THE SWEETNESS OF MAINE BLUEBERRIES

A Devotion on Childhood Joy and the Gift of Memory

“We will not hide them from their children, but tell to the coming generation the glorious deeds of the Lord, and His might, and the wonders that He has done.”

— Psalm 78:4 (ESV)

My dad loved to talk about growing up in Lubec, Maine. His stories were simple, but they stuck with me—sweet little glimpses into a world that felt slower, fuller, and somehow more grounded than what we know today.

One of my favorite memories he shared was about the Penny Scramble. It was an old tradition at the local carnival. The adults would toss nickels, quarters, and pennies into sawdust, and all the kids would dive in, scratching around like excited treasure hunters. Dad said it wasn’t just a one-time event during a parade—it was going on all the time. A simple game, sure—but it lit up the hearts of little ones in that small Maine town.

He’d smile as he described devouring a piece of blueberry pie. And not just any pie… this was Maine wild blueberry pie—deep, sweet, and full of bold, tangy flavor you just can’t find anywhere else.

Dad always said, “There’s no comparison. You can try berries from Michigan or New York, but Maine blueberries? That’s the best blueberry I’ve ever had!”

And I agree.

Those tiny wild blueberries, raked off low-lying vines with hand-held combs, hold a flavor that’s unforgettable. You can try frozen, fresh, or farmed—but nothing comes close to what grows in the rocky soil of Maine. It’s one of the richest, most distinct tastes I’ve ever known.

And for me, it all comes down to one dessert: cold Maine blueberry pie.

This wasn’t the traditional baked kind. No, this one was different. It had a chilled gelatin filling—smooth and refreshing—topped with real whipped cream and sprinkled with sweet, wild blueberries and a crumble of golden crust. My mother knew it was my favorite. Every year, during blueberry season, she’d make it just for me—at least once or twice. I still remember the anticipation, the first bite, and the quiet way her love was placed into every slice.

To this day, it’s my favorite pie in all the world. Nothing else comes close. When I taste it, I feel like a boy again—loved, seen, and home.

As I reflect on these memories, I find myself incredibly grateful. I had parents who gave me moments I can still taste and feel decades later. Memories I can reach back and hold onto. That’s a gift. And it reminds me how important it is to be intentional with the people we love—our children, our grandchildren, our siblings, our friends.

My mother is now in heaven. And as many of you know, my father has been suffering with leukemia. I don’t know how much time he has left, and so I’m holding tight to every memory I have with him. This past Fourth of July, we spent time together with friends up on Lake Ontario. It was simple. It was special. It’s one of those moments I’ll never forget.

Now, as a grandfather myself—with two grandchildren and another one on the way—this has taken on a whole new meaning. When I see their faces, I feel the deep desire to create memories they’ll hold onto for life. I want them to remember my love, my laughter, my presence. I want to give them treasures they can store in their hearts, long after I’m gone. Just like my parents gave me.

These are the things that matter.

The pie.

The laughter.

The sawdust.

The stillness of a summer day spent with someone you love.

Let’s not miss the chance to make more memories like these.

Let’s slow down—put the phone away, turn off the noise, and create moments that our children and grandchildren will talk about one day with joy in their eyes and tears in their voice. Moments that remind them they were loved, they were seen, and they were home.

Because those memories?

They become the quiet stories our loved ones will whisper to their children someday… the kind that live on long after we’re gone.

With Love,

Steve Porter

www.morningglorydevo.com

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Happy 85th Birthday to my dad! ❤️