So i imagined up a lovely and bountiful bowl of blueberries. "Blueberries, speak to me! What do you have to say? What is it at your essence that brings such merriment to my heart, not only when I consume you, but even when I think of you?" And lo and behold, the bowl of blueberries spoke back!
Blueberries: I am the spirit of the Violet Flame, all folded upon itself, twisted and curled up like the dried leaves of gunpowder tea, a teeny tiny sparkle of stellar joy. Upon contact with your teeth I burst forth colorful bioflavonoids,
caressing the tongue with the delicate sweetness of summertime.
Me: My passion for you is unstoppable. I AM your GREATEST fan. But there is just one thing I can't help but ask. I hope you won't mind...I've loved you for so long.
Blueberries: You called me here. Ask away!
Me: Oh, Blueberries, it's just that I feel crazy in the Springtime, waiting for you to show up in the produce section of my health food store. And then in mid-May the little packages flown in from hither and yon, and costing me twice the summer price. It's just too much for me to bear. Their tantalizing round shape and violet color plays havoc with my mind, and this engenders a yearning that only in-season, organic, locally grown blueberries satisfies…In the Winter it's worse. Blueberries in jars and bottles, frozen packages…I JUST CAN'T WAIT! Why do you torture me so?
Even I could see that I was going over the top. But pangs of loss and years of denial were welling up inside of me. I gathered myself together. "Why do you limit your availability to such a short season?"
Blueberries: The quickening makes the succulence sweeter. Living as you do, in the lap of luxury here in the heart of Carolina, you get to experience how well I preserve in my various preserves: frozen, canned, and bottled. And even after quick freezing at the peak of my robust health, after blanching and blending with sugar, after stewing and straining and being added to pectin for jellies and jams, I am still so full of violet vigor that you have the opportunity to feel the satisfaction that you are seeking. Regardless of the time of year.
Me: Yes, but it's not quite the same. This winter lack, followed by a brief abundance, followed by another long lack is driving me crazy. Why can't you grow here all year long? I pleaded.
Blueberries: Ah, Grasshopper. You have chosen an excellent question. May I inquire, what if I were available to you 24-7, 365 days a year? What if your yearning was completely fulfilled every moment of every day? What if you turned into a giant blueberry yourself, like gum-chewing Violet Beauregard in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, from eating gallons of ripe blueberry mush every day?
Me: Haha! Momma used to say I would turn into a blueberry if I didn't stop eating so many of you. But that didn't stop me!
Blueberries: Oh, wise Mother. She knew how you might regret over-consumption. How many children have experienced my relaxation effect? If you ask me, it brings the body back into balance, after a time of overindulgence., intentional or no.
I felt slightly queazy.
Blueberries: Yes, yes, you remember. Now I hope you will allow me to explain how the brevity of my picking season actually does benefit you. For instance, let me remind you how it spurs a blessed annual fury of kitchen frenzy in the baking of pies and coffee cakes. The communal gathering of children and neighbors to assist with the jam-, jelly-, and juice-making….and how about pancake SYRUP!.
I melted, salivating.
Blueberries: … and you don't even know about wine.
I swallowed, "Wine?"
Blueberries: … Uh, yeah. And not only that, but I must mention how my oh-so-short ripening season benefits you all the year long as the year progresses from season to season, as you eat up your stock, sharing them with your friends on birthdays and anniversaries. In fact any time any one indulges in my treats, I am serving you. (You think you are serving me. Ha!) I maintain that the memory of me in my finest hour is preserved through your love for me, like mementos in a scrap book. So, you see, I make abso-tastin-certain that you don't forget me.
Me, on my knees: That's what I'm talking about: Torture!
The Blueberries paused and looked at me quizzically, as a focused clarity settled in.
Blueberries: And what if this also weren't so? What if you forgot me?
What if by the time the frozen ground thawed for planting time, you ran out of your blueberry fix and you felt nothing? What if in the icy slush of winter you saw last years' bushes and just lowered your eyes in dull response? What if my simple bare bushy branches, sans leaves, sans fruit, sans life, left you feeling alone? No jam in the pantry to remind you of me? Freezer: empty! What if even the Spring-green leaves emerging from my bushes, promising an imminent experience nirvana, and you felt NOTHING!
Oh the drink of forgetfulness. What if my berries ripened and you felt nada? What if even my unique powdery bloom had no effect upon your sorry demeanor? What if, while those around you celebrated their Independence Day, a day of liberation from tyranny, and only your whimpers and whines defined You?
Me, now crying: A winter without a memory of you brings no hope for tomorrow. Oh blueberries, I swear I have never forgotten you. Year after year after year I have anticipated your late June ripening. This would be the very end of me:
Blueberries, gaining an edge on me: Really?
Me, sheepishly: Uhm, well, I guess I've forgotten once or twice. The sun gets so low in the sky here in the cold months.
Blueberries: So you see, even in the dark and cold, I remind you of plentiful abundance. But it's up to you to prepare and to partake.
Me, dashing off; I am going to make sure those dates are on my calendar now. July 1 through July 14, right?
Blueberries: More or less…Better give it a week's buffer in both directions in your planting zone.
I knew he meant USDA planting zone 7. I paused.
Blueberries, calling out like a short-order cook: And get those extra-large wide-mouthed Mason jars cleaned and at the ready, in advance! you know how you feel when you've picked more than you can put away! What remains from last year's summer madness may seem to you now like a tease, but I assure you, what you are calling "torture" is setting a neurological pathway so yu can get yourself in gear for a wonderful weekend in the kitchen.
Me: Okay, I'm salivating now.
Blueberries: That's better. Human, can you forgive me for being at the center of your suffering? Oh Mortal, I cannot be all that you want me to be, all the time. It is impossible. But I will become sumptuous food to please a Queen. Find me on a Summer's day in a garden near you. and together we will experience ecstasy, one blessed blueberry at the time.
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