Blueberry Picking

Besides the little roadside rush into the brushes for a handful of berries I have not been berry picking in years. When D suggested this during my stay in Oregon I was almost jumping up and down saying lets go, lets go.

When we were little we spent a good part of our summer picking berries out behind Our Aunt and Uncles barn up the Coos River. When the Aunts would come and visit from Utah or other far away places we would get to venture up the river more to other less picked areas. These memories were are a mixture of sunburns, pricked fingers, and warm blackberries melting in your mouth.

My favorite part was actually the making of the Jam. Well, not actually the making of the jam, but the fist bite of homemade bread spread with the "foam" that settled on the top of the jam while stirring. The foam had to be spooned off so it would not get mixed in with the pure preserves to be bottled.

Blueberry picking with D and the girls was fun. It took a few minutes not to feel guilty about "testing" the blueberries as we picked. I was reassured that this was how it was done, the owners expected it. Hmmmmm, fresh berries.



It took less than an hour to get the amount we wanted. We then went to the cutest and yummiest cafe. I would tell you were, but I cannot remember. I just know that my heaven will look alot like this. The restaurant itself was quaint with stained glass and antique cool things everywhere. But I loved the view overlooking the market across the street. The feeling of being out in nowhereville with only the locals, but knowing that Portland was only a short distance away. Ahhhhh, just thinking about it again makes me all happy inside.