I learned to drive on a tractor. I spent most of my summer barefoot. We didn't have pools in our backyards, we had nature--and a rive. I took my driving test in a hail storm. It's nothing like Southern California. Does that make one better or worse? I don't know.
Growing up, summer meant long, hot days. It mean sunburns, followed by a fresh crop of freckles. It meant barefoot and in a bathing suit, from 9 am until 9 pm. It meant sleepovers on the trampoline. It meant running in the sprinklers. It meant all-day adventures with my partners in crime, Katie and Laura, who lived in the houses adjacent to my parents'.
From grade school until we each started our own paths in early high school, the three of us were inseparable. We staged lawnmower races across our backyards (because no one in Oregon has a fence). We whipped up strange concoctions to attempt to feed to Laura's dog, Charlie. We made paper dolls that looked like people we knew--Most famously, the Dawn Doll. We did origami and played with clay, and tried to sell our creations to the neighbors (the Guy Who Didn't Pay still owes us big bucks for whatever crap we pawned off on him). We came up with elaborate stories to torment our younger siblings with--I am fairly certain we had Laura's sister convinced she was adopted. We played the piano and sang Lion King songs. We took dance classes. We waited for the sun to set for kick the can and flashlight tag. Looking back, I don't know how we ever got bored. We had each other, and we had acres to run wild on.
As our clay-creation business proved to be less than fruitful, we also sought out employment through other means. I mowed a community lawn for $45 a month. We all did our share of "chores" to earn our freedoms and a little fun money here and there. But before we could jump, full force, into the workforce at 15 or 16, we found another way to make some extra money for all the Jones Soda and Mambas our little hearts desired.
One of the local farms paid people to pick blueberries during the summer. Pickers made $2.50 per bucket, which probably worked out to far less than minimum wage, but our child labor was somehow legal. Katie, Laura and I would get up at 5 something in the morning, have one of our parents drive us out to the farms, and we would pick berries until noon. Each bucket you filled got you a stamp on your card, which you turned in at the end of the day. I remember paychecks being roughly $75, which, when you're 12 or 13, is a lot of money.
But the work wasn't easy. Not only did we make a huge sacrifice by getting up early, but we would spend hours hunched over rows of blueberries, sitting ontop of hard plastic buckets. We got sunburned. We ate a lot of junk food. We ate a lot of blueberries. We watched in awe as migrant workers, with far more nimble hands than our own, breezed down rows of blueberries, filling up a dozen buckets in the time that we completed two or three. But nevertheless, we did this for several summers. Blueberry picking became somewhat iconic for us--it was summer when you could make some extra cash picking berries.
Over those summers, I guess you could argue that I learned how to appreciate hard work. I learned how difficult it can be to make decent money doing manual labor. I learned that ice cream is even more delicious after you've been working in the hot sun all morning. I also learned that I hate blueberries. I was never a fan of the fruit before, but after summers of sneaking handfuls as a snack, here and there, I loathe their taste. I may have even been known to refer to them as the "devil berries." Funny how things turn out, no? Despite the distaste for blueberries that I developed, I still fondly think back to all my summers spent on Norris Farms. I can't walk by a fruit display in a store and peek to see if the berries are from Norris's.
And even though I am not a blueberry fan, I have come to appreciate them for what they are. As a kid, they meant money to me. Now, they mean a fun ingredient to toss into muffins and breads, sparingly, to change things up.
With the copious amounts of zucchini I have had at my disposal, I have been looking for a way to change up the typical zucchini bread with some new flavors and textures. Blueberries answered that call!
Blueberry Zucchini Muffins
recipe adapted from epicurious.com
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| Blueberries and lemon zest add an interesting twist to zucchini muffins. |
- 3 eggs, lightly beaten
- 1/2 cup olive oil
- 1/2 cup applesauce
- 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
- 1 teaspoon lemon juice
- 1 tablespoon lemon zest
- 1 cup white sugar
- 1 1/4 cups brown sugar
- 2 cups shredded zucchini
- 1 1/2 cups white flour
- 1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 2 teaspoons baking powder
- 1/4 teaspoon baking soda
- 1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
- 1 teaspoon nutmeg
- 1 pint fresh blueberries
- 1/2 cup flour
- 1/2 cup brown sugar
- 1/2 cup oats
- 1 teaspoon cinnamon
- 1 teaspoon nutmeg
- 6 tablespoons butter
- 2 tablespoons chopped walnuts/pecans (optional)
2. Line a muffin tray with paper liners OR lightly grease two large loaf pans.
3. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, spices, baking soda and baking powder and salt.
4. With an electric mixer, mix the eggs and sugars. Add the olive oil and applesauce, followed by the juice and vanilla.
5. Mix in the dry ingredients.
6. Fold in the zucchini, zest and berries.
7. Scoop into liners, or fill loaf pans.
8. Mix together the crumble ingredients, until well blended (but crumbly, duh!).
9. Sprinkle on top of the muffins/loaf.
10. Bake for 18-22 minutes (muffins) or about 1 hour (loaf).
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