Today was our annual trip to the blueberry farm. The month of April has flown by and we almost missed our chance to pick buckets of berries to bring home. We didn’t make it to yesterday’s Bostwick Blueberry Festival, but Facebook assured us the bushes were still filled with large, ripe berries. We picked up our two Florida grandsons after church and made the drive out to the farm.
Last year’s picking was good, but since it was later in the season, this year was even better. The clouds kept the temperatures down, Saturday morning’s rain was mostly dried up, so it was a great afternoon to pick.
It’s fun to listen to all the conversations going on as families stand between the rows of bushes, picking blueberries.
“Whoa! Look at this one. This is the biggest berry ever!” (I heard that at least a dozen times.)
“I’m glad I wore my boots. I stepped right into that mud puddle.”
“Don’t pick the green ones. They’re too hard and sour. Only pick the purple ones.”
“Marco!” “Polo!”
“I’m going to eat all the berries.”
“Hey, stop throwing those.”
“I heard that someone picked fifty pounds of berries last week.”
“This bush is really full of them. You can just stand here and fill your bucket.”
“How many have you eaten?”
“Watch out; you almost dumped your bucket.”
“My bucket is way fuller than yours.”
The farm reported that one picker took home fifty pounds of blueberries one day last week. Our load of ten pounds seemed like a lot. Was it someone who owned a bakery? Or took them home to share with neighbors? Maybe they resold them by the side of the road.
Some friends of ours told us about another blueberry farm that forbid pickers to eat any. Posted signs said it was a federal offense to eat any berries before purchasing them. You won’t see us at that farm. I probably ate a pint while filling my bucket.
The bushes were filled with white and green berries yet to ripen, so the harvest will continue through next week. For now we’ve got all the blueberries we need for pancakes, muffins, scones, smoothies, and maybe some jam.
They are bite-sized. They are delicious. They can be eaten in so many ways. They are good for you. And they are the closest thing we have to blue food. Yep, the miraculous blueberry!
April is blueberry season in Florida, and that’s when I start checking the local you-pick farms. The one we go to each year only advertises at most a week at a time on Facebook (HNH Blueberry Farm). Their hours vary with the weather, the number of berries in the field, and how many folks showed up to pick the day before.
We don’t have to drive very far to get into the undeveloped agricultural areas of north central Florida. Fields full of cabbage, potatoes, and corn line the roads just miles from our house. Small church buildings, farm supply stores, and transmission shops dot the landscape. Cows and horses fill the front yards of large homes and single wide trailers.
The GPS says it’s a forty-two mile drive, but it will take us a full hour to get to the blueberry farm. There is no sign on the four lane, so you have to watch for the turn off. A mile down the road we pull into a grassy lot in front of a small building and acres of blueberry bushes.
We always bring our own buckets, but they have plenty there. We walk through a small sheltered area where we will later check out, and then we’re there. Rows and rows of bushes covered with ripe and ripening blueberries. All you have to do is pick them, stuff them in your mouth, and fill your bucket.
The first blueberries I picked were huge. Some were 3/4-inch in diameter. They were so sweet. My grandson and I ate the first dozen or so we picked, and then we began filling up our buckets. The ones that are fully ripe come off the branch with hardly any effort at all. I didn’t have to walk around very much; every bush was speckled with blue. My wife and I spent an hour filling two buckets (a little over six pounds). My grandson only added a few to the harvest. This year the farm charged $5 per pound cash or $5.50 if you pay with a card. If a pint of blueberries weighs 12 ounces, we came home with about 8 pints. $4 a pint at Walmart. You can do the math. All I know is that the ones right off the bush are tastier than the ones that came from who knows where.
As I picked, I had to work around a lot of white and green berries which would ripen in the next few days. Some bushes still had flowers. Their berries wouldn’t be ready for several weeks. It’s a miracle. We can pick pounds of berries one day, and the next day there will be that many more ready to eat.
In addition to eating blueberries at every meal, my next task is baking scones and muffins, some to eat now and some to freeze for later. I’ve got some good recipes for just this occasion. We may use some of these for a pie, too.
I just about choked on my food when I heard the comment. If they only knew.
The season-opening meeting of our small group included a “breakfast for supper” meal ahead of the discussion. With about twenty members, the group had outgrown “small” status, so everyone would bring something, sharing the meal prep load. We signed up for pancake toppings, which our host said should include syrup, whipped cream, and blueberries.
Whipped cream? To me that sounded more like dessert for dinner, but I went with it. I picked up bottles of sugar free syrup and a can of aerosol whipped cream. Who knew whipped cream had gotten so expensive? Since I’ve had blueberry syrup on pancakes at restaurants before, I scanned the breakfast shelves for some of that. I couldn’t find anything other than maple flavored. Where could I find some kind of blueberry sauce?
Maybe I could find something in the ice cream aisle. If not that, then strawberry, right? Nothing but fudge and caramel. Great toppings, but not for this event.
I know. Blueberry pie filling. I made my way to the baking aisle. There it was. Perfect. I didn’t think many would choose that as a topping, but it was the cheapest one of my items.
When we arrived at the meeting home, the hosts quickly took my bags of toppings and set them out on a serving table not far from a mountain of plate-sized pancakes. A warm pan of scrambled eggs, sausage, biscuits and gravy, and fruit salad were all lined up and ready to go. I passed over the pancakes that night, opting for all the rest plus a second helping of biscuits. I was astounded at how much food some piled on their plates. I watched as several loaded up a few pancakes with syrup, blueberries, and whipped cream. The food was great and we all got to know each other a little better.
From the end of the table, I smirked at the comment, “These blueberries are delicious! I wonder who made these? I need this recipe.” I put on my best poker face and said nothing. I don’t know what it is, but something in that can full of processed blueberries made them delicious. I’m sure it was the sugar.
In that moment I recalled a soup supper from years ago at our church. Each week in the spring, families took turns bringing in their favorite soup recipes along with bread and butter before we gathered for some Wednesday worship. One week Erwin brought what he labeled his “famous” chili. It was really good chili. But it tasted familiar. Sure enough, as I helped clean up, I noticed numerous Hormel chili cans in the trash can. I chuckled and thought about how unrefined our palates really are. Bring some processed food with lots of salt and additives and everyone will praise your cooking!
We used to call them “cardboard” cookies. They were cheap store-brand cream-filled sandwich cookies, chocolate on one side and vanilla on the other. They really weren’t that good, yet we went through giant packages every week. It’s embarrassing to admit how many times I reached for a few of those over some homemade cookies. In the same vein, a package of Little Debbies snack cakes will disappear in no time, regardless of who you’re feeding.
I’ve tried some copycat recipes over the years. Glazed lemon cake from Starbucks. Chicken Marsala from Olive Garden. New York style pizza crust. Biscuits from scratch. Homemade ice cream. It’s never quite the same. I don’t know if it’s my ingredients, my oven, my lack of culinary skills or a lack of additives, but theirs is always better than mine.
There are a few things we make better than the store bought versions. My wife’s homemade pie crust is so much better than most of what we find at grocery stores or bakeries. Her cheesecakes taste as good as any we’ve ordered at restaurants. We’ve tried ceviche at several restaurants, but prefer mine, since I can include all the ingredients we prefer. It’s nearly impossible to beat homemade chocolate chip cookies. And we also prefer home-brewed coffee to most we find at coffee shops and restaurants. (We like it very strong and dark.)
Someone figured out that if you add enough fat, sugar, and salt to just about anything, people will keep coming back for more. They may even rave about your recipe!
Waite for it... 