Read by Michael Flamel

The morning ritual of adding a handful of blueberries to my Frosted Flakes was more than just a breakfast routine; it was a symbolic gesture, a tribute to the fallen soldiers of my backyard battleground – the Blueberry Bushes. These berries, though puny and undernourished, carried the weight of a decade-long struggle against nature’s whims.

For ten years, I waged a war of stubbornness and folly against the elements, hoping to conquer my own little blueberry hill. But alas, it was a battle destined for defeat, a lesson in humility learned through countless casualties on the field of failed harvests.

The Hottenstein Homestead, nestled in the picturesque Lehigh Valley, seemed an ideal setting for agricultural endeavors. Yet, despite my best efforts, I realized that not all plants were destined to thrive in my soil. My dreams of blueberry abundance were dashed by the harsh reality of Pennsylvania’s climate and terrain.

The saga began innocently enough with the discovery of a lone blueberry bush amidst a tangle of unruly shrubs. Ignoring nature’s subtle hints, I embarked on a mission to transform this patch of land into a blueberry oasis. But nature, it seems, had other plans.

Season after season, I toiled – pruning, fertilizing, and coaxing the reluctant bushes to bear fruit. Yet, my efforts yielded only meager harvests, mocking reminders of my futile struggle. Determined to turn the tide, I orchestrated a daring relocation operation, transplanting the bushes to sunnier pastures.

But even in their new home, my blueberry battalion faced relentless assaults from marauding deer and voracious birds. I deployed every trick in the gardener’s handbook – from netting to mothballs – in a desperate bid to save my precious crop. Yet, in the end, it was not enough.

The final blow came in the form of a failed septic system, forcing the ultimate sacrifice – the burial of my blueberry dreams beneath a mound of sand. It was a sobering moment, a reckoning with the folly of my ambitions.

Yet, from the ashes of defeat, a new hope emerged. In the quiet aisles of the local nursery, I discovered a resilient ally – the service berry. With its similar taste and hearty disposition, it seemed a fitting replacement for my fallen comrades.

And so, with tempered expectations and a newfound humility, I planted the service-berry bushes in the same soil that once harbored my blueberry aspirations. This time, however, I approached the task with a different mindset – one of acceptance rather than resistance.

As the seasons passed, the service berries flourished, their bountiful harvest a testament to the wisdom gained from past failures. In their juicy sweetness, I found solace, a reminder that success in gardening lies not in defiance of nature, but in harmony with it.

And so, dear reader, I leave you with this simple truth – that sometimes, the greatest victories arise not from triumph over adversity, but from the acceptance of it. May my tale serve as a cautionary reminder to all aspiring gardeners: tread lightly, for the soil holds secrets known only to those who listen. ❖

About the Author: Jared Hottenstein is a homestead gardener who has accrued most of his gardening knowledge through killing plants and finding out what doesn’t work. He lives with his family in a 150-year-old Victorian house on 11 acres and they aspire to be “half-way” homesteaders. Over the years of reading stories to kids and listening to stories, he has realized that reading a good book is like joggling a snow globe. You’re drawn in as things settle and eager to give it another jiggle.