Blueberry Lane, Avon
Yes there really is a Blueberry Lane and it’s in Avon, Connecticut.
You have to drive down a lovely country road (actually named Lovely Street!) to get there. If it this sounds idyllic, it is. Or more appropriately, was.
That’s were my three brothers and I grew up. Building forts, swimming in the brook and occasionally, accidentally setting the woods on fire. Fortunately, that wasn’t me. It was as if there were two Blueberry Lanes; the girl’s version and the boy’s version.
My version included playing in the fields and woods near our house. Miss Wheeler’s farm was behind us and she had horses which we tried luring to the fence with outstretched hands holding carrots. They always came over.
Occasionally we’d stop into Miss Wheeler’s farm house and she’d give us oatmeal cookies that she had baked in her wood fired stove. To this day, I’ve never had an oatmeal cookie that can compare to them.
My brothers also went to Miss Wheeler’s, often picking a bouquet of flowers from her garden on the way to her door. She knew but didn’t care- she loved their visits. Once again, the cookies were a draw but not the main reason for the visit. Miss Wheeler had an amazing house with a Victrola phonograph with the old 78 records and framed photos of Avon scenes that have long since vanished. She also shared her stories of World War I and II and what is was like growing up in the early 1900′s. When she reached her nineties, she would take her cookies and visit the “old folks” in the nursing home. Miss Wheeler was special and we were fortunate that the tract of land for our neighborhood had been part of her farm and she was our neighbor.
Here are some of the photos of the woods we basically lived in all summer long.
These were the waterfalls where we drank water from. Don’t know if I’d do that today but we survived!
Then there were tremendous outcroppings of rock. The glaciers deposited some very interesting geological specimens in our backyards.
Finally the trees, lots of trees, My favorite was this one. We named it Grand Bras which means big arm in French. I guess it just sounded more exotic.
So, that’s a bit of introduction and a trip down memory lane.
It also explains the Avon in “avoncalling” and the Blueberry Lane heading.
You know I was wondering about the title of your blog and your user name. Thanks for telling us this story.
I like the name of the tree. We had an old oak tree that we called the elbow tree, because it was shaped like a bent arm and had a distinctive “elbow” to it.
Your place sounds like an idea place to grow up!
Ditto for me, I was wondering the same things. I thought perhaps you were an Avon Lady is a previous era. Beautiful story.
I was considering changing my user and blog name but this was my first instinct, so I’ll probably stick with it.
I better decide soon!
Avon was a great place to grow up and Blueberry Lane was our epicenter.