My little migrant worker

Mizz picked almost a quart of blueberries and raspberries all by himself this weekend. He worked diligently and somehow kept himself from eating them (he is a berry fiend). I guess when he is in picking mode, he forgets about the fact that they are food. With D strapped on my chest, I managed to pick a few myself and with the help of the field sprinklers and some light colored blankets managed to not overheat us. Mizz was timid about the sprinkler at first and then became the loudest, most enthusiastic participant in the who can get the wettest game. Two hayrides later and we may have a convert to farm life. He seems to be cut out for it, given that he has woken up at the crack of dawn his whole life.