Wineberries for the Weekend
I confess, I haven’t felt like writing these last few weeks. Between the government declaring millions of its citizens no longer have bodily autonomy, refusing to protect our children and teachers, the new EPA ruling and the horrific vitriol that spreads like wildfires across various social media channels, it can feel like a struggle to do even the simplest daily tasks.
Still, on Tuesday I opened my email just as my flower farmer friend’s (isn’t that some alliteration that makes your heart sing?) newsletter arrived in my inbox. Besides updates on all the flowers in bloom in our region, her letter was a gentle reminder that despite how horrible life can feel at times, there’s still beauty to be found— often in our own backyards.
Look to the flowers for courage, is how she signs off her letters and this week I’ve been meditating on that concept. I’ve been going out to my garden every morning and trying to spend a few minutes grounded in gratitude. This daily practice led to the discovery of Passiflora incarnata, a beautiful native vine that had previously been choked out by an overbearing — nonnative— honeysuckle. We discovered the passionflower after replacing our broken fence and now every day I go out and watch the bees collect pollen from its blooms. I’m constantly in awe of the beauty in this region and I have loved learning all the species unfamiliar to me as former Northerner.
I moved to Virginia five years ago this month to obtain my master’s degree. Needing something outside of school (and for a little extra income), I took a job at a brewery. There I met a kind and earnest man who is now my husband. Our first date was a hike along a portion of the Appalachian trail. Though it was autumn and the trees were undressing, he excitedly jogged off the trail to wander into a patch of brambles. These, he explained, were wineberries and come the following summer he promised to make me a delicious wineberry jam (apparently he already knew he was in it for the long haul).
Well, the following June he impatiently watched the patches of brambles pushing their way up Mill Mountain in Roanoke. Then he went on a family beach trip and missed peak wineberry season (it often lasts a mere 10 days) and I missed my jar of homemade jam. Every year since he’s promised to harvest the berries and make me something with them and every year wineberry season has passed and I have gone wanting.
This past Wednesday he finally made good on his promise and brought home a big ole’ bucket of wineberries and made 8 jars of freezer jam. One jar is destined for our neighbor, another for a brewery friend and the rest may just have to go into a tart or jammy dodger recipe (and if it’s a good one you’’ll likely see it in next year’s summer issue!).
So, what is a wineberry? Wineberries, or Rubus phoenicolasius, are in the Rosaceae family, as are roses, raspberries and blackberries. They are native to China, Japan and Korea and were brought to the U.S. in the late 1800s to be used as rootstock for creating new cultivars of berries. Fast forward to today and they are unfortunately an invasive species that has spread throughout several east coast states and up into parts of eastern Canada. The canes form dense thickets and push out other native plants, spreading rapidly. Here in Virginia, you can see them along roadsides, in meadows, along the mountains and even river banks.
Does an invasive species belong in a magazine or newsletter that celebrates the abundance of all things local to Virginia? I’m not sure, to be honest (feel free to let us know in the comment section). I’m certainly not encouraging the planting of wineberry canes in your garden, but I can’t see the harm in picking the fruit and putting it to use it as otherwise it will drop to the ground, reseed and continue to spread.
I think it’s about finding balance. I educate myself on what is native and what isn’t. What I should encourage in my yard and what I should remove. Part of finding balance for me is also nourishment and allowing myself pleasure. Watching the bees on my native passionflower while at the same time allowing myself to enjoy a thick slice of sourdough slathered in wineberry jam.
Wineberry Freezer Jam
With temperatures above 90 this week, we decided to forgo long cook and canning times for the quick and easy freezer method. Please note this jam needs to be stored in the refrigerator and consumed within 4 weeks.
Makes approximately 8 cups
Ingredients
6 cups wineberries, washed
5 cups granulated sugar
1 tablespoon lemon juice
¾ cup water
1 package of fruit pectin (we used Sure-Jell)
Directions:
Wash and sanitize 8, 8oz canning jars.
Crush wineberries with a potato masher in a large bowl. Stir in lemon juice. Add sugar to the fruit and let stand 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Place fruit pectin and water in a small saucepan over high heat and bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Boil for 1 minute and remove from heat. Add pectin mixture to fruit and stir until sugar is completely dissolved (about 3 minutes). Fill canning jars with jam immediately, leaving ½” space at the top for expansion when freezing. Cover with lids. Let stand at room temp for 24 hours or until set. Freeze for up to 1 year.
Blackberry-Picking BY SEAMUS HEANEY for Philip Hobsbaum Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots. Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills We trekked and picked until the cans were full, Until the tinkling bottom had been covered With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard's. We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre. But when the bath was filled we found a fur, A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache. The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour. I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot. Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not. Seamus Heaney, "Blackberry Picking" from Opened Ground: Selected poems 1966-1996.
Even if you don’t feel like celebrating the holiday this weekend, please still support your local purveyors and buy all the brats, veggies, buns and brews you can. Cook yourself something tasty. Celebrate the season, its abundance and all the small daily miracles.
My name’s Lisa Archer, publisher of Edible Blue Ridge. Thanks for reading.
Eat Well,
Lisa