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HGM

Chasing adventure & living mindfully while parenting through mental illness


Berry Picking 

Berry Picking 

I hated berry picking when I was little. I took after my dad, I guess. It was a chore we were forced to do on the regular: go out to the garden to pick raspberries for dinner. At my Great Grandma Ruth's house, it was picking raspberries for jam. At the family cabin, it was picking blackberries for pie. And, worst of all, there was usually an annual trip to a strawberry farm, where my mom and godmother would utilize their 5 total children as a child labor force to pick as many possible strawberries for the winter. Now I relish the time. Maybe it's years paying high prices for something that was once only a few hours work and regular watering. Maybe, after years living in the city, I need the slow, methodical connection with nature, a reminder of where our food actually comes from. Maybe I'm just turning into my mother (there could be worse fates). Either way, I've been enjoying passing that experience along to Breccan. It's sometimes a challenge to get him to leave the ones that aren't ripe. He generally eats all the ones he picks, so you have to pick faster than he does. But his sweet voice in the summer evening air makes the outside world stop. Glazed Lemon Blueberry Scones from Sally's Baking Addiction 

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