The other morning Taylor and I awoke feeling rather blue. Not because the cats decided to use our bodies as early-morning spring boards; rather, we had blueberries on the brain. That's the best kind of blue. So, in spite of the heat, we put on our grubby clothes, loaded up on bug spray, and headed out to the country for a good ol' fashioned blueberry-pickin' date. The fields were swarming with bugs, but the bushes were hanging heavy with ripe berries. It didn't take us long to pick two whole buckets of beautiful blues. Actually, we probably picked two and a half buckets, if you count all the 'snacks' we had along the way (those are free, right?) Yes, we were dripping by the end of it, but it was well worth the blood, sweat, and tears. Ok, just sweat. No tears were shed in the picking of these berries. Once we got home I realized just how many blueberries we actually picked. It's easy to go overboard when you're meandering down long, overgrown aisles and each bush seems to have more

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