Last Weekend on our mini tour of northern Vermont, Jack and I stumbled upon a berry picking farm. We were hesitant to stop, or rather I was, because it was so warm outside, and neither of us had a particularly good night of sleep (note to self-prepare better for camping on solid ground). Fortunately Jack was in a nice and generous mood, and decided it would be worth it for us to stop.
Thank you Jack- this had to be one of my very favorite berry picking excursions, and not even because the berries were delicious. The place was called Charlotte Berry Farm,and they had lovely red raspberries and a variety of blueberries to pick. The raspberries were nearing the end of the season, so the pickings were slim, but it was fun nonetheless. I was most surprised that their red raspberries were almost done, and we hadn't even seen any in Mass yet.
The reason I am telling a story about berry picking is not so much for the berries themselves, though they were delicious. Rather, the farm was simply amazing. The farmhouse was a palette of pastels, figments of little girls' imaginations, and big girls' secret desires. There were flowers, and a baked goods area, and to top it off, a little girl having a tea party with her teddy bear. I fell in love at first sight.
I believe I have a hidden desire to be a little kid again, to experience the tea parties and colors and beauty of childhood, as it all too quickly passed. Thankfully, the Charlotte Berry Farm offered me the chance to relive my little girl desires. I only hope to return to this place, or create one just like it wherever life takes me. Until then, I will cherish that morning, and remember it for years to come.
Ohhh, and what came of the 4 pounds of berries you might ask? We made about 7 jars of raspberry jam to be featured in some of our family and close friends' Christmas gifts!