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Grim's Tales: Best berry year ever!

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There are some old timers who will tell me how wrong I am.

They remember back after the Badoura fire of 1977 how they were able to pick cream cans of blueberries in less than an hour. I bow down to you who picked berries during this mystical time, but I wasn't even alive for it, so in my mind it never happened.

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I somehow knew that our on-again, off-again rain/sunny weather was creating a prime berry picking season. Many of the berries in our wild blueberry patch are the size of commercially grown berries! Almost all of the wild raspberries we picked were as big as or bigger than commercial varieties!

I'm more than pleased with my five gallons of blueberries and three gallons of raspberries. Sadly, I missed the wild strawberries, and only time will tell how the blackberries will mature, but I have high hopes after last year's bunker crop.

In addition to the sheer quantity of berries, revenge has made the flavor of this year's berry season even sweeter.

Last year, I was very busy around this time of year. So busy I didn't feel like I had time to just wander into the woods to look for berries. As a result, I went to church one weekend and chatted with my father, aka Benedict Arnold, afterward.

"The blueberries were great this week!" Arnold said.

"Yeah? I will have to get out there," I said shyly.

"Oh, they're done now," Arnold replied to his devastated son.

Sure enough, I went out into the woods and found not a single blue freckle remained. How terrible it was!

I got my revenge, and it was plenty cold. I went out to my dad's property where a shed had fallen over. The shed was built from pine that was logged off by my grandfather or great grandfather, milled by the same and then used to build the shed. When the shed fell over, I went out and completely disassembled the remains and leaned them against another building so they wouldn't rot and I could use them for crafts. When I left, I decided to check the blueberry bush, and was it glorious!

I picked a couple handfuls of berries and shoveled them directly into my mouth. I put a few in a container in my car to show off later, and I returned home.

I made plans to return to the woods the next morning, Sunday, and pick like crazy.

Again, I chatted with dad after Mass.

"The blueberries are going to be ready next week," he told me in all seriousness.

"Oh?" I asked innocently. "Next week, you say?"

We chatted a while longer, and I never let on that the blueberries were ripe NOW. I still let out a maniacal laugh whenever I think about it.

My mother and I did well with picking on Sunday, but the following Wednesday we found the best berry bush yet, and picking was fast and easy. On our ride home I called my dad and informed him that the blueberries were awesome this year. There were still plenty to pick, just not right next to the road. Other people had discovered the berries, and I didn't want my dad to miss out. I'm conniving, not evil ... unless you are talking about wild plums. I could be evil for wild plums.

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