It started out as a lovely idea. The state where I live may be stingy with jobs, but she is mighty generous with her fresh water, Christmas trees and blueberries. While I love the beach and a proper Frasier Fir, I’ve never really taken full advantage of the whole blueberry thing.
So today, in a moment of random summer giddiness, I suggested to my girls that we go blueberry picking. They were all over it.
We drove to a farm 20 minutes outside of Jcrewviille and started picking…and picking…and picking. I had no sense of the quantity we were amassing, but I wasn’t concerned. The rural setting, the rather primitive set-up (woman in tight pink t-shirt hands you plastic buckets, mumbles and points to a big field of bushes) – it all spelled cheap to me, so when my girls asked how much, I said “Fill up your buckets, Girls.”
And we did.
Three buckets later and I now own $22 worth of blueberries. Twenty-two dollars. That’s like a whole outfit from Old Navy. My husband is going to kill me. I need to distract him, seduce him with quick-thinking blueberry trickery: cakes, cobblers, pies and what else?
Blimey, I don’t know. I need suggestions, good recipes. I know I can freeze them, but please give me some yummy ideas to whip up. Stephanie: I’m counting on you!
Quick, help me hide the $22 worth of beautiful, fresh blueberries before my husband get home.