Marin and I went to Costco today to pick up some things for the pantry, and I bought some blueberries. There is just something about blueberries that takes me back to New York. Growing up in New York, we lived out in the country, and every August, blueberries were in season. We had buckets with twine attached to the side so we could put them over our shoulder, and then we had the big "Mother Bucket", one of those vintage spotted-tin buckets we kept in the back of our minivan. As we picked the berries, we would take our little buckets back to the van and dump them in the mother bucket. Now, of course, my siblings and I would end up eating most of what we picked (what else can you expect, eh?), and my oldest brother Jonathan showed me that if I spun the bucket fast enough, I could actually turn the bucket upside-down without dropping any berries. Just don't slow down, or you'll have a bluebery shower! And the rides to the blueberry farm were always fun, it took about 15-20 minutes. Tabitha would amaze me with stories of how ancient Egyptians would mummify their dead, and start by sticking metal skewers up through the nose, and then proceed to mash the poor dead bloake's brain, so when they tipped him over, the pulverized brain would drip out of the nose. I learned so much on those blueberry picking excursions! So anyway, as I ate some blueberries today, I remembered all those times my patient parents would haul us off to the farm to pick/eat bluberries, so our family could have frozen bluberries for the rest of the year. Such a good time!