Our front yard has a wonderfully bountiful juneberry tree. For years, I just thought they were an annoyance, beautiful but unknown-and-therefore-must-be-poisonous, and ending up heavily caked all over the front side of my car. Then my sister in law, who really knows her plants, identified them for us and explained that they were both edible and delicious. I still went cautiously at first, but once I'd eaten them for a while without incident, others in the family joined as well. Their season is very short (mostly just a few weeks in June, you know), and usually I miss it in the hustle and bustle of our lives. This year, however, bound at home in the pandemic, I managed to pick many quarts and we enjoyed them fresh by the handful, baked in pies, sprinkled over cheerios in the morning, and other ways besides. I have six pints in the freezer still, waiting for use to remind me of summer across our dark cold winter this year.
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