Ahhh, u-pick farms. It is only a matter of time before the man from stuffwhitepeoplelike makes a post about you. I can see it now--how stupid must migrant farm workers think we are? We go to farms and pay to pick fruit and vegetables? You have got to be kidding me.
Fortunately, I've never had any qualms about fitting the bill on that blog so perfectly (alright, alright, it is a bit unsettling how eerily spot-on the author is...) so Ian and I hopped in the car and drove a half an hour out into the sticks, feeling like we were traveling further and further into an actual cow as we went (we're such city folk, I swear) to a place called Butternut Farm, a local farm recommended by Ian's barber.
We gathered a half a bushel (there were bags labeled '1/2 bushel' and 'peck.' I think I'm in heaven!) of Jersey Mac apples, two pints of beautiful blueberries, and an entire flat of peaches. Continuing my Laura-endeavors of the past week, I canned a few jars of apple butter, and I am wracking my brain for ideas for the peaches. Ian refuses to eat this, and since I refuse to eat a whole pie alone, we're kind of at a standstill. I need a city full of friends to coax into eating my baked goods again!
As for the blueberries, I think I'll make a batch of muffins this week (finally! something to put my butter on!), and freeze the rest. And that entire flat of peaches? Perhaps I'll can those as well--I am starting to have a pretty hefty stockpile for when that zombie apocalypse rolls around.