My Home Town-Millinocket-Blueberry Muffins

Ok, so here goes another memory.  Guess I'm just full of them.  My brother Leo and my two sisters, Linda and Nancy used to get up early in the morning and we would decide it would be a good time to go picking blueberries.  We each had our own container, mine of course was the smallest as I was the youngest.  My mother would give us the usual lecture-"don't go near the hobo's and Leo you make sure you watch your sisters.  and don't be long", she would say. We lived by the railroad tracks and my Mother knew there were hobo's along  the tracks as they left many signs of being there.  They had a language all their own and my mother used to tell us about them.  I think she used to feed some of them.  She was like that, very kindhearted for those who are down and out.
Well, we used to have to cross the railroad tracks and climb up the billy goat trail to find the best blueberries in town.  When we arrived we would split up a little bit but not far from each other.  We could still talk to each other and actually could see each other. We were a bit on edge as my brother said we could see a bear as they too liked the blueberries.  He said to look for poop!  Well I'll tell you mister, I wasn't looking for any poop, not me, he could if he wanted to, I was looking for blueberries.  (I never collected too many berries in my little tin bucket as somehow they didn't accumulate like they did in everyone else's bucket.) They used to give me a hard time and say you eat more than you pick.  I somehow didn't know how they knew, even though my mother would say when we returned-how many did you pick DebbieDo?  I'd say I picked a big bunch but Leo made me pour all mine in the big bucket.  She'd say, "ya, I can see that".  Well, then we would dump them all out and we would pick all the little leaves and any stems we could find before we washed them.  Then came the fun part.  I'd sit up at the kitchen table and watch my big brother take out the big yellow bowl and ingredients and begin to measure and pour and stir and all that stuff.  I wanted to get involved but I knew I was only an observer, not a participant.  I did get to grease the muffin tins with the paper from the butter and then he would measure out just the right amount to put into each muffin tin.  In the oven they would go. What seemed like an hour only was about 20-30 minutes, out came the most beautiful and delicious muffins you've ever seen.  Out came the milk, the butter and little plates and we would consume the muffins as though we were starved.  And, we accomplished this and didn't even meet up with one Hobo!