Today as we got out of the car to pick blueberries, my kids reminded each other “don’t eat them yet; the stuff they spray on the bugs will make you sick.”
The owner of Irvine Blueberries heard my kids say this, and told them that these were not sprayed, so go ahead and chow down. They were so excited to eat them “right off the tree”. We decided to try an organic farm this year, because the skins of blueberries are so thin the pesticides get into the berries, and then into your kids. Although this farm uses organic practices, they are not yet officially certified organic.
Now, I do not have the patience to hang around and pick enough blueberries for the year, so I order up 10 pounds and let my kids pick some just for fun. He also told us that Poison Ivy likes to grow around un-sprayed blueberry, um, trees; so be careful. He gave them buckets, said to put them around their waist. Away they went, into the fields - buckets around their necks.
Freezing blueberries is really easy; I just put them on cookie sheets lined with Parchment Paper until they’re frozen solid, then dump them in a bag. They don’t clump together so you can just scoop out as much as you need when you’re baking later in the year.
I always set a small bag aside and drag them back out during peach season. I cut fresh peaches into slices and put them together along with sugar. It’s our Christmas Morning breakfast; a tradition I like to keep alive because my Mom started it and it’s one way she can kind of be “with” us on that day.
And, although I totally should be, I am not paid by anyone to make the following statement: Use Ziploc. The double seal kind, not the little plastic zipper thing. Where cheap bags are present, freezer burn abounds.
The price was not bad either. For 10 pounds, it was $35.00. That’s about $2.25 for a pint of organic, local blueberries. I’m proud to be raising my kids to be healthy eaters, and know where their food comes from. Even if they don’t know the difference between a bush and a tree.
Yesterday there was supposed to be some racing pigeons at the kids’ school. I was not entirely clear about the tie-in, but somehow it was part of a summer reading program with the school library. By the time we got there, the pigeons were pooped and packing up, even though we arrived an hour before it was supposed to end. My kids were disappointed, and I was too. I really didn’t even understand if they ran, or flew, or what.
