During our morning walk, we happened upon ripe blackberries. We ate ourselves silly and returning home with stained hands and mouths, we located the owner of the property who gave us permission to pick as many as we liked.
After gathering buckets and snacks and water and using the bathroom and changing clothes and loading into the van and driving 1/2 mile to the spot and unloading and putting the baby in the stroller and getting out the snacks and water and buckets, we were ready to start. Let me rephrase that, I was ready to start. Stephen did assist for a little while by holding a bucket and telling me to put the berries in there. The excitement quickly waned and he went off to do something.
I should have paid more attention, but my focus was berries and lots of them. Then I heard Stephen cry, "He dumped out the berries." I knew Andrew was right beside me so it had to be Matthew to which he was referring. I turned around to find that for some reason known only to a toddler, Stephen had placed his bowl of berries on top of Matthew in the stroller. Matthew proceeded to turn out the cup-or-so of fresh blackberries onto himself and then kick his legs violently. His legs were purple and splotchy, and Stephen was upset by the loss of his produce.
I did manage to pick a gallon or so before the rain came. The boys occupied themselves, not by being the good little rabbits, but by pretending to be Peter. I was obliged to threaten to beat them with my hoe if they didn't stay out of the garden.
I never did catch the naughty rabbits, but I did make a delicious wheat-free version of "Mom's Cobbler" that Doug and I enjoyed a la mode.
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