Blueberry Picking

When I was little, my grandfather and I would drive up to Blueberry Hill. They were low blueberry bushes, where you had to sit on the ground with your bucket and pick. I was always told to wait, not eat any, or else we’d be there even longer trying to fill the bucket so grandma could make us blueberry pie.

But I would sneak some fruit as we were blueberry picking. One for me – three for the bucket. One for me – two for the bucket. And this would go on until we had enough.

That was years ago, when I was less than a teenager and living in Vermont. I haven’t been blueberry picking since then. So when Andy showed up to my house over the weekend and told me to wear something comfortable, I was pleasantly surprised that we ended up at Butternut Farm in Farmington.

And when we got there, I was so confused. Where was the hill of blueberries. All I saw were tall bushes lining the field. They were blueberry bushes, I learned. And full of fruit. So much so, that I didn’t think twice about eating a few as we filled the bucket and dragged our wagon. There were so many, and by the time we were all tired out, our teeth were blue and we had a bag full of berries.

So my question for you all today is, what should we make with our blueberries? I’ll probably drag him back there soon, so I’m not afraid of running out. But I need ideas other than a traditional blueberry pie. What would you make?