Blueberries on My Mind

Yes, blueberries, the small, blue, heavenly sweet gems one guzzles like popcorn—at least while in Maine. Maine is the largest producer of wild blueberries in the world, and Kennebunk, the lively coastal town where Patti and I spend the month of July, is the site of an annual, day-long event in celebration of the beloved little fruit. The Blueberry Arts Festival features everything blueberry (jams, syrups, pies, paintings, pottery, toys, t-shirts, books, hats, and more) as well as the non-blueberry wares of dozens of local artists and artisans. This was my third year participating in it as a vendor, and in anticipation of the event, last winter I started painting local scenes in watercolor. I hoped my interpretations of familiar places would appeal to both tourists and locals attending the show.

Up earlier than usual on Saturday morn, I pulled my cart into the 10 x 10 square feet of grass allocated to me between a t-shirt seller and a ceramics artist. Patti bought a new tablecloth and helped me to arrange my artwork and books—including my latest, Leibisch’s Journey—on the small rectangular table that was my storefront. Seated on my lawn chair with the New York Times in hand, I expected a quiet morning. My spot was adjacent to the town library’s book sale stall, and usually, my traffic does not start until late morning, after everyone has gone through the books. Yet this morning, the action started well before I made it to the business section of the paper. Surprisingly, my earlier art of a fishing scene was the first sale, having grabbed the attention of a fellow visiting from Fort Lauderdale. The day continued on with both art sales and a few books, going well past noon. Leibisch sold a few copies to those who were taken with the cover and the book description. Happy I was.

Sunday was recovery day, with the sky overcast and rain predicted for later on. Patti and I decided to take a walk in the wild blueberry patch in Arundel, a small farming community to the west of Kennebunk. We walked among berry bushes well over six feet high. It took me a bit of touch and feel to gently remove the berries from the stalk without crushing them. Picking berries in the wild was a soothing, almost meditative activity. We meandered along blissfully through the groves of towering bushes. Without realizing it, I had filled up my plastic container to the brim, dropping the berries as I walked along and leaving a trail behind me. My thoughts wandered as I contemplated how I would paint these beautiful little blue objects in watercolor. The rain started, putting an end to my daydreaming, and we headed back.