The Suitcase Lady


August 12, 2014, 8:54 pm

My husband loves his blues. That’s the nickname he has given his favorite fruit, blueberries. Blueberry season is in full swing, and I wouldn’t be surprised if both of us turned blue any day now. We both have been consuming blueberries in record quantities.

One year I asked my guy what he wanted to do on his birthday which fortuitously coincides with blueberry time.

“Let’s drive to southern Michigan (aka blueberry epicenter) and buy a case of blueberries,” was his reply. I love living with a man whose idea of a splendid birthday present is 3,300 blueberries and a road trip to get them.

Extravagant heath claims on the benefits of eating blueberries are rampant. Suffice it to say that blueberries are good for you. Our only motive for eating them is their delicious sweet/tart taste.

Blueberries are native to North America alone. So it would appear that the phrase, “as American as apple pie” should be modified to “as American as blueberry pie.” Apples originated in central Asia.

The big, plump blueberries we eat for breakfast are the highbush variety. Lowbush blueberries are small, wild blueberries, and Maine is the leading producer. Cranberries and huckleberries are blueberry cousins.

Blueberries are the number two berry crop in America. Only strawberries surpass them in sales. This bit of trivia makes a good image:

“If all the blueberries grown in North America in one year were spread out in a single layer, they would cover a four lane highway from New York to Chicago.”

Now that would be a road trip.


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