Huckleberry Haul

 

After last year's pitiful handful of berries, this year our Sunday after church trip seemed incredible--and I think we only picked for an hour and half--with Phil doing most of the picking. This is our third year taking the boys out--Deacon was just two his first trip! And now at five and four they've got it down . . . but it doesn't hold their attention. It's hard for a berry to compete with grasshoppers, sticks, rusty tin cans, and the possiblity of seeing a deer or bear.

Deacon was all geared up for a hike, pack filled with toys and all, so he left the rest of us to "hike" and every five or ten feet would call up to me, "Mommy! Do you see my pack? I see your face. I'm not too far. Yell if you need me to protect you!"

Bryce was a perfect berry scout, and found pointing out berry-covered bushes to be far more intriging than actually picking their berries. Phil would answer, "Thanks Bryce. I'm going to work my way over there, buddy". So, finally Bryce suggested that we both work our ways a little faster.

Deacon conked out rather quickly on the drive home, only opening his eyes when I asked if he wanted a peanut butter cup (a post hike tradition), then he closed his eyes to eat it, and contentedly drifted back into complete sleep with his fingers still posed as if clasping a ghost peanut butter cup.

Also, I learned how bears eat berries (no we didn't see one); I just finally remembered to ask Phil. Who if you didn't know, knows everything (except he didn't know who Amy Winehouse was when I mentioned she'd died).