It is berry-picking time again – blueberries and blackberries, those succulent, juicy, sweet gifts from Mother Nature are now out there ripe for the picking.

I learned my berry-picking skills from my grandmother when I was a young girl in the 1960s growing up in the mountains of southern Vermont.

She would take me down on the path to the dock on the lake at their camp, and point out to me which blueberries were safe to pick (the low-bush ones), and the ones to avoid that were “poison” (the higher red and blue bush berries that had a characteristic shine to them). Just the mention of the words “poisonous berries” to me conjured up a vision of a horrid result to my little person if I should eat one – perhaps frothing at the mouth, eyes bugging out of their sockets, smoke coming out of my ears, things like that. No way would I pick those berries!

Together, we would pick a bowl of blueberries and then go into the camp whereupon I watched her do her magic of making a luscious blueberry pie. She would roll out the most perfect pie crust, that in turn would become the most flakiest, yummiest crust ~ thick on the edges, fluted to perfection ~ with the blueberry mixture inside that was sweet and so very dark.

On my plate, that delectable concoction oozed a thickened blue juice that stained my teeth and tongue blue and made my mouth very happy. She also loved to make her blackberry pies. She had blackberry bushes behind her house, and she would give me the task of picking the berries. I would ask if I could eat them as I picked them, but she told me that if I picked her three cups, I could have a cup for myself.

My 7-year-old little self would eagerly brave the prickers and twigs and make my way into the berry jungle to get that coveted cup of blackberries. I would emerge with scratches all over my arms and legs, but boy, did I have a feast ahead of me! And I always wanted to please my grandmother.

Now that I am older, every year at this time I venture out to our fields to pick those wonderful berrries. I am teaching my 7-year-old grandson the art of picking berries, too. I hope that someday, he will look back fondly on the memories of picking berries with his grammie, just as I do to this day.

Got to go now – my warm slice of bluebery pie right out of the oven is waiting for me!

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