I don’t know exactly why this whole Boris Vladimir Putin performance of “I Got My Thrill on Blueberry Hill” (he doesn’t start to seriously sing until after a minute in) cracks me up so much but it does. I guess it’s partly because that song is one that occasionally gets stuck in my head. But not because of what you might think. Because unless you have a very specific bit of DNA (we’ll call it “the butts up gene” for short), blueberry picking is anything but thrilling. There are folks on both sides of my family who have the “butts up” gene. I do not.

Have you ever gone blueberry picking?. It is hot (or not) and you are either bent over or squatting in the bushes. And then there are the loverly little bitey things that you are hanging out with. Moe-skee-toes and flies of every description. The occasional bumble bee. Blueberry picking (to those of us who don’t have the butts up gene, anyway) is hard, uncomfortable work, even for those of us who like to be outside in most other circumstances.

So. Thrill on blueberry hill? Hmmm. That song got stuck in my head one day back in about the Pleistocene. Uber Kayak Woman was visiting the Moominbeach for a week or so and a blueberry picking expotition was planned. UKW and Radical Betty and Colonel Duke and I all rode with Lewie out to the Raco area to pick blueberries. Now, some of the folks on that expotition have the butts up gene (UKW and her dad Duke). Others (RB and me) do not. Not sure about Lewie. Lewie was a friend of my dad. They spent a lot of time rambling around in the woods but I don’t *ever* remember my dad picking blueberries EVER! Walking, running, skiing, driving, flying airplanes? Yes. Blueberry picking? Not so much. I don’t know about Lewie. It would be hard to describe Lewie in a couple sentences, so I won’t try. Except to repeat one of my favo-rite memories of that particular expotition. Lewie and Duke (in the front seat) were talking about a “cat house” in Raco. Now, Raco is an itsy bitsy little town in the UP. It is beautiful but there is not much there, but apparently there is (or was) a “cat house”. Radical Betty and the rest of us in the back seat were in hysterics about the idea of Lewie talking about a “cat house” in Raco. Or anywhere, for that matter. Of course, the “cat house” that Lewie was talking about was a place where bulldozers were stored. Not whatever the heck Radical Betty and the rest of us in the back seat were thinking it was, which I’ll leave open to your imagination. We may not have been very politically correct but we were having a good time. And, for good measure, we all had a beer with our lunch. In Lewie’s car, which he was nervous about.

Anyway, we stopped at about a billion good blueberry picking spots that day. I was really almost enthusiastic the first time or two. Until boredom set in. It was hot and fly-ey and that dern blueberry hill song got stuck into my head. “I got my thrill…” Over and over and over again. Nothing about blueberry picking is thrilling. At least to those of us without the butts up gene. By the end of the day, Colonel Duke was still making us stop at good-looking picking spots although even UKW was more than ready to quit and go home, fer kee-reist.

The photoooo? Well. Actually, we have blueberries aplenty on our own land on the shores of Gitchee Gumee. Some years are better than others. Last summer, we had *so many* blueberries that even someone without the butts up gene (meeee) could spend a few minutes picking right in front of the moomincabin and get enough berries for pancakes the next morning. That photo was taken early in the season before all of the berries were ripe. Click on it for a larger version. Aren’t they beautiful?

Good night,
KW

P.S. I can’t *believe* that I was thinking Putin’s first name was Boris!!! I can be oblivious to current events sometimes but sheeesh! Too bad because “Butts up with Boris” wouldda been a much better title. Butts up with Vladimir? Well. Okay…

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