Luke, Mama, and I often go out and harvest berries from our row of raspberries—which, for some odd reason, aren’t spelled the way you say it: razzberries.
Luke brought up the idea of having a bit of a wager. Being the betting man that I am, I readily accepted, even though have never done very well in my gambling escapades. Our bets have generally been tied to food; i.e., the loser has to make the winner a little muffin or cake. Well, on Wednesday it was radically different. The loser would have to write eight blog posts (good blog posts, mind you) in two days, two of which had to be on the long side. Even though Luke’s always been able to pick berries faster than I, no matter how thorough or fast I am, I accepted the wager ’cause I ain’t one to turn down a bet!

So, we were picking up a storm. During the frenzy, Luke told me he was eating some of his produce. That gave me extra hope ’cause I’m usually the one who eats while I’m pickin’. (Too bad I was half-joking… I only ate four. —Luke) After ten minutes, Mama started a slow 30-second countdown, and then we stepped away from the raspberry bushes. It looked pretty close except for the fact that Luke’s pile was slightly larger. But there was only one way to know, and it’s just like Fruit Loops: by weight, not volume.
We got out the ol’ kitchen scale and weighed our gatherings. Luke came in at 2 pounds, 4 ounces. I came in at… just under two. Augh! So close!
I wrote my eight articles that evening to get ‘em over with. We’ll be posting them in intervals… and this one counts as the first one!