I saw your invitation for stories about one's berrypicking adventures. Mine is told in this poem I wrote a couple of years ago, all about blueberries and blueberry picking.
 
 
On The Berry Grounds

Berries
From white to green then red
The silent hand of the creator
Turns them all
To blue

Blue as the blue of the ocean
On a clear day
As blue as infinite space
And of the hue of a drifting
Iceberg on a June afternoon

On the berry grounds- blueberries
Millions- trillions- too numerous to count
Forming
A spectacular carpet of blue

Branches laden down - blowing in the breeze
Knobs of juicy berries begging to be picked
A spectacular gift from Mother Nature
A bright spot in what is knowingly
The end of summer

Out of their homes they come
Berrypickers
The young, the middle aged, the old
Some with pots, some with pails
Some with buckets and boxes
Many carrying rakes

Across the barrens uphill along the path
Through the woods and down the valley
Eager pickers everywhere - gathering
The sweet precious fruit - ingredients
For blueberry pies, muffins, jams and jellies

Time slips by - afternoons shorten
The leaves turn to yet another colour
Gold - the gold of autumn
Remaining berries die
Feed for birds, seeds for another crop
Another year

Winter spreads her mantle of white
Thermostats go on high
The pies are eaten
Jams and jellies spread
Muffins are passed around

At Christmas - blueberry wine
Ready to pour
Crystal glasses charge
A toast is offered
To the master weaver
Mixer of colours

The architect of nature's own
The blueberry maker
The creator
In the sky

(Written by Bill Westcott, Clarke's Beach, NL)   Submitted By: NULL