Image: Melanie Kyer
By, Nina Bisognani
The summer of 2005 was unseasonably hot. By mid July, I recorded 23 consecutive days of weather in the ninety degree range on my calendar. Humidity was nearly unbearable. I was miserable. Evidently, the blueberries loved it.
Bushes that had gone unnoticed for years were suddenly overladen with plump, juicy berries. For at least three weeks, my daughter and I spent most of our spare time filling coffee cans and mason jars with blueberries. We ate blueberries on our cereal, made blueberry muffins, froze more berries for holiday pies. What we couldn’t eat, we shared with neighbors.
We were not the only creatures watching in awe as the bushes kept producing. A fat robin perched daily on a nearby tree branch had an eye on those berries too.
Before breakfast, when the morning sun looked like a white lozenge rising in the sky, the robin was already feasting on our breakfast berries. That bird guarded our most prolific bush as if it were his own prized possession.
At midday, when the sun was hottest, we took cover in shady spots and rested. By end of day, the sun looked down on us like a sore red eye. Soon the temperature would cool.
In the evening, with the help of ceiling fans, the house became more comfortable. After dinner we ate berries over ice cream; enjoying natures gifts and fond memories of that blueberry summer.