I don't think the Connecticut blueberries are as good as those I used to pick in Indiana, but I did get a bucket to store in the freezer. Maybe I should take them to my Uncle Milford in Amagansett so he can make pancakes with the maple syrup my father gave me to bring to him.
It's Monday morning and the older I get, the more I hate it. This will be the last work week before I will be running around with my head cut off with summer institutes. Perhaps a cold front will come through by then.