Something is magical about a blueberry......They give my memory a boost...... As a young ,young boy riding with my older sister in the back seat of an old Plymouth sedan that was ironically and affectionately nick named the blue berry, not because it was our berry picking vehicle but because of its shape and color.... Dad knew every two track,deer trail, swamp, bog and culvert from here to the bridge [Mackinaw] and half of them on the other side.We never knew where we were going but he did ..We were to young to care anyway and we knew we were safe. We would arrive in the secret blueberry hotspot, spray down with mosquito dope and try to fill every kitchen bowl my mother owned....Wild blueberries Mmmmm. These suckers were tiny but sweet.... Rule was eat all you wanted but once they hit the bowl they were off limits and destine to become one of mas tasty creations... On the ride home we always got treated to ice cream or a Hersey bar. Funny how things seemed to have more value then...No texting, no cell calls, Just the silence of the blueberry swamp, broken by the noise of a young family and a day spent with loved ones, feeling safe and not a care to be had... That was at least 41 years ago cause Dad traded the blueberry in on a 71 Grad Torino ...... I was blessed to have such a good father and mother, I am also blessed to have good children.... Thanks Jess for taking me to the Blue berry farm today I think I needed it..I think Grandpa was there too.
Posted on: Tue, 05 Aug 2014 01:53:23 +0000
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