Enjoying the fruits of our labour

It’s amazing how the same plant can conjure up different emotions in me depending on what it’s being called.

Say the word ‘bramble’ to me and I think of a troublesome invasive plant, intent on taking over the world (or at least my garden), sending its ridiculously fast-growing arching stems out into new territory, needing to be fought back with loppers and gauntlets, causing scratching and swearing. Mention ‘blackberry’ on the other hand and I am full of pleasant thoughts of late summer days at a stubble field’s edge, filling containers full of sweet fruit with plans to make pies and crumbles and jars of jam. Although brambles are much hated weeds, quickly taking over any abandoned site, coming through hedges and quickly rooting if one of those long stems (‘stolons’) hits soil, their delicious fruits have been picked and eaten for thousands of years. Archaeologists have even found blackberry remains in the stomach of a Neolithic man! When I go foraging for blackberries I soon realise it’s not just me making the most of nature’s bounty as bramble has immense wildlife value. Red admiral and comma butterflies, pictured, have often got there before me and are sucking up juice from overripe fruits. I sometimes see blackbirds and starlings taking berries but it’s the local sparrows that I see most often. Having finished breeding for the summer, the adults and juveniles form big flocks (‘quarrels’) and turn their beaks purple with feasting together. I’ve not been lucky enough to see them, but after dark dormice and badgers will eat the blackberries too. Blackberries are very nutritious, being high in vitamins C and K, manganese and fibre and have long been seen as a valuable source of free food. During the First World War Dorset schoolchildren were sent out during the school day to pick blackberries for the war effort. A record from the Headmaster’s Logbook at Shaftesbury School (in the Gold Hill Museum) records 43lb of blackberries being gathered by the children on one day. The berries were mostly made into jam and sent to the armed forces, though they might also have been made into juice or blackberry vinegar (a traditional cure for a head cold).

For me and many of my friends, blackberry picking now is just a lovely way to spend late summer family days and comes with its own memories and traditions to be passed on. I can remember picking blackberries as a child with my mother and my grandmother. Margaret Atwood’s nostalgic poem Blackberries perfectly describes my thoughts as, ‘the hands reaching in among the leaves and spines were once my mother’s, I’ve passed them on. Decades ahead, you’ll study your own temporary hands, and you’ll remember.’

leave mushroom in your garden or your fridge...

Back in your kitchen, keep it in the fridge for no more than two days or, preferably, cook it (well, half of it, they are enormous) that day. Peel away the thin skin, slice it one centimetre thick and break into biscuit-sized pieces. Fry in a little butter, turn over and fry the other side in more butter, adding a little salt. Serve as is, or pour in whisked egg to make an omelette. Resist any temptation to bake or stew one – they go soggy and disgusting.

Giant Puffballs are fairly rare, with any perception that they are common due to their habit of growing in open fields and being so very conspicuous. If they were they were small, brown and lived in woodland, few people would see or notice them. It is, therefore, essential to fight our human instinct to gather as much of something as we can carry, but rather collecting just one specimen, even if there are twenty in the field. I run an informal Giant Puffball refuge in my back garden. Here, specimens threatened by passers-by, children wearing football boots, or the cows being let out, are allowed to mature in peace (they go brown, wet and smelly, then dry and dusty) and produce their trillion spores. Every now and then, on a windy day, I will give them a hefty kick while holding my breath so as not to breath-in a billion spores. I silently wish the released spores well.

Vittles (food & drink)

Restaurant Review

The Acorn Inn

Evershot

By John Clements, chef at The Olive Tree, Bridport

It’s impossible to visit this hotel, restaurant and pub without using the ‘H’ Word, you know, “Hardy”…

There, I couldn’t even get past the first sentence. Ensconced in the rather lovely village of Evershot, The Acorn Inn features in Tess of the D’Ubervilles and apparently Hardy himself knocked back a few pints here.

A strong woman and a towering Victorian novelist swirl around the 17th century oak beams and flagstones. This is a place

HARDY LINKS: Natalie and Richard at The Acorn in Evershot