Blood will tell.
A late, triple H (hazy/hot/humid for the uninitiated) Sunday afternoon after a long triple H weekend, what better time to take the kids (one with a serious bee phobia) to the pick-your-own-berry farm?
I was on eggshells pretty much from the moment we pulled into the parking lot and the sweat started prickling my back. But proving that that Mendel fellow might have known what he was talking about, the kids channeled their mother’s Sicilian farmer blood and had a blast.
I’m pretty sure Ally was annoyed we’d been holding out this all you can eat blueberry buffet for so long.
Blood will tell. Pictures will, too.