With June Bea tucked behind my back, we wandered the rows of the berry farm, collecting and plucking, tasting and hoarding. The sun, out early and hot, divided the rows of berries with its casting of shadows. “The berries are better today than they will be tomorrow,” we heard a farmer say over the telephone as we gathered our baskets, tying them around our waists. We had picked the right day to come.
The grass was still wet from last night’s dew, but once we reached the blueberries, I let June down to explore nonetheless. She chased after the boys, laughing as they fed her. By the time we left she was covered in smashed berries and dirt: the true marks of a gatherer.
While June Bea napped, I filled my jam jars with our findings; happy to be back in the season of jamming, which is always my favorite season of all.