These muffins lean into that tradition. The Juneberries remain pleasantly firm, lending a subtle sweetness that feels less like confection and more like something gathered by hand. Served warm with a pat of butter, they remind us that not every fruit was meant for pie alone.
There is something satisfying about folding an old, nearly forgotten fruit into a thoroughly modern dessert. Cheesecake, with its smooth richness and faint tang, offers a steady canvas for the Juneberry’s deeper notes of almond and cherry. This is perhaps how we reclaim it today — familiar enough to invite a first bite, distinctive enough to make one pause and ask what exactly it is they are tasting.
A crisp may be the most honest way to prepare a berry like this. There is no fussing with crust, no shaping or trimming — only fruit, sugar, and a buttery topping baked until the juices rise and bubble at the edges. In many ways, it mirrors the Juneberry itself: unpretentious, seasonal, and best enjoyed while it lasts. Spoon it warm into a bowl and you will understand why this quiet fruit once held a place at so many early American tables.
Before blueberries were branded and shipped coast to coast, another native berry ripened quietly along fence lines each June. The Juneberry once fed a young nation — and now waits patiently to be remembered.
Pawpaw preserves are extremely versatile and makes an excellent topping for ice cream and yogurt.
These homemade fried pies were a special treat my momma made for me as a child.
These doughnuts are coated with a sugary glaze and taste just like cake doughnuts from your favorite bakery.
