I love picking blueberries. I think back to when I was a little girl and didn't like them, and I am grateful for the ability of taste buds to mature. When I first moved in with Jerry, my parents were so dumbfounded that I had finally caught a man, they immediately booked a flight to visit. Jerrold, of course, was a tad nervous. We had been berry picking that year, and I mentioned that offering my mother blueberries might be a good way to break the ice. She hadn't been in the house fifteen minutes when he said, "Diana, may I offer you a blueberry?"
And she replied, "Oh yes! Maybe ten or twelve," and they got along famously after that!
Below is a photo I took to give you an idea of the tundra in August. Note the foot sunk into the ground. That happens when you stand still. It is not like walking through mud. It is spongier and easier.
This was a good year for berries. There were a lot of them and they were big!
Each student was to pick one dixie cup of berries. Then the cafeteria staff would make "Blueberry Delight" for lunch one day. Apparently blueberry delight is whatever it is. Changes with the inclination of the cooking staff. This year it was blueberry cake and blueberry crisp.