I don't know why. Your legs get scraped and the sun beats down and they're just so small.
But when we're done, and I finally get both girls strapped in the car, and the berries ride up front with me, and half of them are gone before we've even driven back -- maybe that's why I like it.
Last time we went, Betsy was obsessively dedicated to picking and got almost as many as me. They even charged me for hers, because the bucket wasn't full of white berries, leaves, and assorted rocks. This time? She fed the tame deer who live on the other side of the fence the whole time. Which was really sweet and endearing... until she tantrumed when it was time to leave because she knew at home, she only gets to eat what she picks -- and of course, she only had a small cupful.
Don't judge. I have my reasons. I want to eat the rest myself. And I'm sure it's teaching some awesome work-hard moral, kinda like the one with the ants and the grasshopper.
P.S. I'll take pictures next time we go and add some. You've got to see this cute little place we go.
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