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(Image credit: William Wyckoff)
Along with “drink lots of sangria” and “finally admit that I’m abandoning my fantasy baseball team,” picking blueberries is one of the only items on my “Summer Must-Do” list that I actually follow through on every year.
It’s messy work: Sweat runs steadily down my back, like a stubborn drippy faucet; there’s a big hank of hair that has pulled free of my ponytail and matted itself against the left side of my face, obscuring part of my vision; and every time I reach up from my precarious perch on a rickety plastic kitchen stool, something scratches my arms.
Then there’s the fact that one of my children — whom I can barely see, due to the web of hair and branches — is nearly always whining, “Can we go now? Mom, can we? Huh?”
But I love it: sweat, scratches, the whining, the whole mess.
Filed under: Fitness
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