We were led to the meshed-in blueberry acres, joined others who had the same great idea, met our blueberry variety, named Duke, then got to work. The only instructions, pick each blueberry bush clean, then mark our final emptied bush with a be-ribboned stake.
We thought, oh, maybe half a bucket each, but the lure is irresistable to pick from just one more bush, just one more, until you realize that your bucket is almost full, and the bucket on the other side of the bush is almost full and the sun is beating down and getting hotter (good call to remember the hats).
But you know, it doesn't really matter how many blueberries are in the bucket, too few or too many, the blueberry possibilities seem endless from cakes, pies, syrups, smoothies, pancakes, cereal toppers, by the fist full, as gifts, offerings and blue dreams of being a bird and finding just one perfect berry to sink your beak into, one more and one more until there is no more room, doesn't take much to fill a bird stomach.
And back to being human, 3 hours from idea of berry picking to a pancake studded with blue everywhere and fried to perfection, slathered with maple syrup, lunch!