The freezer is filling up with 30 pounds so far of freshly picked organic blueberries, thanks to help from my in-laws.
We picked these berries in two one-hour stints. Amma would go back again and again; we'll see how the weather goes, although more rain is in the forecast.
Just a short 5 minutes from our house sits Inkwell Farm with about an acre of self-serve pick-your-own blueberries.
Although a bit delayed this year due to the weather, the crop is now lush and sweet. At least berries are producing, since many other crops (such as tomatoes, peppers, and eggplants) are really struggling.
Although we are in New England, this summer reminds me of Mark Twain's (or someone's) quip, "The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco." This is one weird summer.
The Inkwell owners supply gallon milk jugs with the top cut off so you can carry the empty carton to the bushes and back to the small gazebo to weigh and pay, slipping your cash or check into the slot in the wooden box. The mosquitoes are thick around the feet as you stir up the grass while moving about the bushes. The free-range chickens and guinea hens come around to stab the berries that drop to the ground. I'd prefer they stab the mosquitoes.
Inkwell Farm is for sale, at a fairly steep price. A price that is unaffordable for new, young farmers. This is an unfortunate reality, when young folks can't start a farm and provide local food for others. I only hope that whoever buys this property keeps the organic blueberry bushes going so we can go back and back and back.