Today I went berry picking. In New Jersey berry picking entails driving and hour, getting car sick, paying $10 for two small cartons of raspberries you pick, driving another hour, getting even more car sick, and then being worn out when you get home.
All in all, it isn't as bad as I make it out to be, but it sure isn't like the days when I would pick raspberries with Grandma Cheney. She had a raspberry patch in her back yard and often times I would get recruited to go pick raspberries with her.
First we would get all the garb on. Long sleeve shirt (usually one of my grandpa's old shirts) rubber gloves (the cheap dish washing kind), a big straw hat, and the picking container. The picking container was either a gallon milk jug with the top cut off and a piece of fabric strung through the handle or a juice pitcher with the fabric strung through the handle.
I kind of felt like I was going on a jungle trek or something. Grandma always had a five gallon bucket for a stool and we would pick and pick and pick. When I was young and lazy, I hated it. I would pick for about three minutes and decide I was worn out. Looking back, I am so glad my grandma was insistent that I keep on working.
My Grandma Cheney passed away about a year and a half ago and I still remember the many things she taught me. In everything we did together on thing was a constant. Hard work. My favorite part about berry picking today was remembering those special times with grandma.
3 comments:
I thought when you said "Berry Picking" that you were picking this Berry for coolest person you know???? What a shame that wasn't true. :)
I took Michael out berry picking this summer, he was slow and didn't really care for it. after we made jam with the berries, and once again he didn't really care for it. But when the jam was all done he was very proud of his work.
don't you love good grandma memories? I miss the thigns I used to do with my grandma.
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