Out Picking Raspberries

It’s raspberry season, which in our household requires at least three different trips to the raspberry farm to fill buckets with those premium fresh red lovelies.  I know I say it every year, but really, is there anything in the world more tasty than raspberries fresh off the bush?  I am certain there is not.  Just recently we had purchased raspberries from the grocery store, and they were very good.  But it was incredible how MUCH better the raspberries were at the raspberry farm.  Amazing.

While Grandma Kathy was visiting, I dragged her to the raspberry farm.  She is one fast, expert raspberry picker.  We had nearly two buckets full in hardly any time.  Then, last Monday after Dr. Peds got home from work, Mr. Sneaky Pants and I ran a couple of quick errands to the post office and the bank and headed to the raspberry farm with our buckets.  Mr. Sneaky Pants is my best raspberry picker.  YaYa hates raspberry picking and eats her fill and then usually sits down and grumps the rest of the time (which is nearly the whole time).  The Banana gets distracted.  Mr. Trouble on Feet is, well, trouble in a raspberry patch.  Mr. SP usually picks at least a quarter bucket full, and probably eats just as much straight from the bush.

At one point he came up with his bucket to compare our progress and stated, “Oh man!  You are beating me.  I need to stop eating so many.”

We picked and picked, and eventually he got tired of being there, and grumped a little and wandered off and then came back to picking.  He found a knife in a sheath under one of the bushes, which was exciting, and resulted in a trip to the raspberry stand to turn it in.  We picked some more.

Mr. SP:  You know, Mom, most people are talented at something.  Some people are talented at a lot of things.  I think my special talent happens to be eating.

Me:  Well, yes, you are very good at eating.  (My grocery budget sings that song loud and clear).

Mr. SP:  Yep.  I love eating.  And my other talent is causing trouble.