For the second time, we visited a cranberry harvest festival to get up close and personal with these beauties:
It's possible I was the only one excited about the cranberries. I asked Mark to get me a cranberry sweet. He refused. And Frances, who shocked me last year at the festival by drinking an entire 6 oz. of cranberry juice, didn't want anything to do with it this year. Never mind, quoth the mama. Here's some kinda cool, kinda icky photos of where your cranberry sauce starts out.
Cranberries floating in the water and waiting to be harvested:
Cranberries being steered toward the sucker-upper:
Likewise:
The video presentation that explained what was going on talked about the many nationalities that have come to Massachusetts to harvest cranberries. These guys were from South America. Cranberries, the great equalizer.
This is my favorite part, walking right over the cranberry truck while it is being loaded with berries. That mound in the middle is all cranberries.
And cranberries on the conveyor belt. The man at the end of the conveyor belt gave each person some cranberries to eat raw. They were surprisingly good that way.
Here's what Frances cared about: riding the pony and...
...riding the train and...
...making her own cranberry bog, while properly accessorized.
And Chandler hung out in her carrier.
Next year, Chandler, you can make your own cranberry bog. I promise.
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