Today I am grateful for roadside wild blueberry stands. Maine blueberries are so teeny-tiny, you can hardly eat them with your fingers. So you form your hand into one of those crane-grabber-thingies, and you happily shovel them into your mouth 10 or 15 at a time, dropping them everywhere, knowing you will probably make yourself sick from eating so many, wondering if this quart will be gone in less than 24 hours. But it’s summer, and the window for fresh wild blueberries is only so big. So you make like a crane and shovel on.
