razzamatazz

this past saturday saw the wheelers at harvold's berry farm in carnation, stuffing their faces and picking bucketfuls of ripe, red, juicy raspberries. 

here's how the little worker bees went down: 

summer: worked hard, picked much more than anyone thought she would, and made friends chatting away with a little girl picking berries in the row next to us.  

afton: skeptically picked a handful of berries then plopped herself down in the dirt and played quietly and happily by herself in that fantastic imagination of hers until it was time to go.  

caleb: made up excuses as to how he was a "baby" and couldn't help us and then fell peacefully asleep.

bryan: pick, pick, eat. pick, pick, eat. pick, pick eat. pick, pick, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat.

emily: a regular berry picking machine, she could have plucked ripe berries from their bushes all the live long day. 

all up, we walked away with full bellies, dirty faces, new friends, and twenty and a half pounds of berries.

we were quite pleased and very proud of ourselves until we got all the berries home and realized we hadn't a clue what we were going to do with twenty and a half pounds of raspberries. 

raspberry crisis mode ensued and only ended on tuesday after bryan and i stayed up all night turning what berries we didn't eat, freeze, or blend into twenty-eight cups of raspberry jam.

side note: raspberry jamming is something one should do completely naked or just plan on throwing the clothes you're wearing away.