The Art of Blueberry Picking

When we were growing up, our Grandma Glady often took us out to pick blueberries on sunny summer days. Now, let me tell you, picking blueberries in Minnesota is pretty serious business.

Our grandmother would start the event by equipping us with the necessary picking gear: a vessel to store the goods (usually a bucket, pitcher, or something similar with a handle), a hat, and LOTS of bug spray to protect us from the masses of flys, horseflys, and, of course, mosquitoes. Off we would go into the blueberry patch, stepping ever so carefully so we would not trample on even one precious berry.

We had a patch on our own land where we could go to pick without being disturbed, otherwise we would all hop into Grandpa’s car and go to a “secret” place our grandparents had previously discovered. No matter what, we were never to tell a soul where these secret locations were. If someone were to pass by while we were picking, we would duck until the trespassers were gone. We would then commence our task until Grandma told us the mission was complete. That meant we picked until every last blueberry was gone.

The art of blueberry picking also requires Grandma’s rule to “pick clean.” This meant no leaves, grass, sticks, bugs, unripe, or overripe berries. You pulled off all the berries with one scoop of your hand, letting the unwanted stuff sift through your fingers. We picked until we had enough blueberries for a pie, jam, and pancakes with blueberry syrup. It was even better if we had leftovers to freeze for winter cooking.

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Birch Point Bites