*Names have been changed to preserve the relative anonymity of the blog…and protect the innocent (or at least, the ones who haven’t been proven guilty yet…) :-)
From Aunt Donut:
Back in the late ‘80s, when my ex and I were still married, we used to go up to Seattle once a year to visit my sister (Jayne Doodles’ mom), Mrs. Buck*. At the time, my sister’s husband, Buck*, was the Director of Something-or-other at Seattle Pacific University. I absolutely love Seattle, and it is one of my favorite cities to visit.
One year, Mrs. Buck asked us if we could come up for two weeks. The University had a retreat at Camp Casey on Whidbey Island, and they were able to grab one of the beautiful Victorian houses on the island for a week in July. We loaded up the car with suitcases, pillows, sleeping bags, coolers, cameras, and even managed to find room for my daughter, Desiree, although I think she did have to sit higher than normal for the drive.
Camp Casey is a rustically beautiful vacation spot and we spent the week exploring our surroundings, going into Oak Harbor for groceries and reveling in the pristine scenery we are so lacking of in Southern California. 
The pictures show
views of the retreat facilities, first an overall view, then a view of some of the houses and the made-over barracks, and lastly, a view of some of the beach area. 
On the last day my sister told us that she had a special treat for us – we were going to the U-Pick farms located on the island, and pick raspberries and strawberries. Well, we’re city born and raised, so we thought that’d be an absolutely wonderful way to spend our last day – searching for juicy ripe berries under the summer sun. We just happened to be smack in the middle of when all the berries were ripe, so it didn’t take us long to fill up several boxes of berries. It was with heavy hearts that we left Whidbey Island that night and went back to Seattle on the first part of our return trip. Back to work and the daily grind! That night I washed all the berries and repacked them in coolers.
As we headed south the next morning reality imposed itself and I had a chilling thought. California is one of the leading agricultural states and they have a strict policy about bringing in outside agricultural products. Oh no. The berries!!! It broke my heart to think I’d have to give up my precious berries to the agriculture wardens at the border. I knew it’d be quite a task, but I told my ex and Desiree that we were going to finish those berries before we hit California. It was going to be berries for breakfast, berries for lunch and berries for dinner. We bought a carton of half and half and some of the paper camping bowls and began the quest to be berry-free in six meals or less.
There is a theory in Economics called the Law of Diminishing Returns. If you remember it, basically it states that the first item of anything brings the most satisfaction, and each additional item brings less and less satisfaction if experienced or consumed all at once. So it was with the berries. What began with enthusiasm grew palpably less so as I filled the bowls with what must have seemed at the time like a never-ending supply. On we drove, with the cooler getting emptier and the faces getting longer, but they both knew better than to suggest we just throw the damn things out.
Finally – southern Oregon and the promise of the relief of the agricultural inspection. But, by golly, we did it! The berries were gone. I was smug with satisfaction as we waited in line to get cleared by the inspectors. We got up to the window and the guy saw all the camping gear, coolers, etc. He did a visual inspection of the inside of the car, and then asked my ex if we were bringing in any oranges or apples. When my ex said no, he waved us through. My ex asked him “What about berries?” The agent said, “Naw, we don’t care about those".
It was a long, quiet ride home.
