For those of you who have been following my blog posts, you know that I was born and raised in Newfoundland, Canada, and was an avid berry-picker from the time I could hold a berry in my small hands. When the season started mid-June with strawberries, my cousins and I were out from morning to evening until the season ended with the last of dwindling blueberries and early frost in September.
A lot has changed since then, but my taste for wild berries has not. I still go back home during the summer to go berry picking, although, actually finding some is a job within itself.
Now that I live in the suburbs, I just get in my car and drive ten minutes to Downey’s Farm, where I can still pick strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries. Of course, it’s not the same, but the fact that I am picking my own gives me a sense of satisfaction. I control what goes into my basket. However, they are not organic, but I am told that “little pesticide use is necessary in the beginning.”
I pick until I have no more room in my freezer and use the berries all winter long in smoothies and baking; sometimes, I put some in my oatmeal. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that berries are the greatest food EVER.
My mother and son helped out during this outing.