We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
You can't really find vast fields of wild Lowbush Blueberry south of Maine. They especially seem to grow where there has been forest fire or clear-cutting. Always keep an eye out for bears in a lowbush blueberry field.
And Rightly So has a little photo essay on the subject. Here's one of her fine photos:
This was in Northern Maine outside of Acadia Park. We were driving and saw the blue hues. Most people think these are flower fields until they stop and go LOOK.
They make much of the Blueberry Ale with these wilds up there. I love it...and counted over a hundred fields on this highway, alone. I've seen many farms too, blueberry farms. But these were just fields...not privately owned...it's awesome.
Picking blueberries, like much repetitive manual labor can be a meditativ experience, but usually only when done occasionally or for love. Once the commercial element intrudes, basta! Spoiled.
Like cooking, gardening, or love, it has to be given for free or it can be oppressive.
A bit like rowing crew. I always enjoyed messing about in boats, but when I tried to get kids to row crew they snarled "Slave sport!" because of the kids they know who only do it in hopes of better college offers. Presumably they would not object to punting on the Cam w a sweetheart!