Blueberry Memories

Leave a comment Standard

I grew up on the coast of Maine in a sleepy little fishing village half way up the coast. My parent’s property looked over St John’s Bay, tucked down through the woods at the end of a dirt driveway. Behind our house were more blackberry and raspberry bushes than we could count. On lazy summer days I would wrap myself in blankets and make my way through the tangled berry thorns to the center on the patch where I would lay my blankets out and soak in the sunshine. It was my little slice of heaven, tucked away among the bramble.

At the height of summer, I would abandon my sanctuary and venture to the very edge of the front yard where the grass met the rocky Maine coastline. It was there the sweetest of all the berries grew. Tiny berries no bigger than the round end of a thumb tack, peeked through think, low lying bushes. If you blinked, you would miss them, Maine blueberries.

Further down east (north and to the east for those from away) there were miles of fields of these tiny berries where workers with rakes that resembled hair picks would spend their days raking in these sweet treats. For 14 years, Maine blueberries were all I knew. I didn’t know until I went away to boarding school that blueberries the size of my thumbnail existed. Yes, I lived in a shelter little bubble. Heck, I didn’t even know white eggs were an actual thing until I was 21, but that’s a story for another time.

Despite this new and mind blowing discovery, I remained loyal to my tiny little Maine blueberries until I was well into my 30s…right about the time we moved to New Hampshire. Now I find myself visiting the coast of Maine less and less. Instead, I find myself staying closer to home, creating new memories separate from those cherished childhood ones I’ve held so close for so long.

It is here, in New Hampshire, that children are forming memories of gigantic blueberries where only 10 fit in your hand at once. With a local blueberry field practically in our backyard, we’ve been creating moments at sunset as we pick these sweet treats to bring home for pies, jellies, and snacks.

They say home is where you hang your hat, but in summer, I would argue that home is where you pick your blueberries.

French Fucking Fries For The Win!

Comment 1 Standard

Oh, french fries. Delicious little fried potato slices dripping with grease and covered in salt. So bad for you, but SO yummy! Now a days we can zip through the drive through when we crave them, or we can buy them in the freezer isle at the grocery store to bring home and pop into the Fry Daddy. They are everywhere and that makes us, as a society, very happy. So what do we do when we want to get healthy, but we still want our fry fix? We make “fries” out of everything! EVERYTHING! *evil laugh and cackle*

In my quest to get healthy I have learned to make a lot of things out of other things that don’t usually make those things. Are you following me? For example, my vegan alfredo from last week, I made cauliflower into a cream sauce. Boom! Just like that! I’m a mother fucking magician, yo! Now that the kids were happy with creaminess on their pasta, I decided to make myself happy with french fries. We had done the sweet potato fries already, yawn, but who hasn’t? Yay, you can bake sweet potatoes and make them into fries, whoop-dee-doo! *eye roll* I wanted to find something…well…different. AH ha! I’ve got it!

I’ve been buying carrots like crazy from the local farm stand. Not to eat the carrots, but to use the carrot tops. I will get into that in a later blog because pesto. That’s all I’ll say about that. So what have I been doing with the actual carrots? Not much. Half of them have been eaten raw, a quarter into homemade vegetable stock, and the final quarter into the trash. *ducks to avoid flying objects* To keep this weeks carrots from going into the trash, I decided to make them into french fries. Once again I sifted through my one and only vegan cookbook, nothing. Then I looked online, meh. Then I used what little part of my brain is left after raising children. Get ready for some carroty goodness!


Carrots (duh), about one pound cut into thin strips. You know, french fry size.

Extra virgin olive oil, or EVOO in the cooking world (totes posh), about 2 TBS

1/4 almond flour

Salt to taste

How to get ‘r’ done:

Fire up your oven to 450 degrees. While it’s warming up, toss your carrots in the olive oil to coat them. I use my hands in a bowl because I’m a heathen, but you can toss them whatever way blows your dress up. Once the carrots sticks are coated with oil, throw in the almond flour and toss them some more. By now your fingers should be coated a little less than the carrots. Cover a baking sheet with parchment paper, and lay the carrots sticks all over it. Sprinkle with salt, and pop those suckers into the oven for about 12 minutes, or until crispy. When they are done, start feeding them to the masses while still hot! French fucking fries for the win!


I don’t like cooked carrots, neither do my kids, but these were a hit! They were crisp on the outside, and soft on the inside. Just like a french fry should be. Not to mention the added flavor the almond flour brought to the table. They even re-heated nicely the next day when I brought them to work for lunch. I’m totally winning at this cooking thing! *does the running man* So, if you’re wondering what to have for dinner tonight, go to your local farm stand, farmer’s market, or grocery store and get some carrots! Your bellies will thank you. I’ll just say, “You’re welcome.”