This picture creates cognitive dissonance for me. I love blueberries, and am wildly happy that our two bushes made it through the summer and winter and have many green berries on them. But, in my mind, blueberries don't show up until August, during Seafair, when the Blue Angels are flying overhead while we pick them. Here it is, only the first week of April (or it was when I took this picture), and there they are. Based on the patterns of my childhood, the summer goes something like this: June - strawberries (we picked about 60 pounds of strawberries the day before our wedding) and edible peapods, July - raspberries (as a small child, I once completely ruined an entire flat that my dad had spent an hour picking when I tromped through it by mistake, and I've never been allowed to forget it), August - blueberries, blackberries and tomatoes, September - peaches and apples. Not so in Arkansas, or Texas, where I first had to learn to live with a totally different growing season.
In Arkansas and Texas, strawberries show up in April, generally a little before or on my birthday. This makes it really hard to have fresh strawberries for strawberry shortcake on the Fourth of July! Not only are they early, they are delicate and short-lasting, since they prefer the cooler, damper warmth of the Pacific Northwest to the hot, dry spring and summer of the south. I doubt I could go anywhere around here and pick 60 pounds of strawberries without breaking the bank. On the plus side, I will be able to make strawberry jam this weekend for my birthday, thanks to the flat I have ordered from my on-line farmer's market.
Anyway, cognitive dissonance aside, the task for now is getting bird netting over the blueberries, so we don't lose them all to the thieving blue jays again this year.
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