One of the greatest things about where we live is that we have been able to take part in what was once a normal routine for those early farmers cultivating the land. Dotted throughout the Southern Wisconsin area are numerous "pick-your-own" farms that have anything from apples to zucchini and let you come onto their land and pick as much as you can possibly carry. Earlier this summer, we went out and picked a bunch of strawberries, brought them home, and made jars of jelly, froze some for later, and ate them fresh on some ice cream or by themselves. We tried another farm and picked some okra that we had high hopes for, but a failed attempt at fried okra and a not-so scrumptious bout of canning pickled okra didn't do too much to raise our appetite to try them out. I'm sure we will, but it's kind of like rooting for Notre Dame right now. Always have great expectations at the beginning, but it falls short of the standards you were expecting toward the end.
Today, we decided to go to a farm and pick some raspberries. The weather was perfect with a stiff breeze, low humidity, and a temperature that never spiked above 65. Our daughter was very excited to do it and found that picking raspberries is a bit more easy on the back than picking strawberries was. Not to mention, a lot more exciting than picking okra. I was taking pictures of the bugs and plants and looked up to see her face showing the determination to get the right berry as well as the happiness she was feeling to be having a great experience with me and Anna.
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