We are on a hilariously southern family weekend vacation. The stated purpose is to load up on You-Pick blueberries out here in the country. The unstated purpose is plain old shits and giggles.
The ‘country,’ in Lousiana anyway, is just one long strip mall. We’re staying at a Best West*rn in the middle of several miles of box stores, and dare I admit in this eco-blog world that we ate fast food for two meals today? There goes my yearly ration. Damn does my belly hurt.
As we walked to the hotel pool to cool off after berry picking, past the pickups, lawn chairs and the tailgating barbecue setup, I heard this song. I shit you not:
“Out here in the sticks. With the squirrels and the ticks, and my 30.06 (that’s a rifle, for those poor folk in non-gun-loving countries. Pronounced ‘thirty-ot-six’). Runnin’ out of Miller Lite…”
At that point I had walked out of range. I didn’t get to hear what rhymed with ‘Lite.’ I did however get to hear the guy in the pool, singing along at full volume.
Ah, the south.
Anyway, whoa. Where was I? Oh yeah, we came to pick berries. In two picking sessions (one with family playing in the rows, one solo) I got 6 full gallons of fantastic organic blueberries.
All’s well that ends with a home pack, I always say.
My regular Saturday post might not come till Monday. Not that my mind hasn’t been regularly a-buzz with so many subjects I had to start a list. But blogging had to be sacrificed for the greater berry good.