Normanday #86: Is my kite up here?
Here is the single entry from last week when I asked you to write for three minutes about…
…who wrote to ask you to visit Hutchinson, Kansas, and why.
I recognized the handwriting on the envelope. My aunt’s Ps look like fancy musical notes. The letter inside told me she was desperate for me to bring a batch of beigeberries to Hutchinson, Kansas. Was it really time for the Kansas State Fair already? Every year she competes in the choose-a-berry pie-making contest. She loses every year, and every year after she loses she vows that next year will be the year she’ll finally win. Last year her blueberry pie didn’t just lose the contest, it made one of the judges break out in hives.
“I’ve tried strawberries, raspberries, and huckleberries. I even made a pie with grapes,” she cried. “Next year you’ll bring me beigeberries and I’ll be sure to win.”
Beigeberries are rare. The only place they grow on the entire planet is in the town where I live, in a little field behind my house. You’d think a berry named “beige” would be boring and flavorless, but beigeberries are delicious. They’re also tiny. Very, very tiny. A whole pie will need at least a million beigeberries. I’d better start picking.