the only time Secondo gets to ride in the front seat is in Primo's absence. He was the designated photographer and managed to get a shot of the gorilla gas-station statue that lets us know we haven't missed our turn.

The sign around his neck reads in part:

"My name is Mighty Joe. I have been placed here by the V— family

as a memorial and to pay tribute to their son Joseph

who now lives in the kingdom of heaven....

Joe was not only mighty in his appearance

but also in courage, spirit and love of family."

The bushes we passed on the way down were full of blueberries, so much so that it seems like the fields have a purple haze on them.

After watching the little packing plant operating at full steam, we decided on 24 flats this year. Luckily I had some help with me to load up. The woman who owned the farm asked where we lived; when I said "on a livestock farm" she said, "That explains why your boys are good workers!"

Only (only!!!) eight flats were ours. I showed a little restraint because our deep freezer was fried after the defrosting episode a few weeks back, and I am not sure where I am going to put all of them. We have been eating frozen food and blueberries in equal measure the past two days, the former to increase the space in the kitchen freezer, and the latter to decrease the amount that needs to be frozen.

 

To the helpers go the first spoils...

Two pints gone before we even got home.

It may come down to me trying my hand at blueberry jam, but what with the great fleece washing experiment going on, I'm not really sure I'm up for yet another learning venture.


Note to self for trip next year: go in the afternoon so we can hit the promising barbecue place on the way home!