Will Work for Blueberries

Welcome to the re-birth of Dogonmylap. . . the second edition of my sometimes travel blog (without the dog on my lap, this time.)We're here in Warwick R.I. for two weeks with our niece Rhonda and her partner Joe. They have purchased an 8.5 acre farm at Rocky Point on Warwick Neck--a knuckle of land protruding into one of the northernmost fingers of Narragansett Bay. This will be R and J's first season as the new proprietors of Rocky Point (U-Pick) Blueberry Farm.

About 2 acres of this beautifully preserved blanket of greenspace supports over 2200 well-established blueberry bushes. I walk down the path leading from the house through the hardwood forest, and emerge into a sun-drenched clearing. Taller-than-I-am bushes stretch away in all directions, reaching to the property's edge. The several varieties of bushes are laden with berries. They range from apple green to rosey, at the moment. They're fast approaching the deep navy blue of "ripe," but not yet tender and juicy enough to make the ubiquitous robins and other avian berryphiles a nuisance. Before that happens, giant nets--cut-to-size-- must be installed to protect the crop. Sounds like a daunting task. . . more about that when it happens.

We have come to work! The to-do list is long and continuous, but most of the tasks are familiar to any grower of berries--bigtime or small. Whether we're talking a backyard patch  or a no-nonsence cash crop, there are weeds to pull, mulching to be chipped and spread, and bushes to be tied and supported. (I'm grateful the annual pruning, spraying, and fertilizing chores have already been crossed-off the list.)

Yesterday, our first day on the job, the 4 of us painted the stand at the entry gate where pickers will check-in, get their buckets and then bring their harvest back to be weighed. What was a tired and sad-looking structure of weather-beaten wood is now a cheery combination of light and dark berry hues. Installing a blue and white striped awning over the ground in front of the counter will complete the make-over, well before the first pickers show up.

Field Supervisor

Time to head out to the field, where Gale is already pulling pigweed. But first. . .  many of you know (or could guess) that I'm missing Charlie on my lap as I type. Rhonda's little gentleman dachsund, Fritz, however, is keeping me from feeling completely dog-less. I'm glad we're becoming friends. He prefers his Mom's lap, of course, and he and I may never come to that level of closeness, but his bright eyes and happy tail make me smile.