Blueberry Thrills Health Article

A loaf of rosemary focaccia bounced on the back seat as we drove over a dirt road, wavy with frost heaves, on our way to the blueberry farm. A sign on the side of the road announced "Live Music Tonight." I was giddy. Blueberry picking, live music and a picnic—could it get more quintessentially Summer? We pondered that question briefly, then turned to the burning question at hand: how many blueberries would actually make it back to the car?

We followed the steady stream of cars into the parking lot and unloaded our supper. A friendly woman handed me a flat full of empty pint baskets. The sound of recorder music beckoned as we climbed a hill to the main event. We found ourselves in a wide aisle between two large patches of neat rows of blueberry bushes, where we set up camp for the evening.

Plastic tumblers of wine in hand, we commenced filling our baskets with plump berries. At least, we tried to fill our baskets. I began by implementing an eat-one-put-ten-in-the-basket strategy, but quickly replaced it by the eat-one-put-five-in-the-basket rule, which I broke occasionally by shoving fistfuls of nickel-sized berries into my mouth. Around us, children dodged picnic blankets, blue juices dripping down their chins and onto their crumpled shirts. Couples snuggled close, watching the sun set behind the mountains. We merely cursed those supersweet berries, too good for their own good.

The cashier, at evening’s end, started to ring us up for the four full baskets of berries in the flat, and laughed knowingly when I insisted she charge us for six. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones who paid for their pillaging on their way out.

This summer, I’m determined to pick enough to pop a quart in the freezer and make a batch of jam. I get giddy again just thinking about what the season holds.

Resources

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