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Once a year I replenish my stock of frozen blueberries. There are several blueberry farms around and I could buy them at the local farmer’s market but picking them is much more fun. One year we picked at a friend’s farm but the bushes were so low, my back complained most bitterly. Then one year we picked in a place with three teenage girls who did not answer the doorbell—just text messages==and there were some of the stinkiest dogs and do-do all around the bushes. Maybe that is why they were so lush! So this year I tried out a new place, a little farther to drive but well-maintained. I went by myself the first time and came home with two gallons; and went with my dear friend the second time and came home with another gallon. It was very hot and we stopped early.

I admit to tasting—just to be sure the product was as tasty as I remembered. They are nicely in the freezer awaiting blueberry pancakes, blueberry muffins, blueberries on cereal, blueberries in fruit salad–and maybe even pie.

This guy kept us company—from the other side of a well constructed fence.

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