We went hunting for some wild blueberries the other day and found a ton near the Blue Ridge Parkway. (That's as close as I will come to giving the location away). As we picked away, people would slow down to see what we were doing since we were still visible from the road. My reaction was to turn my back, to give the impression I was doing something more private than picking blueberries. Folks have been known to slam on the brakes and rush up the hills to get the berries you had intended to pick yourself. The ruse works. Nobody stopped.
I had meant to include some blueberry health tips in my outdoors column Saturday but got to writing about fishing and forgot about writing abut the blueberries.
We had intended to make a pie with about 3 cups of the berries, sugar and cornstarch but Mrs. Koontz could not find a piecrust that did not include lard (pig fat), so she got this little tart shells, which are cute but as I left Tuesday to come back to work they had still not been filled with blueberries and cooked in the oven and cooled and covered with whipped cream.
You think there are any left at the cabin?
Well, you gotta have faith...
Oh, yeah, we chased those girls in bikinis away.
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