Three varieties, numbered rows
Every row is numbered by variety, so tell us what you're after (sweeter, bigger, better for freezing) and we'll point you to the right rows. Tasting your way to a favorite is encouraged.
A hillside, a hive, and a hunch.
Blue Honey Farm is what happened when one family decided the berries they wanted to feed their kids didn't exist at the store — so they'd have to grow them.
When Lyudmila and her husband took over this quiet piece of La Center, the blueberry rows were already here — some of the bushes more than fifty years old. Instead of tearing them out and starting over, they chose the slower road: restoring the old bushes by hand, season by season, with nothing but pruning, compost, and patience. Their philosophy is simple, and it hasn't changed: if you wouldn't put it on your own table, don't put it on the field.
The bees were never a question. Honey harvesting has been in the family for generations, and nothing pollinates a blueberry field like hives living fifty feet from it. Every spring the bees work the blossoms; every summer the honey comes in carrying a faint sweetness of those same flowers. That's the name on the gate: the blue, and the honey, from the same few acres.
Today the farm is still family-run, still unsprayed, and still small enough that the person weighing your bucket is probably the person who pruned the bush it came from. That's not an inconvenience of being a small farm. It's the entire point.
