Once the snow has melted away and the nature awoke, flowering, growing, there were fruits to be picked in abundance. And we did it every year. Wild strawberries in May picked and eaten at that moment are just pure bliss. The cherries followed soon after. It’s a gift to us all that just keeps giving.
My Father and I picked spruce tips which you then layered in sugar in a glass, closed it tightly, and put it on the sun. Once the sugars melted you were left with thick syrup to mix with water like Ribena and it made a perfect refreshing drink any time of the year. The syrup is also used to calm a cough. And the spruce grows everywhere. We also picked arnica which was then soaked in alcohol and was used for cuts, grazes, anything that hurt really, at least my Father did and he always had a bottle handy. I only made a mistake of coming home with a grazed knee and telling my Father once. Arnica stings and stings and brings tears to your eyes, but it does the job, no infections to be found with the arnica around.
Through the summer into autumn blackberries, blueberries and raspberries were ready to be harvested. On the bikes we went and spent hours in the fresh air picking the goodies. And then there was rosehip, thorny but so very worthy. The jam made from rosehip is simply divine – my favorite still, as was my Father’s.
I have learnt from my Father all about the wild mushrooms as well. Porcinis were the ones we were hunting for mostly, but golden chanterelles (with scrambled eggs) and umbrellas (fried covered in breadcrumbs) were equally delicious. I have learnt about the poisonous ones to avoid and only pick the ones you actually know. If we came across a mushroom we have not seen before we looked in a book, yes we had a book with us, and if still unsure simply left it be. The nature will treat you exactly the way you are treating her.
My Father used to have a bag with him especially for picking litter. We were in the middle of the forest but you would still find a plastic wrapper just thrown on the floor or a rusty tin, or a piece of foil… If everyone took what they brought with them back home we would all have a wonderful world to live in. We could all breathe properly.
Through the summer holidays I also helped my Father to cut down trees and prepare the logs for the winter. I have been doing that since I was a child. I came to love splitting logs with an axe and found it a great release. It was hard work but utterly rewarding with an open fire through the winter. My Father was chopping trees down until he died in his 80ies, and the last conversation I had with him on that Sunday he was breaking up the ice in front of the house, with an axe of course. Never beaten, never gave up, lived to the full to his last breath. The one thing we did not do together, no goodbye….
frombrotherswithlove 