Today while the kids splashed and caroused and were kids, I stuck my nose deep in my really not-so-thrilling book and suddenly an image swam up, something so compelling it triggered me to salivate and swallow convulsively.
I suddenly wanted blueberry pie. Badly.
Our little piece of land here is rich in growing things - apples and wild strawberries abound. We've nibbled off the wild blueberries that line the edges of the forest*, but never baked with them, and today it struck me....why not?
Especially when I could picture a piece of blueberry grunt, all moist and clinging to the spoon, just waiting for the kiss of ice cream that would make it a work of art...
The kids noticed I'd grabbed a container and was taking off on them. Soon I had enthusiastic helpers. (They like blueberries too.)
The birds had beaten us to it, unfortunately, and we were reduced to sweeping the bottom branches, hunting for ones that had been missed.
We found a few - enough to mix with apples and make a pie, and then....I spotted something.
Blackberries. This was going to be a good pie.
Back to the house to make crust and toss apples in brown sugar and cinnamon, to pour the berries over, to assemble and send covetous looks through the oven door.
It's perfuming the house right now. I can't wait.
It's not living on the banks of Plum Creek, but it's a start. Soon the (cultivated) zucchini will be ready to eat, and then it will feel like I'm hunting and gathering and providing for my family again.
Nellie Olsen might be impressed.
*There is something very grand about being able to point to a bush when the kids get fractious and saying 'Here. Have a snack.'