We picked twenty quarts. It was hot but not too hot—muggy. We drove to Maine on Thursday, and it rained on Friday and Saturday. The fields were closed. Sunday, they reopened, but the berries were soggy, and many were rotten. It wasn't our usual  big haul. The picking was slow, even with helpers—we brought Sally's cousins along. The little one with the high ponytail. Miss Sal herself, just ran down the rows, snatching up the flags that marked where to begin picking and where the last person had left off. 

After the eating and the sharing, we brought home sixteen quarts. I left them overnight in the cooler, and this morning I washed and hulled, sliced and froze. Let's hope the wild blueberries give a better haul.  In the meantime, I've got peas to shell. Happy July, everyone—I hope it's treating you well.

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