Blueberry season is almost over right here in south Louisiana, so loads of of us have their fridges and freezers filled with bulging baggage of “bleubs.” That’s what my associates and I began calling them one yr on a sweltering journey to Pearl River Blues Natural Blueberry Farm. Delirious from the warmth and the hyperfocus on these berry-laden branches, our brains become frosted midnight blue orbs. We might solely suppose, see, scent, say: BLEUB.
When the youngsters whined for lunch: “Extra bleubs.”
When somebody discovered a dense cluster: “Oh my bleub!”
Simply to interrupt the silence: “Bleuuuuuub!”
We returned to