I love blueberries. If I were left on a deserted island and given one item of food they would be my first choice. As a child I could mark the beginning of summer at the local market. The shelves would be stacked taller than my head with containers from the blueberry capital of the world, Hammonton, New Jersey. Back then you didn’t get fruit when it was out of season so it was a real treat when it was available.
Nowadays we can get blueberries pretty much any time of the year. One sign of winter is the abundance of blueberries from Chile and Argentina. In early spring they start appearing from Florida. Then they relentlessy work their way up the coast like a swarm of bees. The North Carolina blueberries recently hit the store. But they are not the same as in-season, local blueberries. My favorite Jersey fruits can’t be far behind. Usually just in time for the 4th of July, when a favorite red-white-and-blue treat is a bowl of strawberries and blueberries topped with a dollop of whipped cream.
It is getting harder to tell what season you are in based on the weather. 70 degree days in January give way to cool and rainy Junes. But when the Michigan blueberries finally appear, I know that summer is waning and the days are getting shorter. In measuring the march of time, the parade of blueberries never lets me down.