Blueberry Picking

Today was a perfect summer morning.  At seven am Meg and I set out for Burdick's Blueberry Farm near East Otto.  As we drove down the 219 we saw wreckage from yesterday's tornado. Outside Orchard Park there were clusters of downed trees decapitated by the wind. Crews were busy with power saws along the road's edge.  It's hard to believe that so much damage could unfold in a few short minutes.

Thirty minutes later we reached East Otto.  The little town seemed exactly the same as the last time we were there.  A General store, Church, Volunteer fire Station, and a Bar.  We drove on about 3 miles  until we came to Burdicks farm.  The hill was just as steep, the air clear, and the view - spectacular.

Ralph Waldo Emerson lamented in his eulogy for Henry David Thoreau that he hadn't become a leader of his generation.  Instead, Henry was a "captain of a Huckleberry party."  Standing in this blueberry field, breathing this clean, clear air, with the one I love more than any other, I mused that being a captain of a huckleberry part was not such a bad vocation.  Not bad at all.