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.
The last batch of pictures from a very fun visit to see the whole family in New Jersey. We didn’t know it at the time, but Ce was getting sick and wasn’t her usual picking machine self out in the cherry orchard. She still managed to put away a good number and this year she understood the whole pit in the middle concept.
Cecilia likes fruit. I mean really likes it. To the point where the mere mention of strawberries or watermelon sends her into paroxysms of joy like she’s at an old time tent revival meeting. So after the success of strawberry picking a few weeks ago, Papa was eager to take her out to his local fields for some cherry picking. She took to it like an Italian to water ice. See for yourself.
(Ed. note: Momma would like to note that we are all wearing our pickin’ clothes not our Sunday finery and furthermore HD video cameras are the devil’s instrument and do no one any favors.)
We headed over to Lookout Farm to pick some strawberries today in order to give Cece a test run before she hits the fields for real with Papa in a few weeks. She was a natural at one part of the equation. I’ll let the evidence speak for itself.