August means tomatoes are ripening in the sun, I have cooked summer squash in an endless variety of ways — and blueberries.
If it is your good fortune to pick your own berries, be sure and wear a wide-brimmed hat. Not only it will protect you from the sun, it will shade you so you won’t miss any of the succulent blue.
Forget the glasses, sun or otherwise, for they will just slip down your nose or steam up as you perspire.
As you pick, it is impossible not to taste just one. Soon your tongue, teeth, lips are blue as the juice runs down your chin. Blueberry fragrance mixes with the pungency of pine trees in the hot August sun, as you return from your reverie. A full pail of blueberries, time to care for the prize.
Oh, for months to come. Blueberry pancakes served with butter and Maine maple syrup, blueberry pie with ice cream or slice of cheese, blueberry cake, blueberry muffins. As you are reminded, you think of the friend who is house bound and can no longer make “blueberry memories.”
While muffins are baking, take a quick shower, dress in something cheerful , then make your way to that friend, who has seemed melancholy of late. Rap gently on her door, greet her with the muffins and a hug.
Then quietly make your departure, unless of course she asks you stay and enjoy the warm delicacy.
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