wild raspberries Archives - Owl Medicine: Shamanic Healing

Correction and Clarification

Thanks to an eagle-eyed reader of this blog, it is essential that tonight’s post be one of correction and clarification.

Yesterday’s post, Prickle of Hope, was a musing about my love for the wild raspberries that flourish in the woods and along the roadsides near our home. They usually burst onto the scene in all their juicy goodness during the first week of July.

The impetus for last night’s post was my spying what I carelessly mis-identified as my precious wild raspberries, when actually what I photographed was an invasive species called wineberry. I saw the fecund bushes I photographed yesterday calling to me, like little sirens, albeit in a place where we don’t usually stop to indulge. So I wasn’t being discerning. Instead, I got caught up in my own memories.

I hang my head in shame, as I definitely know the difference when the berries are fully formed. Wineberries are deceptively akin to wild raspberries at first blush – but only if you’re not paying attention. Not only do they have lots of distinctive little red hairs all over them, but also trust me when I say it’s highly unlikely you’d willingly stuff handfuls of them in your mouth once you’ve tasted just one of them.

Edification

Besides being sneaky little devils that trick those who are unaware or inattentive into believing they’ve snagged a sweet treat, wineberry shrubs are also nasty invasive buggers. They’ll proliferate rapidly and choke out the indigenous raspberry and black raspberry bushes, and the tangled and dense thickets woven by wineberry bushes also pose a threat to wildlife and other native plants.

Chastened by my former self-described (in another life – in this lifetime) wingman, Bill, I was determined to take photos of the bushes and nascent berries forming in the areas I know 100%, for sure, are wild raspberries. I was appalled at the thought that I’d been consuming wineberries in vast quantities. I couldn’t imagine I had, so I could only hope I’d misidentified yesterday’s shrubs.

And I can confirm here and now that the raspberries Karl and I indulge in every year are, in fact, wild raspberries. Following are photos to help you see the difference for yourself.

(Above) Wineberries – notice the tiny red hairs on berry buds and stems! – Photo: L. Weikel

Wild raspberries – Photo: L. Weikel

Bottom Line

The bottom line, my friends, is to beware the red hairy ones! And don’t let wineberry shrubs proliferate on your property if you can help it.

Thanks again, Bill!

Here are photos of the baby berries of both, for comparison’s sake:

(Above) Wineberry – Photo: L. Weikel

Wild Raspberry – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-531)

Wild Raspberry Wineberry Bushes – Photo: L. Weikel

Prickle of Hope

Given my recollection from years past, I’d give them three weeks at the most. Although it’s possible we’ll only have to wait two-ish, if we’re lucky. One thing I know for sure: I felt a prickle of hope this evening when they caught our attention.

All of a sudden, the wild raspberry bushes lining the sides of our country roads are announcing their presence. I could feel them calling to us as we walked – it almost felt like the bushes with their burgeoning berries were like spectators at a parade, calling and waving to us as we walked past them, life energy surging through them and rippling out to us in waves.

Perfect Timing

I think I can speak for Karl when I say that one of our favorite hedonistic indulgences takes place approximately one week after our wedding anniversary every year. (Hence my ability to pinpoint with such self-assured accuracy when they’ll be bursting into perfection.)

There are few things in this life more sensually pleasing in so many ways as taking an early summer walk and coming upon a thicket of ripe wild raspberries so plump they practically jump off their delicate yellow spindles into the cup of your palm, prodded only by a simple brush of your fingertips.

It’s hard not to feel dizzy with gratitude and appreciation for Mother Earth as we pop these sweet juicy treats into our mouths, laughing and savoring their sweet magic. I always try to take just one berry at a time – at least at first – doing my utmost to do justice to this annual ritual. Of course, this doesn’t last long. Within moments, I am thanking the berries over and over as I fill my palms and drop the nuggets into my mouth by twos, threes, fours – or more.

In addition to honoring that first raspberry of the season by noticing its shape with my tongue, from the hollow cave where it was attached to the bush to its tiny plump components, I close my eyes and feel my saliva responding to what I know will be a rush of sweetness. Unless, of course, I happen to have chosen impatiently – taking a berry that didn’t just drop into my hand but might have held on to its home with just the slightest cling. Ah yes – that can make for a little bit of a pucker, when the sugar inside hasn’t quite reached its peak.

But the occasional tart one only makes the sweet ones all the more delectable.

An Entire Experience

While some of the berry bushes flash their wares in the brilliance of direct sunshine, we’re usually able to take shelter from the hot summer sun under the leaves of the many surrounding ashes, oaks, and shagbark hickories that stand watch over these patches. The air is often thick and humid when the berries are at their best. As I write these words right now, I can imagine the aroma of the grasses we sometimes trample to gain access to these prickly patches. There’s usually a backdrop of crickets humming in the heat as well – or the buzz of bees that are also happily sampling the feast.

There’s plenty for all of us, including the deer, who are our usually our greatest competitors for these tasty treats.

Sweetest In the Moment

Over the years, when we used to come upon the ripening berries, we’d indulge in stuffing a few in our mouths and then vow to bring a container the next day to harvest some for dessert. Most of the time, we’d forget to bring a container. Once or twice, though, we’d remember – and I have to confess: they never tasted as good at home. They’re ok; don’t get me wrong.

But standing in the middle of a thicket, surrounded by prickles as well as gobs and gobs of berry clusters, birds singing in the trees, bees and crickets humming and thrumming, the smell of Mother Earth filling your senses, and then stuffing your mouth with handful upon handful of blood red, juicy berries?

There’s nothing like it.

And it’s our unique ritual to celebrate the beginning of another year of life together. Considering all the peculiar challenges and circumstances all of us are facing this year, perhaps this is why the nascent berries called out to me so distinctly today. They want us to feel the prickle of hope and promise of abundance; they call us to know that Mother Earth is always with us, feeding and nurturing us. They want us to remember the profound joy to be found in the moments of simplest pleasures.