Sometimes it is early summer and there are berries to be picked. The understanding of this tale must reach back in time to about two years before it happened. Bezel, my youngest son was born in July. Maxim was two at the time and everything about having a younger brother appealed to him. His devotion to his brother lingers still. On the day of Bezel’s birth Maxim and I went into a floweriest to buy a bouquet for his mother. Whilst in the shop Maxim spotted a small blue stuffed bear. He insisted that we purchase it for his baby brother and that it be named Blue Beary. Seeing the motivation of love in my son’s eyes I could not refuse. In a timely manner the bouquet and bear were delivered. Bezel still possesses that bear and his favorite fruit is the blueberry. Maxim’s favorite is the strawberry. During their third and first year respectively we moved from Florida to North Georgia. That is where I took up gardening again and Maxim took up cheating at it. While God and Maxim were slowly working their will with the popcorn in my garden, news reached us that our favorite berry farm had declared both the strawberry fields and blueberry bushes ready for picking. We drove the forty-five minutes to the berry farm in our non-air-conditioned Dodge Dart. The day was warm but not overly humid. The wonderful thing about this particular berry farm was the policy that one could eat all they wished as they picked the berries. Maxim and I went to pick strawberries that were near end of season whilst Bezel and his mum were picking blueberries. At age two Bezel was still in diapers. He also had the attention span of a wink. His mother explained to him that he could eat all the berries he wished. He did. When his mother and I changed places, she with Maxim and I with Bezel, Bezel was still picking and consuming blueberries by the handful. His face had taken on a purple-blue patina around the mouth and both hands were the same color as the berries. In all Bezel consumed blueberries for about two hours. The people who owned the farm spoke in amazement of this as we paid for our berries and loaded the car with berries and children. On the drive home Maxim spoke about the odd bugs that we had encountered in the strawberry field. We had both been alarmed by them. Bezel’s only concern was that he wanted more blueberries. As I looked back in the rearview to engage with my sons Bezel made me think that he had tried to put on blue makeup and done so badly. Upon our arrival home we began the process of prepping and freezing the berries. We gathered around the kitchen table. Mother, Maxim, and I were cleaning, hulling, and bagging berries whilst occasionally eating them. Bezel was eating. After about another hour the berries were all processed and ready for the freezer. We had reserved some of each for shortcake desert that evening. Bezel chose that moment to show us the full impact of having eaten and internally processed so many blueberries. They exited his system rather explosively conquering both diaper and summer shorts. None of us could consume any more blueberries for a day or two. To this day Bezel has an incredible immune system. I wonder if it is the result of ingesting all those antioxidants in such a short time.
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