Wild Blueberries and Fireworks
Another Down East editor and I watched the fireworks in Camden from the top of Mount Battie, the mountain that inspired many Edna St. Vincent Milay poems. While we waited for the sky to darken and the show to start, our children played on the rocks and explored the peak. It was a wonderful scene. A classic Maine moment.
And to top it off, while there was still just enough light in the sky to see, my daughter discovered a patch of ripe wild blueberries, and after commenting on how early it seemed to find ripe blueberries, all of us feasted on them.
Eating the berries, and watching my kids eat them made me think about my connections to Maine, and the parts of my childhood I spent here, and how integral the act of picking blueberries is to that memory. Of course, this is not a revelation, Blueberries for Sal remains a children’s bestseller after decades because of this, but still the feeling remains undiminished and meaningful despite its universality.
To me, wild blueberries bring me back to a time when I had nothing to do, nowhere I ever needed to be, and I could stop and take an hour picking blueberries on a hill letting each one, or a handful at a time, explode in my mouth with the taste of summer.
What about you? Do you have a similar thing? Something small that is essential to your memories of childhood or memories of Maine?
Hope you’re having a great summer.
Managing Editor Books/Online