There are many places in the D.C. area to pick your own fruits and vegetables.  We go to Homestead Farm in Poolesville, Maryland.  We pick apples in the fall and berries in the summer.  In December, we buy our Christmas tree from Homestead.  We always take the hayride whenever it’s running.  It’s a quiet way to see the workings of a farm…and Dom loves to yell out the names of animals as we pass them.

Today, we went blackberry and peach picking with my mother-in-law.  I love to have her join us on these fruit-picking excursions.  I think she gives Dom more freedom than I would.  She allows him to run through the fields, and she even lets him eat fruit straight off of the vine.  I’m a paranoid Mommy, and if Dom had only my reaction to go by, he would think all natural beauty is to be avoided at any cost.  I mean, they say they’re pesticide-free, but don’t birds still poop on the trees?

Dom is finally old enough to really get into the fun at the farm.  He helped us pick too many peaches…that may have been Daddy’s fault, since the midget couldn’t reach them without help.  We fed the already-overfed goats and counted the eggs in the henhouse.  And we watched the pigs sleep.  For 40 minutes.  Seriously, the boy was transfixed.

Dom also helped us eat…er, pick…blackberries.  We had to hunt for the ripe ones, and he quickly learned the difference between the ripe and unripe berries.  His Grandma had so much fun chasing him through the rows of blackberry bushes that she didn’t get many berries picked for herself (she’ll be fine…I’m baking her a cobbler). 

As I sit here, the apartment is finally quiet.  I’m exhausted.  I have more fruit in the kitchen than I’ve had since we went apple picking last fall, and I’ll worry about it all tomorrow.  Tonight, I eat blackberries.