The Year We Ate No Blueberries
They were succulent and abundant. My husband and stepson love them. And we ate not a single one this summer. Heaps of beautiful, easy access, cheap, and delicious u-pick organic blueberries as far as the eye can see, not four miles away, and I could not get there. It dogged me; why couldn’t I just strap my baby to my back and get over there with a bucket?
This year, this first sweet year of my little boy’s life, is not for eating blueberries. It is not for saving money. Not for achieving. It’s not for freezing 20 lbs of blueberries for the winter (though I am sad about this). If my lunch is another piece of toast, that’s good enough for now. It’s actually quite good anytime.
I inadvertently put pressure on myself to keep on doing whatever I did in life before my baby was born. I grew cucumbers to make pickles. I didn’t buy pickles because I was going to make them. But I didn’t. The cucumbers rotted in our fridge, though we did eat some in salad. I realized this year that I don’t love cucumbers; I love pickles. I went a whole season without pickles because of some idea I had that took me awhile to let go of. I have since forgiven myself and refunded the $1.35 I spent on cucumber seeds to the compost pit. I started buying good quality pickles at the store, and I am happy again.
This is the year to roll with it: to not make plans and cancel the ones that get made in the event of unexpected naps or foul moods. There is abundance and expansion in just being here: right now, with my family. Doing what we can, whenever we can. Our boy is this year’s blueberry harvest; ripe, sweet, wondrous, and quite enough.
© 2018 Heather Self