Blueberry Crumble Pie

Sultry and wet as the days have been here, the blueberries are practically bursting off the bushes.  The shady, sweet scented acres of pine woods behind our home are host to about twenty blueberry bushes, most of which tower over my head.  Donal and I were pulling off fruit the size of marbles.  It was easy to fill my largest bowl.

All four children wanted to help wash the berries, to help make the pie crust and to help mix up the pies.  Unfortunately, in my small kitchen, too much help leads to short tempers and floury disasters!  So this time, I divided them up.  Michael assisted with crusts.  He mixed and rolled dough.  He cradled the “dough baby.”  He slurped up the scraps.  Donal made the sugar-free filling, while Brenna stirred the sugared.  They each rolled handfuls of blue-black berries frosted with bloom around on their palms, picking out the shriveled, the small, the sour, and choosing only the sweetest, fattest, softest ones for the pies.  Finally Patrick took his turn, climbing up on a wooden stool to cut butter, flour, and sugar into crumbles to top the pies.  He strewed crumbs across the pies, the counter, and the floor.  Most of the topping ended up on the pie, though a certain amount strayed into his bird-like mouth.

It feels like summer.  Blueberry pies in the oven.  Golden heat outside.  No school.  Yesterday, Donal found two pale-blue robin’s eggshells on the lawn.   Tonight Neal is taking us to see the Kinston Indians play baseball, taking us to eat hot boiled peanuts, taking us to introduce the kids to the rituals of pop flies in the stands, the seventh inning stretch, and marking stats on the program.   Meanwhile, another summer treat began arriving today: next fall’s curriculum delivered by the UPS fairy to my front door.  Yum!  Almost as good as bubbly, crunchy blueberry crumble pie.