Tuesday, September 6, 2011

luscious berries and amorous bugs

Every body ripens at their own pace. And what looks like “ripe” to some, looks like “unripe” to others. ‘Tis true of people, tis true of our buddies who live along the driveway. To wit, some berries are red when ripe…others are blue, or even black. Let’s have a look, shall we?
This is the last of the jack-in-the-pulpit. The flower stalk has given up the ghost and fallen over. The berries, once bright green, are presumably done ripening now that they’re this color. Good luck!

These honeysuckle berries started off green, went to honey yellow, visited orange for a while, luxuriated in red for a bit, and are now succulently black. Few of these remain, actually – somebody came right along and ate ‘em. I’m not (yet) a birder, so I can’t tell you who.

The False Solomon’s Seal berries do something unusual: they ripen unevenly. They’re the only mottled-while-cooking berry that I am aware of. I’ve noticed lately that the non-red bits are white these days – earlier on, those parts were a gold-green color, making the berries look like mottled gold from a distance.

Blue cohosh berries have been blue for a while, but are now starting to look sad that nobody’s eaten them. Pick me, pick me!
No thanks. I’ll take this one, instead:
Yum. Berries are sweeter when you’ve tracked every stage of flower development, plus the fertilization, and ripening parts. Don’t you agree? Hey. You. Reader. Go click on those links, unless you’re my sister (in which case, happy birthday again!) and can be counted upon to have already seen them. I swear, you’ll never look at a raspberry the same again.
When I came in from work this afternoon, I couldn’t cross over the bridge. There was a huge pile of dirt in the way, and our neighbor was out with his tractor getting ready to spread it around to repair the damage caused by That Bitch Irene which taunted the brook into jumping its banks and looting the meadow. I parked in said meadow and went up to the house on foot, and returned later for my car.
Much better. Even the wee Civic, with the clearance of a pregnant pot-bellied pig, can deal with this.

A cause for celebration, evidently.

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