On rainy, lazy Saturday mornings, I'm thankful for my stash of hand-picked blueberries, stored in the freezer, that I pour onto my Cheerios every morning, with either brown sugar or honey, and skim milk. I've picked blueberries at an Indiana farm for the past two summers, and thankful I picked considerably more this past summer. The year before, I'd run out of blueberries by now. I certainly have no memories of eating blueberries when I was a kid (it was going to pick strawberries here in Cincinnati, and having raspberry vines in the backyard). But all my friend's babies (including my niece, in the picture) seem to LOVE blueberries - even if they do get a little messy.