Okay, so first off — the mr. is a blueberry picking champ. I swear that with just one fully operational arm (collarbone still good and broken), in the 95 degree heat, he out-picked me two to one.
… not that I’m competitive.
Technically, I’ve never been blueberry picking. I’ve been to pick strawberries a ton… but growing up, all I had to do to find a handful of fresh blueberries was walk over the river and through the woods (not joking) to my grandparents’ house. And just like a certain crisp in the air never fails to remind me of summer mornings spent camping in Oregon, fresh blueberries will always remind me of my grandma and grandpa.