Today I bought myrtilles in Paris for a tart I’m working on. Exactly one year ago I went blueberry picking with my mother in Ohio.
She lived in a far western suburb of Cleveland which is being steadily overtaken by big box stores and developments of large houses with no trees in the yard and too few windows.
But there remain a few small working farms along that stretch of Detroit Road, including Zuppero Berry Farm.
My mom had lived down the road for 14 years, driven past the “Pick Your Own Berries” sign countless times, and never once stopped. Last August seemed as good a time as any, I suppose.
There wasn’t much left on the bushes, to be honest. We picked a scant pint and called it a day.
Zuppero Berry Farm 2935 Jaycox Rd. Avon, OH 44011 (440) 937 5437
Even if for only a pint, I imagine picking those berries from the branches must have been more meaningful than picking up a plastic container at the supermarket off a shelf. I lived in a sizeable farm area as a kid where we bought food directly from the growers, and somehow the experience came off as more “honest” so to speak.
It’s nice to see a photo of your mom, even just from the side.
Connie: It was more meaningful for a host of reasons!
Charity: I’m glad I had my camera that day.
Having read your birthday post in October, I think I understand how you cherish that day and the memory of the blueberries you picked together.
Shelli