POST 24/2025 GOSHEN INDIANA: Blueberry season has started. I searched among our cookbooks–those left after multiple purges in recent years–and found only two recipes for blueberry pie. One of the recipes called for 4 cups fresh berries, 3 T. flour, 1/4 tsp. cinnamon, 1 cup sugar, 1/8 tsp. salt.

I wanted to prepare an open-face pie. So, I went to the internet. Since I had a store-bought crust, I baked it and let it cool. The filling called for the standard 4 cups of blueberries, 1/2 cup sugar, 1/2 cup water, 2 T. cornstarch, and a pinch of salt. “Measure out 1 cup of the blueberries, choosing the softest ones. Place them in a medium saucepan together with the 1/2 cup water. Cover and bring them to a boil.”

I decided to vary the recipe a bit. While the 1 cup of berries in 1/2 cup water was coming to a boil I whisked the cornstarch in 2 T. water and mixed in sugar, salt, cinnamon, lemon juice and salt. All readied to add to the pot once it boiled.

Well, the pot in my inattention boiled over. That made the next step somewhat discombobulating. I was to stir the pot on simmer for a few minutes until the contents were translucent. Stir I did, including trying to clean up some of the mess. The next step involved adding the 3 cups of berries to the pot and then spooning it into the baked shell, leaving it on the counter for two hours before serving.

We were hosting friends for lunch. Marty made Gazpacho soup, baked a loaf of store-bought bread and we had sides of cheese and crackers and pickled eggs. It was a delight to share bread and soul with Gwen and Dean on our patio. The dessert included an offer of vanilla ice cream with the less than perfect but still fine pie. Grateful for fine, fine friends and lessons learned for another chance at a blueberry pie.

Christmas in July

On Saturday we were included in a Christmas in July event for the more than 30 descendants of Marty’s late sister Doris and brother-in-law Bill Mast. That proved a fine time, too. Lots of food and drink, some games, swimming, and marveling at how the youngest generation is growing. The gathering was held at the home of a great-niece and her family in Edwardsburg, Michigan. Attendees came from Indiana, Michigan, Illinois, Massachusetts, Colorado and D.C. A shade tree and lake for swimming were a big boon.

Patio visitor

While we were having lunch on the patio on Sunday, this visitor joined us, but did not stay for dessert.

The winged visitor, to me, is a mystery and gift of God’s creation, God’s boundless love. Wild. Swift. Independent/Dependent. Belonging. The creature is a segue to one of the hymns we sang in church today: The Love of God by E. M. Lehman, (1917).

Stanza 1: “The love of God is greater far than tongue or pen can ever tell; it goes beyond the highest star, and reaches to the lowest hell. The wand’ring child is reconciled by God’s beloved Son. The aching soul again made whole, and priceless pardon won.”

Refrain: “O love of God, how rich and pure! How measureless and strong! It shall forevermore endure– the saints’ and angels’ song.”

Stanza 2: “When ancient time shall pass away; and human thrones and kingdoms fall; when those who here refuse to pray on rocks and hills and mountains call; God’s love so sure, shall still endure, all measureless and strong; grace will resound the whole earth round– the saints’ and angels’ song.”

Be well!

-John