Jon proposed a hike to find the beavers, and we managed our way through cedar swamps and bogs to look at a pile of sticks in the rain. The delight was in the getting there. We were shoulder deep in ferns and under a canopy of maples and low and behold berries. Crimson little gems. They were not hidden they were just dangling there in the drooping wetness of it all. Jewels.This was a place unlike any berry patch I had ever encountered, not like the Himalayan berries of the coast, cascading into the Russian River. (Those hairy little beasts were discovered when teacher friend Debbie and I paddled to the Guerneville bridge and back this summer. ) They are not at all like the blackcaps of New York, where long-sleeves and armor are required to tackle the brambles and the bees. It was field, and meadow, and gully after gully of dripping red raspberries like I have never seen before!!
And to top that off, I moved a leaf only to uncover a bush, right next to the thicket of berries, blueberries. Tiny, easy, tumbeelina sized blue balls trickled into my hands and into my mouth.
Oh, I have never been so unprepared for berry picking. We managed to get a few mouthfuls, a few handfuls and then we needed room for the golden chanterelles we had spied near the car.
I prepared a North Woods meal, complete with brats and no mustard. Truly delicious!!
