This summer we had a stretch of hot weather, which typically melts Northwesterner's as they dwell in the 30’s to 70’s throughout the year. We hit 91° yesterday, and that was the day we decided to go pick blueberry's. With forethought on our side, we left mid morning to arrive at a lovely, mature field of organic blueberries with our sunhats and pails. At a dollar a pound we were primed to get some serious picking done. And we did, successfully avoiding sunburn and heat exhaustion. We will enjoy the bounty of our labor throughout the winter.
The owner of the field, a hearty woman with long graying hair and a passionate commitment to organic farming, had invited several of her girlfriends over to pick berries that day. Now Steph and I get down to business when we take on a project. We’re not averse to small talk while working, but we’re focused. I realized after picking for about forty five minutes that the three women picking just a few rows away had been talking non-stop the entire time! I lean toward the “celebrate the difference” camp, but eschew the men are from Mars, women are from Venus baloney, so no sweeping statements here. It's just as the morning wore on I became increasingly amazed at how much verbal ground these gals could cover without missing a berry.
If you’ve ever spent any time around chickens, you know they burble about in a loose group picking at whatever catches their eye. A steady stream of poultry inflection and tonal range pours out of their throats in a chit chatty way that comes as close to those three women’s banter as anything I’ve ever heard.
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