THE JOY OF RASPBERRIES*
breakfast treat. ken fellows
Guest Writer: Ken Fellows
Here’s the secret to successful raspberry picking: think like a raspberry. They’re crafty, deceptive, tricky and shy. Growing in clumps of 5-8, the ripe ones hide behind green relatives to avoid detection. Some –usually the biggest and sweetest –grow solitarily and obscure, down low, among bushy green leaves and thorny stems. Unlike ground-hugging strawberries with their low ‘leaf-to-fruit’ ratio, raspberry plants grow 4 -6 feet tall supported on foliage-dense, crisscrossing, prickly branches. A good picker must lift-up, pull-down, untangle, turn over, separate and inspect from all angles down multiple rows of plants to retrieve the red-seeded prey.
In my 15 yards-long raspberry patch, the hunt is further complicated by entwining weeds bearing the same shaped leaves and grey-green color as the berry bushes. They twist round and round the berry canes, adding even more cover for the elusive red fruit. Unwinding the vines enough to pull them by their deep roots doubles the picking time without increasing the berry yield. It’s maddening.
Maine’s mosquitoes provide the berries another defense. My plot supports hordes of them. During the July picking season, green-headed flies join the battle on behalf of the fruit, so I’m forced to pick fruit in the sweltering midday because the vexing insects are less active then. I march into battle under a blazing, humid afternoon sun armored against my airborne enemies. The core of my protection is an airless, black, netted-nylon ‘jacket’ which covers me head to waist. Covering my face, this covering prevents the ingestion of belly-berries, a real drawback. Below I wear jeans tucked into tall rubber boots. This is not a cool outfit. It’s sweaty, airless and hot. Head hot. Body hot. Feet hot. Everything hot, hot, hot.
Of course, I wear a shirt under the mosquito-netting jacket, and dowse myself with Cutter’s spray repellent too. The little buggers still find ways to penetrate the clothing and the netting, so no picking session is itch or pain free. My front yard berry patch is next to Kittery Point’s Chauncey Creek Road, and strollers there often comment:
“How lucky for you have raspberries to pick.”
“Oh yes, lots of fun” I grumble back.
Forget the impediments; just gathering the berries isn’t all that easy either. It’s a stand-up job where I hold the collection box in one hand –or precariously cradle it on one bent arm –leaving the other hand free for plucking fruit. But there’s a problem; I can become so engrossed in search-and-snatch maneuvers that the partly filled box in my non-picking hand is forgotten, tips downward, and half an hour’s work scatters to the ground, irretrievably lost in the thicket. It’s not good if someone is walking by at that moment. I don’t mutter, I explode in a scream of blue language otherwise used by me only in front of my exasperating computer.
And have I mentioned the mental stressors in raspberry picking? Deep red berries are the object of the hunt. Purple ones are over-ripe and unusable: yellow-orange to orange-pink ones are tasteless and need to await the next picking. But how about those becoming just faintly purple –or those turning ‘early red’? Pick now or later? Can I pick again in 2 days? Not if it’s raining; not if I’ll be busy or away. Almost every picking minute, crucial, stressful decisions have to be made.
If everyone knew all of the personal effort involved and the individual toll taken, they might understand why a commercial half-pint of raspberries costs is so expensive.
There are rewards for my hours and hours of berry tending; raspberry shortcakes, muffins, pies and especially freezer jam, which somehow takes raspberry taste to a higher level. On a stormy, cold winter’s morning, that jam on warm toast or muffins makes life sustainable. So, I’ll go on fussing with the plants: trimming, fertilizing, rototilling and watering. And I’ll continue picking with all its frustrations and hardships. I’ve been doing it for 40 years. I fully know the price and am willing to pay. And I remain ever
thankful for the bounty.
*This memoir was previously published by RiverRun Select in the book A Legacy Collection
Ken Fellows
Joanna . https://www.joannaseibert.com/