Blueberry Blues

Blueberry Blues

By Jody Worsham, All rights reserved to search for actual blueberries.

Every year we have a Blueberry Festival. I use the term blueberry loosely as you are more likely to find an abundance of festival and very little blueberry. Last year we missed blueberry pancakes on the square because the line was three blocks long when we arrived at 9a.m.

This year I promised the kids that we would be first in line. We were at the festival at 6:30a.m.; of course the line hadn’t formed yet and none of the vendors were set up but it was a cool 88 degrees.

I remember when there was a blueberry cooking contest, a blueberry pie eating contest, and even a blueberry costume parade. They even crowned a Miss Blueberry; no scholarship or prizes but a lovely bouquet of blueberries and a crown.

Now, unless we are importing blueberries from China, or the vendors once ate a blueberry or touched one, or sat next to one, that’s about the only connection I see to blueberries.

I did see dozens and dozens of food booths. Lots of turkey legs, funnel cakes, and soft drinks were for sale. At the least, I was expecting the food to be wrapped in blue paper. It seems that the carnival people have abandoned the carnival and joined the festival circuit.

I heard various vendors talking as we waited for the pancake line to form.

“Hey, Beaudroux (of Beaudroux’s Trash, Treasures, and Egg Rolls) I missed you at the Sassafras Festival last week. Are you going to make it to the Black Eyed Pea Festival next week?”

“Depends on whether or not my shipment of guaranteed-to-break-in-less-than-five-minutes novelty items makes it through customs. The Wong-G-Ten-Fat factory is slow.”

Finally the pancake line was open.

“Do you want plain pancakes or blueberry ones?” the pancake maker asked. Why would I come to a blueberry pancake festival to eat plain pancakes?

“Blueberry, please”.

I was expecting a special mixture of pancake mix, even blue. Instead, I got plain pancakes with a handful of blueberries thrown on top. I was hoping for blueberry syrup on the table but only found plain old artificial maple flavored.

As we sat there eating our pancakes, the five-year-old meticulously picked out all the blueberries from his pancakes. It wasn’t hard; there were only five.

We headed back to the car at 8:30a.m., temperature 95 degrees, we took the free blue balloons being offered, signed pillow cases destined for our military troops, and passed on the blueberry lemonade.

On the way we passed a friend who was just arriving. She asked us “Are they still serving blueberry pancakes?”

I smiled and said “Depends on what you mean by blueberry pancakes.”

Maybe next year I will just have my own festival. I'll make plain pancakes, add blue food coloring, and have my own Blue-minus-the-berry Festival at home with the air conditioner running full blast.