August 30, 2014


I bring back the same souvenirs from Michigan every year: pieces of perfectly rounded driftwood, perfectly frosted beach glass, imperfectly perfect feathers. And in the last few years, cups and cups and cups of wild blueberries.

I wrote about it last August, and don't really think I can improve on that post (I did, however, improve on how much I brought home: 17 cups, to last year's 13). The zen flow of picking, the reward of highly-seasonal, highly-regional, highly-FREE food, and just the very miracle of this place – literally rising from the ashes.

I used the blueberries fresh for about a week in salads and parfaits, then froze just short of a gallon for use over the winter. I've got big plans for them: ice creams, tarts, sauces, popsicles. But regardless of what I make, they've already done their job – reminding of my six weeks on the lake, and allowing to relive a bit of that whenever I want, throughout the year.