Archive for the ‘edible wild’ Category
competing with the squirrels #2
We watched our hazelnuts carefully every day until August 11, certain the squirrels would not get them ahead of us.
our hazelnuts, almost ready to pick
Then, as humans do, we went on a small vacation, and returned on August 14, only three days later.
As soon as I was out of the car, I went to have a look at my hazelnuts.
And not one remained.
no hazelnuts
The squirrels got the hazelnuts.
No poem can express my dismay.
Next year…
Warning: 1. never eat any plant if you are not absolutely certain of the identification; 2. never eat any plant if you have personal sensitivities, including allergies, to certain plants or their derivatives; 3. never eat any plant unless you have checked several sources to verify the edibility of the plant. © Jane Tims 2012competing with the squirrels #1
The squirrels and I have issues. I say squirrels, because we have at least two species of squirrel (Sciurus sp.) on our property, reds and greys.
The red squirrels were here before we arrived, about 31 years ago. The red squirrels I see here today must be the great-great-great… grandchildren of the little fellow who used to shimmy down a copper wire to get to our feeder. The grey squirrel arrived only a couple of years ago and is as big as a small cat. Both reds and greys compete with the birds for the sunflower seeds and other food we put in the feeder. The two species of squirrels compete with one another for roughly the same ‘niche’ and my reading tells me that the grey squirrels will eventually displace the red.
grey squirrel cleans out feeder
I overlap with the squirrels’ ‘niche’ in one repect: we all love hazelnuts. I have two large shrubs of Beaked Hazelnut (Corylus cornuta Marsh.) in our woods. Beaked Hazelnut is a wiry shrub with large serrated leaves. Its fruit is contained in bristly beaked husks and the nut is edible, to both me and the squirrels.
Beaked Hazelnut shrub with hazelnuts in beaked husks
The question is, when do I pick my hazelnuts? It has to be the day before the squirrels pick their hazelnuts. I ask my husband every day and he says he doesn’t know…..
hazelnuts viewed from the underside of the shrub canopy
© Jane Tims
an afternoon in the blueberry field
blueberries ripening
One of my favourite places to be is a blueberry field. Nothing is better than lying on your back between islands of blueberry bushes, watching clouds build in the sky and munching on newly picked blueberries.
When I was young, I spent lots of time picking blueberries with my Dad, in the pasture behind my grandfather’s farm. I can still see his hands deftly stripping berries from each branch, and hear the staccato ripple of berries filling his pail. My picking was considerably slower and less productive. In my pail, the berries spoke in single plinks, each separated by several seconds of silence.
Later, when I was a teenager, I went once with my Mom to pick blueberries on our neighbour’s hillside. My berry picking skills had not improved and I know I ate more than I picked. But how I wish I could spend, just one more time, that afternoon with my Mom, picking blueberries on a sun-washed hill.
Today, I pick blueberries every summer, in the field near our cottage. Since I am usually the only one picking, I now aim to be efficient. Sometimes I use my blueberry rake to strip the berries from the branches, quickly and with little waste. Of course, this means picking through the berries by hand, removing leaves and other debris. But the ripe berries are still blue and sweet, and plump with the warmth and fragrance of August.
This poem is in remembrance of my Mom and our afternoon of picking blueberries:
Bitter Blue
of all the silvery summer days we spent none so warm sun on
granite boulders round blue berry field miles across hazy miles
away from hearing anything but bees
and berries
plopping in the pail
beside you I draped my lazy bones on bushes crushed berries and
thick red leaves over moss dark animal trails nudged between rocks
baking berries brown musk rising to meet blue heat
or the still fleet scent
of a waxy berry bell
melting in my mouth crammed with fruit sometimes pulled from
laden stems more often scooped from your pail full ripe blue pulp
and the bitter shock of a hard green berry never ripe
or a shield bug
with frantic legs
and an edge to her shell
Published as: ‘Bitter Blue’, Summer 1993, The Amethyst Review 1 (2)
© Jane Tims
Warning: 1. never eat any plant if you are not absolutely certain of the identification; 2. never eat any plant if you have personal sensitivities, including allergies, to certain plants or their derivatives; 3. never eat any plant unless you have checked several sources to verify the edibility of the plant.
nichepoetryandprose 