The sun creeps out late, grudgingly rides over the southern sky, casting long shadows,then falls exhausted. The red maple stands bare in the backyard. I stare at the garden, trying to remember the exuberant flush of plants flaunting their fruits, as ostentatious as a mandrill's ass.

I fail, of course. Every summer, I cannot believe winter will return, but so what. The same failure of imagination in January, however, crushes the soul.

The red skeleton of next year's blueberry bush sits on the tiny patch of land in my front yard. Come late July, the branches will droop from the weight of blueberries. I type this without really believing it. Still, I have evidence of blueberries past. And I am drinking it.

Blueberry melomel combines two of my favorite things in the world, blueberries and honey, both ephemeral reminders that living matters.

Now honey survives the winter well--indeed, it exists to feed the hive long after the flowers are gone. It will sit on the shelf throughout winter without losing its charm. While you sit warm under a roof, bees are dormant, cuddled about their honey. It will be there for them in the spring.

Blueberries, however, belong to the summer sun. I remember eating blueberries straight off the bush in the Kittatinny Mountains, in a clearing known only to bears and boy scouts. Soon after picking, blueberries lose their vitality. They are my Buddhist berries, reminding me of the importance of a moment, this moment.

A melomel is a mead made with fruit. The fruit is fermented with the honey. Mead can stand by itself; suffused with hints of blueberry, however, you have an elixir that will get you through these dark months.

What you will need:

• 12 1/2 pounds of honey (blueberry if you can find it--I used wildflower)
• 1 flat blueberries (a flat runs about 8 to 10 pounds--support your local farmer)
• 1 tsp gypsum (optional: if your water runs hard, forget it)
• 3 tsp yeast nutrient
• 1/4 tsp Irish moss (optional--helps wih clarity, no effect on taste)
• 1 tsp citric acid
• I package of yeast (I prefer Lalvin's EC118, but an ale yeast will work)
• 3/4 cup corn sugar

Mix the honey, gypsum, irish moss, citric acid, and yeast nutrient in 1 1/2 gallons of water, and bring to a boil for 15 minutes. Skim off the scummy stuff that floats to the top. I know the purists do not boil their honey--it might, in fact, detract a little from the honiness of the melomel--but the blueberries are the stars here, and I do not want to risk contamination.

Turn off the heat. Add your crushed blueberries to the liquid. The temperature should drop to around 160 degrees. If the temperature is too high, the mead will get hazy. Holding the fruit at about 160 degrees will pasteurize the fruit without creating too much turbidity. Do not fret too much about temperatures, though. The Celts were brewing mead long before Louis Pasteur played around with cow pox.

In your fermenter, pour 3 gallons of cold water. Mix the above with the water, and when it cools down to the 70's (Fahrenheit), pitch your yeast. (I refer you to brewing nodes for the nitty gritty here.) Put on your airlock, and stand back. The primary fermentation should last about a week. Transfer the wort to another carboy, put on the airlock, and wait.

And wait.

Then wait some more.

After a few months, the wort will be a lovely violet color. Add 3/4 cup of corn sugar to the wort at this time if you want your melomel to sparkle, and bottle. You should get about two cases of 12 ounce bottles.

Wait some more. Ideally the melomel is aged about 18 months or more, but most of mine disappears long before its first birthday.

When you can no longer stand waiting, open a bottle.

I prefer it chilled, but if you let it warm up a bit as you curl your fingers around the glass, your nose will be rewarded with more honey aroma.

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Yes, my parochialism shows--I need to convert the measurements to metric. Suggesting a bucket or two of this, a shoeful of that, would likely work as well.

Honey can be a bit expensive, but you may be fortunate enough to live near a beekeeper, who may sell you some on the cheap if you promise to return with some mead.

And finally, beware the effects of mead--it tends to wobble the legs a bit, and despite its easiness going down, may run about 20 to 30 proof.