I know, I know. It’s December. But, the weather has been toying with my heart lately + I can’t help it. We’ve had the most lovely sun-drenched days (it’s almost 60 today!), yet I can hardly enjoy it because while my heart is wandering back to sunshine + summertime, my ever-logical mind is reminding me that snowy times are headed our way.
But today, I’m going to let my heart win for a while, at least for as long as these daydreams of picking blueberries with my cousins in Michigan will let me. Doesn’t get much fresher than eating – er, I mean picking – blueberries right off the bush. Summer at its finest.
Every year about this time, I start lamenting how expensive berries are at the store and how sad all the tomatoes look. It’s wintertime + one can only eat so much kale (I know some would argue this; however, I stand by it). Then, I remember that I have a bag of these blue beauties in my freezer just waiting to be made into a pie + everything is better again. I’m easily pleased, especially when there’s pie involved.
Do you associate tastes or foods with certain memories?
When I was a little girl, we would drive up to my grandparents’ house in the summertime, and after throwing ourselves into the lake + digging for clams with our toes in the sand, or trying to out-jump each other on the trampoline, my cousins + I would run back up to the house + there would be pie. Blueberry pie, because it was Michigan, after all. And we would get bowls of ice cream and ladle that sticky sweet blueberry sauce from the filling of the pie right on top.
That’s what summers in Michigan taste like.
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