It’s my mom’s birthday today. She wishes for blueberries for the ice cream and meringue dessert we’re making for all the guests (“Marängsviss”). So at 7 o’clock this morning, I tromp off into the woods behind her house to pick some.
As I pick blueberry after blueberry from the rich patches of blue goodness, something buzzes nearby. Is it a mosquito? No. It’s a bumblebee sucking nectar out of a nearby flower. It makes me think of the song “Where Have All the Flowers Gone.” I sing it in my head for a little while and think about what it would be like to live in a world without flowers.
A prick on my arm clues me in to the fact that the mosquitoes are too busy sucking my blood to be buzzing. Despite my protective gear. It’s part of the experience, I decide.
The blueberries are big and juicy. Very few are spoiled. I marvel at the bounty of the blueberry bushes and how these bushes thrive in the wild without fertilizers or pesticides.
I start to worry about ticks. They’re all over the news. Seems to me the ticks would leave me alone as long as I don’t mess with them. But apparently, that’s not how ticks roll.
At some point, I forget about the ticks and look around for a new spot. I leave a few blueberries behind for God’s other creatures. They may want some for breakfast. Over there is a tree stump with a cushion of pine needles. It is surrounded by a sea of blueberry bushes. Perfect.
Sitting on a stump in the woods picking blueberries. Swedish summer.
My mom gets “blueberry milk” for breakfast. It makes her day.
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