November in Sweden is hard. Even with a full dose of summer sun, the lowering ceiling of clouds and the sunrise walks to preschool and the sunset walks home from preschool just make you feel a little tired, a little shaky. You go to bed early because your body thinks it is the middle of the night, but then you wake up at 5am because you went to sleep too early.
Anyway, it makes you think of summer and blueberries. And then in an excellent article in GQ about immigration, I find this:
As blueberries go, the wild variety (“lowbush”) are the rock stars. The cultivated kind (“highbush”) can be planted anywhere, and grow in huge fields in places like New Jersey and Michigan. You’re as likely to find either topping your cereal.
Sometimes you’ve got these big, fat berries bobbing in your milk, and other times you’ll have tiny bold nuggets on your spoon. Do a taste test someday. The cultivated ones are watery and mealy compared to the tiny wild ones—intense bursts of candy-like fruit. Once you notice the difference, you will never buy the fat ones again.
And I realize why our blueberries in our forest are so good, and why the blueberries you get in the supermarket in the US are so disappointing.
I miss our blueberries.