Shown having fun at the blueberry farm are Julia Ward (6), Hailey Sapir (7), and Emily Sapir (6). Behind them is Katie Ward (10). The girls are neighbors on Tall Timbers Lane. Photo by Dan Sapir

HIM: She and I are both from New Jersey, she from a little town named South River and me from the city of New Brunswick…home of Rutgers University and Johnson & Johnson products. One thing we both did as kids was to go blueberry picking. Some of our fondest moments when we were kids was snagging a bowl and heading out to the bushes that were abundant back then. As we got older it seemed a whole lot easier to watch for the specials on blueberries when they were in season, or pay the outrageous prices when they weren’t.

For all the years we have lived in Kingston, well over 30, I had never ventured forth to Foster Lane where I heard the blueberries were abundant and among the best you have ever tasted. Somewhere along the way, I had lost my spirit of adventure. I told her that we should be open to new things, but she handed me five bucks and told be to make a trip to Stop & Shop. Store- bought blueberries don’t seem to quite make it, although, if you read the labels you will find that they either come from Canada or…you guessed it, New Jersey, Hammonton to be exact. They loose something in the processing. They look like and have the consistency of a blueberry, but lack that tart taste most people crave.

When youngest daughter Amanda, living in Tucson, visited us for two weeks in August, we decided to hit the road for Foster Lane. Nancy, true to form, patted us on the head and said, "You two have a nice time together, I’ll make something nice with the berries." So, without the spoilsport joining us, we plunged into the wilderness that is #11 Rear Foster Lane. When you hit Summer Street the first thing that you notice is the old sign, created freehand with blue paint. The street sign tells you it is a dead end street, in other words you are either visiting someone in the handful of homes…or you are there for the picking. The road takes a hard right and down a dirt road where the view opens up on a 23 acre beautiful expanse of land. A large, well manicured meadow greets you and beyond that is about six acres dedicated to blueberry bushes. No sprays of any kind are used on the bushes so you don’t even have to wash them.

Property owner Tim Shea said that when he bought the place about eight years ago, the bushes were pretty well tapped out. He cut down every one of the almost 1,600 bushes so they would regenerate and grow back with lots of lush fruit; that decision cost him years of waiting for the bushes to "come back". They are in neat rows and form a front field and a back field.

With Amanda in tow we plucked almost six pounds in about an hour. We reported to the weigh station and were only too happy to pay $3.50 a pound for a great berry and a trip down memory lane. The season was a good one for Tim and he expects to wind down on or around the 15

th of September. There is still a really short window to get yourself down there. I should mention that Nancy says blueberries freeze really well. Although she creates a single layer on cookie sheets, freezes them and then places them in a freezer bag, Tim says that is not necessary, "Just pour them in the bag, seal it and freeze, they won’t stick."

Now Nancy knows I’m on a big time diet (I’m proud to say that I have lost 40 pounds in four months) so you’d think she would be sensitive to the temptations of blueberry cake, muffins, and pancakes…ugh uggh! She got a killer recipe for blueberry cake from our next door neighbor Nettie Edwards, who, in her mid 90’s is as tough a Yankee as found in these parts. The calorie content can set you back 10 lbs in three days.It’s a test of wills and I’m not that strong. For my own part, a couple handfuls of those Foster Lane blues in a bowl filled with Total Cereal and Simply Smart fat free milk is as good as it gets. Maybe one day I can actually get her to take that safari to the wilderness that is Foster Lane (that would rank right up there with teaching her to pump gas at a self serve station). For my own part, it represents a great discovery that I wish I had found sooner.

HER: This is the best time of year to live in a small town. Everything is green and lush with pretty flowers in bloom everywhere you look, and how thrilling it is that you can pick your own blueberries right here in town. Mr. Shea’s berries are truly magnificent. They’re so plump and firm and delicious.

Our friends, Gayle and Bruce Metcalf, proved themselves to be master gardeners this year, and every few days Gayle leaves bags of fresh vegetables on top of the mailbox. I just love that, and the fact that we’re enjoying food our neighbors grew with such care and choose to share is especially nice.

I tried growing some produce in pots this year. The groundhog that decimated two of my gardens 15 years ago and caused me to throw in the trowel has left generations of descendants behind. They still stroll through the yard hoping no doubt that I’ll be dumb enough to try again. Most of you know that Dan has no respect for my gardening skills. For example, I grew cherry tomato plants from seed and potted them. Many tomatoes appeared, but failed to ripen. His friend Eddie told him they never would, so of course, he immediately told me my tomatoes would never ripen. If Eddie said it, then it must be true. I told him we’d see what God had to say about it. Well, they ripened and even Dan had to admit they’re delicious. If you haven’t yet tried roasted cherry tomatoes, you’re missing a treat. I saw this on the Barefoot Contessa on the Food Network. Put the cherry tomatoes on a cookie sheet and toss them with extra virgin olive oil, kosher salt, and coarse pepper. I throw a smashed clove of garlic in, too. Toss the tomatoes with your hands to distribute the oil and spices and bake at 400 or 425 until the tomatoes pop open. Top them off with some fresh chopped basil and you will be amazed at the intense flavor.

It is a miraculous gift to grow food. You put some seeds into good soil and water them, and heaven does the rest for you, just like in everyday life.

He just cracks me up the way he thinks he conquered the universe by picking some berries. Men used to go out with spears and kill dinner, not just gather the side dishes. And you’ll notice that because Mr. Shea says you don’t have to freeze your berries on a cookie sheet first, he thinks that’s the last word on the subject. Why do men do that? I’ve heard it from other women for years that they’ll tell their husbands a truth that the men don’t believe unless they’ve heard it from a stranger or another man. It’s the most frustrating thing. Then when they find out the advice was flawed or wrong, they forget where they heard the truth in the first place. If you remind them, they say, "You always have to be right, don’t you?" One must conclude that men don’t like women being right at all unless a woman is telling them how wonderful they are. They always believe that right out of the gate.

Well, blueberry season is nearly over and he won’t be picking berries three times a week, and I won’t be baking five times a week, so what’s next for him?

Oh good Lord, Barry Mathias has a pumpkin farm.