Tiny five-petalled white blossoms with yellow centers, looking like a child’s drawing, dot the clearing in front of a cabin in Harmony, Maine. In a few weeks, they will develop into red strawberries so small that it takes dozens to make a snack.
Wild strawberries heralded summer in Illinois when I was a child, ripening along paths in the woods in early June. Warmed by the sun, they tasted sweet and delicious.
The low plants with three toothed leaves send out runners for new plants and drink in the sunshine they love. The cabin clearing is a perfect spot for them with its well-drained soil. Even after the flowers and berries are gone, the foliage still forms a pretty green carpet.
In Native American mythology, the wild strawberry was born of the first spat between the first lovers. After an argument, the woman ran from the man in anger. Eager to make up, he followed her, but she was too fast for him. The Great One spread blueberries and raspberries in her path, hoping that she would stop to eat them and let the man catch up, but she was too angry to notice.
Finally, the Great One tempted her with strawberries. She stopped to pick the beautiful red berries, giving the man time to reach her and apologize. They returned home together happy again, and the woman planted strawberries in her garden to remind herself to be kind to the one she loved.
I love that story! Every time I see a strawberry now, I'm going to remember to be kind to the people I love :)
ReplyDeleteWe get wild raspberries up in the mountains. Andrew hikes with his friends every Sunday, and during raspberry season, he enjoys fresh snacks along the way.
We have some blackberry bushes next to the cabin. I'll have several blog entires about them.
ReplyDelete