Blueberry season is here and I am delighted. Picking blueberries always evokes nostalgic memories of my childhood. We lived near fields of wild blueberries and would go with our grandmother to pick buckets of the little gems. My brothers and I would be eating them as fast as we picked them, knowing that any second our grandma (who we knew had eyes in the back of her head) would be calling "Don't be eating all those berries!"
Our grandma would make us blueberry muffins. We would eat them hot out of the oven with heaps of butter, while she was busy preserving the rest in jars that she would tuck away on shelves along the cellar stairway. And on cold winter nights she would unearth a few precious jars and we would enjoy one of her delicious blueberry pies.
I still enjoy picking blueberries. And today when I popped a few berries in my mouth while picking, I could almost here the rustle of my grandma's apron and my brothers tumbling among the bushes in one of there usual fight.
Now I have my own blueberries patch in my backyard, that my husband and I planted many years ago. So, I not only get to pick buckets of luscious blueberries, but I also get to unearth a few precious moments reminiscing about times when life was a little simpler.