Attempted-Huckleberrying (sounds like a crime, doesn't it?).

There is something stunning about every landscape in our country.  They're all so different, yet so beautiful, and I guess you can appreciate it most if you remove comparisons.  Just enjoying them for what they are.  Mountains, beaches, deserts, rolling hills, farmland, etc.
 

(Hmm, that's a lot like people, too.  Have you ever noticed that everyone is beautiful if you're not comparing them to someone else's beauty.  I've tried it--just looking at someone without them knowing--and I can see beauty in eveyone when I look for it.  Okay, that sounds a little strange when it's written down, but it's true, in a I-stare-at-random-people sort of way.)

We pass through beautiful country as we head for the hills to pick huckleberries, jumping from amber waves of grain to forests of pine, all in a matter of minutes.  A windows-down, take the truck, experience.  Once we're off the beaten path, in the woods, dirt roads, the kids climb into the truck bed.  Oh, happy day!  This is my idea of a down-home, good time.  Life feels simple and whole.

As romantic as the trip sounds, our huckleberrying was NOT so idealistic.  We were late this year.  By about two weeks.  Thank goodness Ben is so enthusiastic when it comes to picking berries because we all would have whined the entire time without him.  Huckleberries are about the size of peas.  It takes a LONG time to fill the bottom of a bucket.  And guess what (drumroll, please) . . . we (8 of us, Mom and Dad came along) picked ALMOST three cups worth.  How sad is that?  And even more sad when I admit that I DROPPED my bucket and crawled in the dirt to retrieve all of thirty berries that were picked through blood, sweat, and tears.

Oh, well. 
It's about the experience, right? 
We had fun. 
We were surrounded by beauty. 
We were together. 
That's what matters. 
(And I mastered the art of, ahem, going potty behind trees.  Too much information, I know, but, for a girl,a very PREGNANT girl, that's no small feat.)