Pickin'

Last weekend I decided to take Mr. Independent berry picking. In retrospect I was stupid to think that it would be a good idea to do this alone, but as I was angry with my entire family, and Husband had some chores to do for my parents, I had to fly solo.
We drove 40 minutes to the Westmoreland Berry Farm and bought our buckets.


We saw goats while we waited for the tractor to come take us to the fields. Despite me explaining to him several times that the animals he kept trying to run to were goats, Mr. Independent insisted that they were "daaaaaw." Each time I corrected him he got louder until he yelled "DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWW!" so loudly that judgmental strangers with well-behaved children shot me judgmental looks that said I'd never allow my child to yell like that, but of course, I am a good parent, and she's obviously not.

We rode on the tractor to the fields.

This is us on the tractor. Again, it probably would have been better to have another adult there.

We had the option of picking cherries and blackberries, but we opted for just the blackberries. Some strangers let us sample some of their cherries, and of course, Mr. Independent demanded more. It would have been hypocritical of me to explain the don't take candy from strangers rule just then.

We got to the blackberry fields and got to work.



It was tough trying to corral a 15 month old and pick three buckets o'blackberries, so we gave up and headed home after one bucket full.



On the way home, one of us fell asleep, and one of us listened to Caedmon's Call and got us lost.

In my defense, the directions were wrong.


Mr. Independent's haul


My haul


Husband and I enjoyed a delicious blackberry cobbler that evening.