We went berry picking with the kids the other day. It's our yearly pilgrimage to Berry Patch Farms in Brighton. The kids have run of a real farm complete with pigs, chickens and turkeys that roam around. Ryan and I both grew up far away from the grids and structure of a large city. It is a little odd for us to be raising city children, and we try not to laugh as they run screaming from the chickens. Part of the reason we like it as a family outing is it is so kid friendly. We're out in the middle of acres of nothing but berry bushes. Knee deep in raspberries, there is not much for Benny to break, climb on, or fall off of. Olivia is my official "helper," emptying the berry container faster than I can pick them. The three of them wander around the rows and their little voices drift back to us.
"Shoo, shoo, shoo!"
"What are you shooing Benny?"
"Grasshoppers, they don't know these berries are just for kids." This comment is accompanied by the rapid beating of the raspberry bushes and the sound of tall grass flicking as millions of grasshoppers flee before Benny.
Benny and Olivia's best rooster imitation. Benny informed me, the rooster was "singing." (Please excuse my sideways video. There is no way to turn it as far as I know.)