On Saturday, we took a family trip to a local farm. Right now you can pick raspberries, cherries and the last of the strawberries. I wanted to pick as many strawberries as we could to make jam. So we collected our quart containers and the wagon, my son insisted we needed, to head up to the strawberry patches. We spent an hour hunting down the last plump, ripe strawberries of the season. I was glad we were able to fill 4 quart baskets.
So I ask my son what we should pick next and he chose raspberries. None of us have ever picked raspberries before and it proved to be a bit challenging. I showed my son how you have to pull gently and they kinda pop off. Unfortunately the poor guy kept squishing them and got frustrated very quickly. I had better luck, but there didn’t seem to be enough ripe berries. As picking time wound down, I encouraged everyone to move faster. We hadn’t even filled a pint yet!
Then I hear,”THAT’S IT! I WANT TO GO HOME. I DON”T LIKE THESE MEANY RASPBERRIES ANYMORE”. Apparently my little guy got into a tussle with the raspberry bush and you can guess who won. His poor little hand had a bunch of scratches across it. There was no calming him down at this point. He continued his rant about never picking raspberries again and what meanies they are. I had to finish picking on my own, while my husband comforted him. When we finally were ready to leave I asked him what would make him feel better, he said “A frozen lemonade.”
Tim Horton’s here we come!