Summering in Indiana

There are far sweeter places, some say, than Indiana. It's true we have more than our share of flat in this part of the world. The winter's gray skies sour our spirits by February, and there's not much lovely to see unless Lake Michigan gives us another snow storm to cover the slush.

Summer in Indiana, though, treats us to glory. This morning I awoke to the ringing of the phone and my friend Mary Ann inviting me to pick blueberries. Throwing on some shorts and a t-shirt, I hurried into her van and off we went to the Blueberry Ranch, hoping to beat the thunderstorms and the birds. 40 pounds of berries and some great conversation later, Mary Ann dropped me off at home in time for lunch. Maia invited Kenzie, James invited Patrick, and Randy and I drove the crew to Ideal Beach.

Randy says it's not a real beach, it's only a lakeshore. On a warm summer day, the difference isn't all that significant. The kids played in the shallow, sandy water, dug for shells and rocks, and retreated to the play area occasionally. Randy and I waded too, for a while, then we walked and talked and watched.

Hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill were our supper, followed by the first blueberry pie of the season. Not the last, I hope. Most of the berries are nestled in the freezer for winter, but I have enough for one more pie stashed in the fridge. Weather permitting, I'll pick again this week or next, or both. Somehow, picking and preserving feeds my soul as well as my body and my family.

Could I give it today, I would offer to anyone and everyone the taste of Indiana blueberry pie, made with berries still warm from the bush. Savor it, let the berries burst open and fill your mouth with their sweetness. Taste the soil and the sun and the grace of God. If you can, eat it outside, in the equal sweetness of an Indiana summer evening, accompanied by lightening bugs, skeeters, and a gentle breeze. Hide this day in your heart, for those gray February nights when, light-starved, we long for a taste of joy.