Pretty much since the start of blueberry season, we’ve talked about going and picking huckleberries with Little S. We finally set a date of Labor Day weekend, thinking we would go camping in the vicinity of the prime pickin’ spot, wake up rested, pick and eat to our hearts content and make a wonderful forever memory.
And, after a gorgeous, frequently HOT summer, how are we repaid? With rain and cold weather for Labor Day weekend. Natch. We’re talking a HIGH of 39 degrees in the tallest mountains. Snow above that. Yep! I said SNOW. (Don’t remind me of the time we backpacked in snow in September. Or the 4th of July weekend. The glories of the Northwest)
ANYWAY… so, camping was scrapped. Which is fine. With the weather outside being all fall-like, it was a great time to bake and clean and stuff. But, the weather forecasters gleefully told us that Monday would be different. And like fools, we believed them.
The morning started gloriously. The sun was out, I was too warm in my long running clothes, the birds were singing (I mean, they probably were singing, but I have no actual proof or anything), Little S ate well, the dog was smiling (probably, why wouldn’t she be?) a perfect morning.
The first sign should have been when I felt a compulsion to get everyone into something not made out of cotton “in case it’s still wet up there”. And, my need to make a thermos of hot chocolate-which went by the wayside because that seemed crazy.
and by changed, I mean you could no longer see ANY views because of the downpour.
I convinced us that the weather forecasters were right this time, and it would all clear up any minute now. Surely by the time we got where we were going.
I didn’t even know babies COULD roll their eyes!
Fortunately, the very prepared Big S has an extra pair of rainpants for me, so I’m not wandering the 50 degree woods in the rain in shorts. And, little S insisted on seeing what was going on outside of the pack
She quickly realized we were in for 6 more weeks of winter and pulled her head back in to stay mostly dry as it rained. And then poured. And then rained some more. And then sprinkled. And then stopped. Not that we noticed because we were soaked and wandering through waist high wet bushes to pick as many huckleberries as our frozen fingers would let us.
We lasted a couple of hours and managed to get maybe three quarts of huckleberries.
hmmm…can’t quite reach the pedals yet.
And within 30 minutes of leaving and dropping back down in elevation, the temperature climbed 15 degrees, the clouds parted, and little S slept peacefully, dreaming of huckleberries.
Now that I have three quarts of huckleberries to cook with, what’s the weather forecast? 90 degrees later this week. Ah..Mother Nature, you have a diabolical streak.