What’s the German phrase for go Fuck Yourself?I’ve heard rumbles from the flap-nation that everyone has had more than enough time to read the tung oil flap. OK, then, let’s focus on intolerant asshole blueberry growers for a change of pace. I’ve been wanting to flap about this since my last visit--and I do mean LAST--to that quaint little Guilford, VT spot, Blueberry Haus. At last, I’m gonna get m’flap on about this irritating event last July.
In my short time living here, this Pick-Your-Own spot has grown into a quite a bustling Crap merchant. Sure, I thought it was schlocky, but I resisted the urge to judge. l worked extra hard at it, because it’s very clear that the family who runs this place is super evangelical christian. They have a giant bible at the cash register to read between sales. They sell these homemade CDs of their family singing gospel music. WHATEVER I would tell myself. They are pleasant enough to their customers and there's no reason to take their goofy (to me) beliefs personally. Go ahead, sing all the damn day about the old rugged cross and read Leviticus 'till yer eyes dry out, makes no difference to me.
How did we end up spending our blueberry dollar at this den of hokum? At first we chose this spot because it was near this cute library where we liked to go for story-time and a picnic. Back in the day when it was just me and the kids trolling around looking for shit to do until bedtime, this story-time/blueberry picking combo was an awesome time filler. Plus, you got blueberries. They grow them under nets which creates a unique pick--not so sweltering. And I really dug the kid containment those nets gave me. I love that rare combo of not having to actually see your kids yet know that they are in the same spot as you.
After the story time era wound down, we still had der Blueberry Haus on our radar. I knew where it was, what the deal was, like where to get the junky bowl for picking and all that jazz. I knew there were classier joints to pick: MacArthur's, Dwight Miller, Green Mountain Orchard. We somehow had a fondness for this place and just kept ending up there every time. But I first got wind of some extreme shifts for this already dangerously kitschy scene when Anne called on day early in the blueberry season this past summer:
“have you been to Blueberry Haus yet?”
“No, why?”
"They have this new sign up at the entrance to the bushes. It says No Samplin’--this is a place of business and No Cussin--this is a family place'. "
Huh.
We both agreed that all this made us want to do was stuff our mouths with blueberries, spit them out and yell SHIT! These blueberries suck!" Don't ever tell the two of us not to cuss. (Reminds me of the time Anne was helping me set my library up summer before last. Her kids don't go to the school where I work so she was unfamiliar with all the different signage. There's one sign that's particularly pervasive that informs you that Kindness is Spoken Here. When she pointed out the sign we made the simultaneous joke that it's too bad we only speak fluent Fuck You.)
And I don't quite recall at what point this family got the impression that once you arrived to pick blueberries you would then be inspired to stock up on CCZ (shorthand for what Bob calls Crazy Crap-a-zola.) And this Blueberry stand was--is--without a doubt the finest purveyor of Crap in the greater Southern Vermont area. It's the Crap Emporium, bar none. It’s gone from just selling U-Pick , to shilling face lotion with religious scripture on the labels, the de riguer jars of jams-n-dilly beans, candy, candy, candy, ice cream and STUPID RACIST PLAQUES.
Yes, Flap Nation, this place shills those horrible wooden signs with slogans that pass for humor in middle class kitchens. Signs that espouse the medicinal power of chocolate for harried mothers, signs that passively aggressively validate gossip, and just generally make jokes about having fat spouses, eating too much, and having a messy house. I've noticed these signs every time I picked at Der Blueberry Haus. It's hard not to, there are maybe a hundred of them hanging all over the place, and I had to have something to do while my kids finished their ice cream. Up till last summer, they have all been unoriginal, stupid, bland, useless, and just generally a dismal way to spend eight dollars. But we've had a general election since the last time I was giving this place my blueberry dollar. And something tells me this family isn't pleased with the result. For there, nestled among the "If you don't have anything nice to say, sit next to me" and Bless this Mess signs was a new addition:
"1.8 Million People Attended the Inauguration and only 14 Missed Work."
At first I didn't get it. Really. It's been so long since I've heard a racist joke. And at first I thought it was a joke about democrats in general. However, my childhood was spent in South Carolina so many things came flooding back to me upon reading this sign. And then my reaction was, "Really, you wanna hang this awful sign in your house, and just read it every day??!
That was enough for me.
KIDS!! C'mon, we're blowing this blueberry stand.
