"It's Sal!" yelled my two-year-old excitedly as he peered across the valley at a small figure climbing the hillocks for berries. I looked over and replied with a smile, "Why, I think you're right!" In a moment I hope to always remember, his exuberance captured the essence of youthful innocence and the magical qualities created by a truly wonderful children's book.

Berry-picking season in Alaska is pretty short, so we supplement our bucket-filling with related stories to enjoy year-round. Sal had become a good friend through frequent readings of Blueberries for Sal by Robert McClosky.
This classic tale follows lovable young Sal and her mother on a blueberry-picking trek to the mountains. The other main characters, a mama bear and her cub, introduce a bit of drama and excitement. Sal and the bear cub both exhibit the curiosity of youth and end up lost - for a time - from their mothers.

The story was written in 1949, an era so different from today that the illustrations provide a whole new level of discussion - from pointing out differences in clothing and car styles, to the details of a decidedly old-fashioned kitchen.

I think of this book every time we berry-pick, for McClosky really captures the experience, from the "ker-plink, ker-plank, ker-plunk" sound the berries make when dropped in the bucket, to the simple fact that small children will insist on digging into your pail for berries every time.

And what if they lose a shoe in the process? Alaskan author Anne Dixon experienced this on an outing with her family and turned it into the charming story she calls Blueberry Shoe. In this tale, baby loses a shoe on the mountain and the family can't find it among all the hummocks and berries. As the seasons pass, different Alaskan animals find the shoe, which ends up with a blueberry bush growing inside it. Children learn a little biology and botany, as they see animals in their habitats and find out what a blueberry needs in order to grow. The colorful and engaging linocuts by Ketchikan, Alaska artist Evon Zerbetz bring this story to life.

And for those children who want to know "Why" and "How" all those berries appeared in the first place, Alaska Yup'ik Eskimo elder Betty Huffmon brings us the folktale Berry Magic. Beautiful illustrations by Teri Sloat help children picture Anana, the young girl who uses her magic to add blueberries, cranberries, salmon berries and raspberries to the crowberries already on the tundra. Berry Magic incorporates several Yup'ik words and their pronunciations. It also gives a recipe for agutak. This dish, commonly known as Eskimo ice cream, is made of berries, sugar, vegetable shortening, and whitefish.

All three of these books will take you and your children on fantastic travels together, whether back in time to Sal's kitchen, to the mountaintop for baby's shoe, or to a time before time, when all of our children's "Why" questions had amazing answers.

We found the fat and sassy blueberries all the way at the top of the mountain. "They're warm!" exulted my 4-year-old.

The sun, in a rare showing, was gracing Arctic Valley, just 20 minutes or so from Anchorage. The dark blueberries and crowberries were ripe, and the bright red low-bush cranberries weren't far behind.

In Alaska, this season usually only lasts a few weeks before the snow arrives. The colors of the changing arctic tundra, with their yellows and reds, are incredibly beautiful. Berry picking is a tradition in Alaska, one my family looks forward to each year.

As the Fiddler on the Roof character Tevye says, tradition is what keeps us in balance. Continuing family traditions -- and creating new ones -- pulls families together for brief respites in otherwise hectic lives.

For some Alaskans, berry picking is a vital part of subsistence culture. People take off from their day jobs so they can gather gallons of these nutritious fruits to put up for winter. For others, like me, it's a chance to get out and enjoy the outdoors and a community spirit of shared wonder at nature's bounty.

With backpack and three young ones in tow, it's quite a hike up the mountain. But a few pickers on their way down had confided that the best blueberries were further up. The trek was worth it.

We climbed high enough so we couldn't even see the parking lot. A breeze kept away the bugs, and there were no signs of bear. Plopping down in the middle of a low-to-the-ground patch of berries, we began to eat, gather and pretend we were on top of the world.

We were, really. Just like the blueberries we were picking, days like this are sweet, healthy, and worth the effort to gather in abundance.