I love all the berries: blueberry, strawberry, raspberry, even gooseberry.

Though the immediate pleasure of tasting these sweet fruits is nice, there’s more to it than that, as each one comes with an inherent treasure of memories and thoughts. Some are specific — about the only time I’ve ever seen odd little hairy-tipped gooseberries is on that prickly little bush we had growing in among the grapevines, likely planted because my grandpa loved gooseberry pie. Some are more general — layers upon layers of strawberry pickings throughout the years, in different contexts but all in search of those juicy rubies within the leaves. Some instantly bridge the gap of decades, for raspberries make me think both of our childhood mutt that would go along and eat the few ripening berries right off the brambles as well as my daughter who prefers to eat raspberries right off her fingers, and blueberries make me think both of Mr. McKenzie’s sprawling U-Pick Patch in Alabama as well as my children’s nightly routine of frozen blueberries in a cup while reading bedtime stories.

Some thoughts are even hinging on philosophical; by nomenclatural default, we should take time to mull over mulberries. If things made with blueberries usually turn purple, should they be called purpleberries instead? Speaking of names, how come many so-called berries aren’t even berries at all — strawberries are “aggregate accessory fruits,” and raspberries, blackberries, and boysenberries are “drupelets”?

The real Berry I’m considering right now is in a category all his own. A month and a half ago, Wendell Berry passed from his Kentucky home into the next life, and though I of course never met him, it’s almost impossible not to feel I would have greatly liked him. Berry was a prolific writer, across many genres — poems, novels, essays — and everything he wrote seemed rooted in a belonging to the land and its Creator. He cared deeply about peace for humans and the environment, and somehow his words on the page almost always feel like they belong with me.

Once someone said my writing reminded them of Wendell Berry’s, and whether I deserved it or not, that’s a compliment I’ll hold onto forever. The Wikipedia page on him says, “According to [Berry], the good life includes sustainable agriculture, appropriate technologies, healthy rural communities, connection to place, the pleasures of good food, animal husbandry, good work, local economics, the miracle of life, consistent life ethic, fidelity, frugality, reverence, and the interconnectedness of life.” I’m all there!

But of course, I don’t want to be just like Wendell Berry. I don’t want to be a fake berry like strawberries are, but to work to make my own words reflect my values like he did. To quote him, from his novel Hannah Coulter, “You mustn’t wish for another life. You mustn’t want to be somebody else. What you must do is this: ‘Rejoice evermore. Pray without ceasing. In everything give thanks.’ I am not all the way capable of so much, but those are the right instructions.”

I’d say those are berry good directions.

Blueberry Bread

Whether I should or not, I have to keep playing off of the berry correlation. And something tells me this bread would go perfectly alongside a cup of tea and one of Berry’s books — I haven’t read nearly as many of his works as I intend to, so perhaps this will remind me to get a title off my To Read list and into my hands. To reference the color question from above, while made with blueberries, it’s definitely more of a purple hue; gorgeous and packed with flavor either way.

Prep tips: We drizzled with a salty, runny macadamia nut butter, but a standard powdered sugar glaze (or nothing) works well too.

• 7 ounces flour
• 4 eggs
• 4 ounces sugar, plus a tablespoon
• 8 ounces blended blueberries
• 2 ounces heavy cream
• 1 ½ teaspoons baking powder
• ½ teaspoon salt
• 2 ½ ounces butter, melted and cooled to lukewarm

Whisk the eggs with the sugar until a bit fluffy, then whisk in 7 ounces of the fruit puree and all the cream. Fold in the flour, baking powder, and salt, and then the butter. Transfer to a buttered and floured loaf pan. Bake at 325°F for 1 hour.

Meanwhile, mix the remaining ounce of fruit puree with a tablespoon each of water and sugar, and bring to a boil in a small saucepan. When the sugar is dissolved, set aside; brush the loaf with this when it comes out of the oven, leaving it in the pan to cool. Once bread is cool, remove from tin and place on a cooling rack. Drizzle with something tasty.

Lettuce Eat Local is a weekly local foods column by Amanda Miller, who lives in rural Reno County on the family dairy farm with her husband and three small children. She seeks to help build connections through food with her community, the earth, and the God who created it all. Send feedback and recipe ideas to hyperpeanutbutter@gmail.com.