It's easy to fall in love with Portland. Even if you're a hard core urban dweller with a gritty past. Or a fast paced Wall-Streeter. Or a punk rock anarchist. Or someone who stands firmly in the middle of the road. Or an Earth-Firster. Or a fagilicious pretty boi. Or a single mother. Or a polyamorist. Or a restaurateur. Or a lone baker. Or a fence-sitter. Or a tea drinker.
Who doesn't love a place where 15 minutes from a bustling downtown center complete with
thousands of pedestrians, cars, buses and electric street trains, commerce and art, commercialism and competitive capitalism, buskers and food-carts, town squares and traffic circles, farmers' markets and strip joints, bars and AA Clubhouses, cross dress shops and Aveda hair salons, skateboarders and hacky sackers, cabdrivers and bike messengers,
an island devoted to agriculture?
Sauvie Island is a wondrous place. And now I fear I will never drive back to Northern California. Today I spent the morning, just as an oppressive heat was about to lay heavily over Portland, picking blueberries amongst the clipped chirpings of other voices doing the same. U-Pick farms are amazing. They are educational, delicious (my friend said she tells the owners every year that they should weigh her before and after she picks!), idyllic, country, pretty, and rewarding. Everyone is talking about pies and jam and cobblers and crisps.
And at $1 per pound, the outcome can only be fruitful.
These berries will inform my upcoming classes. They will dot my simple summer breakfasts, and perhaps even make it to an ice cream machine as an intense sorbet.
Will you do any U-Picking this summer? Do you go to the same farm every year?
For more blueberry picking images, check out the little cottage that houses more of my photographs: Flickr.