Michael and I bought a ton of blueberries on our trip to Arkansas earlier this summer. We freeze them in quart bags, the right size for turning into blueberry sauce for pancakes or making a blueberry pie.
When my dad was alive, my parents lived on 23 acres in Arkansas. My dad had planted an apple orchard and lots of berry bushes, selling fruit and perennials at the Fayetteville Farmer's Market.
Every year, my mom would pick and freeze blueberries for us, including 2004, the year my dad died. I've been using the blueberries without much thought until yesterday, when I couldn't find a single bag of berries left from that time. We've frozen blueberries from other locations in the interim, but there was always something comforting about having a few bags from the farm in the freezer.
So, today I'm going to make a blueberry pie. It won't be with my dad's berries, but I'll be thinking about him all the while.
And missing him.
1 comment:
Blueberry Pie my favorite. I wonder if I will make it to Pennsylvania this year to pick the wild high bush blueberries. I wanted to do that for a while, but it never works out. I should also go to Kentucky to pick the low push blueberries that grow at the top of the ridges in eastern Kentucky
serrot
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