I wanted to pick blueberries one more time this summer -- and I did think this would be a good day for it, though I found when I got there, the season was finishing. While I told her I was going alone, she said she wanted to come . . . and she did eventually come with Mike driving. We got me some bucks (it's a cash-short month for my business) and her some coffee and doughnuts and then we finally got to the farm--and continued to do everything Elaine style.
Here's the journaling for the scrapbook page I'll make with these photos:
My Elaine takes life on her terms. No MAKES life. We pull into the private drive of the Blueberry Farm . . . for too long and then she asks them to hold her crochet and then sprays bug spray in their little hut and gets “slapped” . . . and isn’t bothered. While I am and tiptoe away with my bucket. We pick what we can. Because, really, the berries are on the other side of juicy and plentiful. and I am so happy to be here with my bold friend who picks veggies, too -- making sure that the folks at the counter hold her berries not just on the counter but behind it.