The Look Of Hope

Chapter 42: Blueberries, Poo, And Da-da Too

"Happy Almost National Blueberry Day!" Mary exclaimed with delight. She then kissed her husband good morning and jumped out of bed, ready to get the day started. He groaned and went back to sleep. 

Two months into living in their new house and they're loving it. After moving the rest of their clothing, food items, and other important things they wanted to keep, they fell into the normal rhythm of things. Though much bigger, the house feels like they've always lived here. It feels like home. 

Aunt Pitty agrees. After they had picked themselves up from the floor of their new extra large, walk-in closet, they toured the remaining rooms. Then they joined their family and friends outside for a house warming get together. Aunt Pitty hugged them both and said "This house is totally transformed. I hardly recognize it. What was once something old and decrepit, is now new and refreshed. It looks like it was made for you. And perhaps it was. Maybe you're the reason I could never truly sell it. I'm glad it's in good hands now."

 They can never truly thank her enough for this estate and opportunity to own something greater than themselves, with the orchard. As Mary says a lasting legacy for generations to come.

At first Mary worried over the girls sleeping upstairs, away from them. However, her worry faded. Grace is sleeping well throughout the nights now and Lydia loves her new room. Plus with she and Bobby downstairs it creates a whole new dynamic. Parents on one level, kids on the other. Her husband loves this, for obvious reasons. 

During this time of moving in and acclimating to the new house, blueberry season started. Anxious tension filled the air. Both Mary and Ms. Katie prayed for a good harvest. One breezy morning in June, Mary gathered Grace in her arms and put her in the wrap carrier. She instructed Lydia to get the willow basket, on the small table beside the French patio doors. She did. "I get it Mommy," she said holding the basket up with a proud look. It's the perfect size for her to carry, with a handle.

After telling her "Good job Bug", they walked outside and in the direction of the field. Oh how she hoped the bushes would have produced bunches of blueberries. Not expecting much this first season, and not wanting to get her hopes up too much, she could not believe her eyes. At the front of the orchard the bushes were laden with blueberries, as far and as wide as she can see. 

Lydia pointed. "Look Mommy, boo-berries." She still has trouble with blend sounds, which Ms. Tasha tells her is normal. Mary's going to miss Ms. Tasha when Lydia moves up to the three year old room, in the Fall. 

"I see Baby. Let's go check the other rows closer to the back." She took Lydia's hand and they began to walk to back of the orchard. The bushes are plentiful there too. So excited, Lydia wanted to pick them. But her mother had other ideas. "Wait. Let's go back to the front. We'll pick some there."  

From that day on the Merry Berry Farm had been open for business. The U-Pick blueberries have been a raving success. People from all over the metro area came, once they heard about the berry farm. It also seems like the whole island community, of Grand Bay, has been out to pick blueberries. One thing Mary and Ms. Katie have loved seeing is all of the children and families enjoying the picking together. This made their hearts happy.

She and Mary decided their berry prices months ago. They sell by the gallons and quarts. Twenty dollars for a gallon of blueberries. Seven for a quart. It's a fair price for fresh berries and for a profit. 

In late June the two of them planned a week long Nature Day Camp, for kids. This was also a success. Since Gwen is a second grade teacher, Mary asked her friend to help her with the curriculum. She wanted the camp children to spend the days learning about blueberries, nature on the farm, making arts and crafts and other fun things like that. In early April, during Mary's house ban, together they mapped out the curriculum for the camp week.