We are not the Blueberry Girls Neil Gaiman is talking about

Let me start by saying that Neil Gaiman does not know me.

Sure, he’s retweeted me (the neighbors could probably hear my squee) and publicly noticed that I made a tea blend dedicated to he and Amanda Palmer on the occasion of their engagement (prior to discovering the whole flavored-teas-are-an-abomonation-to-some-brits thing) but the simple fact is that Neil Gaiman does not know me. Or Vanessa.

So when you hear him reading Blueberry Girl, please know that he wrote it for someone else (it’s actually an incredibly sweet story) and that the fact that several friends refer to us as the Blueberry Girls has nothing — nada, zip, zilcherino — to do with his lovely book/poem/prose-thing that goes by a similar name. We’re girls, on a blueberry farm, so, yeah. Blueberry Girls.


All those disclaimers having been lain at your feet, let me also share this with you, because it was brought to mind on Mother’s Day, when my mother and I were in my kitchen garden and several of my windchimes were stirred by the breeze at once (a sound I adore.)

Mom gave me a copy of Blueberry Girl for my birthday a few months after we first arrived at the farm, and yesterday as we stood in my garden with the windchimes chiming simultaneously I thought “Ooh, I should share that youtube clip of Blueberry Girl, with the chimes that sound almost like this.”

It’s quite fine, and because I believe beauty fuels our soul I wanted to share it with you.

So! I am sharing with you a youtube video of Neil Gaiman reading his beautifully-illustrated children’s book Blueberry Girl, which, as we’ve established, does not refer to me.

(Also, I hope all of these things for you. :>)


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