They grow! Seven different varieties at Shingle Mill Farm meant we took a stroll through the farm and sampled each kind before buying two gallon bags.
They are picked.
They are cooked. I could hardly wait to get home.
And–voila!–they will be eaten.
Summer means freshly-picked blueberries and blueberry pancakes, doesn’t it? It certainly did when I was growing up (thank you, Grandma Winslow, for the berries).
Saturday morning I convinced Banjo Man to go to the annual Arts & Crafts Fair with me, so off we went to town on a beautiful summer day. We had hats, water, and the cooler. The artwork was impressive, as was the work the craftsmen had put into their creations. I bought a couple of little gifts, but we resisted the rest.
We kept reminding each other that we are downsizing.
The band at the Farmer’s Market was lively, as was the crowd. I bought a peppermint plant for the front deck, as I am once again at war with wasps and yellow jackets.
We ate lunch out and then still had the energy to go to Walmart for more wasp-killing supplies, socks and oranges.
I think it was the most exciting day we’ve had since Will left ten days ago.
