It all started with my grandfather, a random guy from South Buffalo, NY, who loved plants. Over the summer, he would take his whole family, my grandmother, their three children and the dogs to set up camp. One year, he decided to plant a few blueberry bushes. These blueberries did okay but were far from thriving. Later, when they moved camps, he decided to dig up his blueberry bushes and plant them in this new place. The yield was not much better. He got a couple of blueberries, but they were quite bland and small.

Then, my grandfather bought some property on Cooper Hill, located in the heart of the Enchanted Mountains in New York, to build his own camp. He repeated his usual pattern, dug up his blueberry bushes and moved them to his new camp, much to the dismay of the other campers who had come to enjoy the scraggly bushes.

The next year, the bushes had grown three feet, and my grandfather exclaimed, “Gee, I must be a really good blueberry farmer!” He was so proud of just how well his bushes were doing, and the berries they produced were bigger and sweeter than any other blueberry he had ever seen or tasted. And that was the beginning of our blueberry farm.

It turns out that while my grandfather may have had a green thumb, the real reason behind his success was the unique soil. The last ice age had gone around our hill, creating a distinctive flora and fauna there. The soil was around that 4.5-4.8 pH range ideal for blueberries, and the environment was so perfect that blueberries actually grew wild there.

He kept planting more and more and eventually created a little “gated community” around them, an 8-foot fence to keep out the plants’ biggest archnemeses: deer and bears. He learned to cover the bushes in a blanket of sawdust to create more organic matter and foster the symbiotic relationship with the fungi found at those low pH’s, creating a healthier and more productive plant. He may not have been able to grow corn or tomatoes very well, but his blueberries certainly thrived.

With the knowledge he had acquired along the way from my grandfather and from his own research, my father set out to plant his own patch on the neighboring hill. That is what I grew up on. During blueberry season, which is usually from the beginning of July to the end of August, every Saturday morning my family would get up at three in the morning. We would load our blueberries, and head to the public market about two hours away.

By the time I was about five, I was helping customers at the market, packaging their berries and giving them change. I cannot say I was always the greatest helper; I certainly ate my share of the profits. However, it was through this experience that I learned the true value of hard work. With my earnings, I learned how to manage my money and how much work it took to get there, teaching me money’s true value. I also discovered the importance of giving and took that with me, whether that be to church or through volunteering my time. I am so thankful that I could help on the family farm and work while I was younger and learn those skills then, though as my grandfather would argue, “Growing blueberries…that’s not work, that’s Childs play.”