Every fall my parents go picking blueberries. When I was younger I went with them every year. We would drive out of town and find a good spot to pick berries. Then we split up, everyone would find their own place and we started our quest for the biggest and the juiciest. Just like every other kid, I ate most of my berries, well to begin with at least. My sister then challenged me to a competition, Who Can Pick Most Berries.

After a couple of hours my mother called us together and we would eat sandwiches and juice she had prepared earlier. We would then continue for a little while, but us kids were usually tired by that time.

When we got home we needed to pick out the grass and an occasional spider from the berries, everyone would sit around the table in the kitchen and us kids would listen to the grown ups telling stories and chatting. When we were finished, my parents made jam and soup from the berries. We would have so much it lasted the whole year, until next time we went picking berries again.

After a day like this, when I got to bed and closed my eyes, a picture of thousand berries was engraved in my head and I would even dream of them too.