Cherished Memories

BLUEBERRY TREATS

That summer had been one of the hottest summers I could remember. The days seemed to go by so slow. Most of the hottest hours were spent inside playing games with my brothers Harold and Walter.

The large clock that stood against the wall seemed to tick-tock slower and slower. It had been a gift from my grandparents to my parents on their Wedding Day. The dark brown wooden cabinet had glass panels on the front and sides, and the polished gold pendulum glistened in the sunlight as it swung back and forth like a dancer, keeping step to the beat of music. Every half hour the chimes would strike once, then every hour the chimes would strike the exact time of day. Evenings were the best because the chimes would strike longer and longer, the sound resembling our church organ with its deep tones echoing around the rooms.

Once a week, after a breakfast of juice, cereal and sweet cool fresh milk, Mother and I would put on cool cotton dresses and a sun hat with a large brim to protect us from the strong, burning rays of the sun. There were two clean pails with handles (of course Mother gave me the small one). Then the two of us would walk to the nearby farmer’s fields. Early morning was the best lime while the air was still cool and the dew still on the ground. We would pick plump ripe blueberries until our pails were full. Oh Yes! I just had to taste a few of the largest blueberries. Well, maybe more than a few. After all, I had to be sure the berries were sweet enough to go into Mothers pies.

As the sun rose high in the bright blue sky the temperature rose too. Mother would caution me about too much sun. A nasty sunburn would REALLY hurt. With our pails full of blueberries we would return home before noon.

Mother always prepared a light lunch and afterwards we would relax in the shade of the big oak tree, with its large leaf covered limbs stretching across our back yard.

Mother always had a pitcher of cool homemade lemonade ready, and, of course a large plate of her homemade cookies. As she poured the cool lemonade into the tall glasses the ice cubes made a tinkling sound like tiny bells.

I remember helping to pick the tiny stems off the blueberries before we rinsed them under cool water, then letting the berries drain and dry in the large colander. This was an important step to remove any dust and insect spray.

The next day Mother would make her special piecrusts and muffin mix. The piecrusts were gently placed in large round pans about two inches deep. Then the crusts were filled to the top with blueberries and then a generous sprinkling of sugar. A full round crust was placed over the entire pan, then we would press down the edge to seal in all the sweet juices.

I helped by using a small pastry brush to give a light coating of milk on some and a light brushing of melted butter on the other pies just before the pies went into the oven.

Oh! How good the blueberry pies smelled. The aroma filling the air and floating thru the rooms and out the open windows as they baked. When the pies were done Mother placed them on wire racks to cool. After dinner a large slice of pie with a scoop of whipped cream made a perfect desert. Of course, a slice of that delicious pie tasted good anytime of day.

Then there were those large plump blueberry filled muffins. While Mother mixed the dough I added the blueberries, then I added some more. After we filled the muffin tins I put a large blueberry on top of each one. Mother placed the muffin pans in the oven, and then I would sit patiently at the table waiting for those blueberry muffins. What a treat it was to break open one of them, spread some butter on the two halves and slowly enjoy the taste of blueberries, mixed in that special muffin batter, and washed down with a glass of milk.

Such homemade treats were almost too good to be true.

When I drive by those open fields full of blueberry bushes the cherished memories of Mother baking her special pies and muffins always brings a smile to my face.