I need a farm. Yes. In a past life, I know I was a farmer.
There is something so great about picking your own food. Emarie was completely gung ho about this activity too. We stopped at the berry check-in stand, listened to our instructions (since we were first timers), and then we were handed a box with some berry boxes stacked inside. We struck out toward the raspberry fields first. Just me, my plow, and my trusty mule. SEE, a farmer says that kind of stuff. I think.
I explained that only the red ones get picked, but really how well does a two year old understand that. She kept saying, “Mom, I find a good one” as she handed me a completely white one with the stem and leaves attached. Sorry Berry Patch Farms.
There were some great flowers too, and I’m kicking myself for not cutting a bouquet.
And everyone needs a good rock in a rocking chair.
And this is how we looked as we cruised home, berries in tow: