Last Thanksgiving I had decided this year I was going to meet the “Misses cranberries”. And by meet I mean knocking at their door, getting to know their place, having some talk and, with some luck, share a cup of coffee, just as Brazilians like to do.

So, October 7th we left home towards central Wisconsin, towards the Cranberry Hwy, a vast wetland stretched for almost 50 miles between Wisconsin Rapids and Warrens – yeah, because any fruit that worth its salt has its own highway.

What I should have guessed though is cranberries have a real character and strong personality. They don’t show up in each corner, they kind of preserve their privacy, unlike apples or pumpkins. After few hours of driving, dozens of century-old beds, a hundred thousand vines, we had spotted not a single berry. Furthermore, we were late for the show, mostly festivals had happened a week earlier and cranberries were already tired of acting like a fall celebrity.


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