Friday, June 8, 2012
When I was little, my Mom had a currant bush. I remember it being right near the trellis of grape vines. I seem to recall that she was frustrated about not ever getting very many currants from this little bush. I my memory, that is because the bush wasn't thriving and didn't produce many berries.
Now I have a current bush, and this is the first year that it's really produced more than a few berries, which I never got to pick because the chickens got to them first. This year it's loaded, and the chickens are locked up. Eating these tart little treats immediately brings back memories of my Mom's currant bush because I don't think I've even tasted them since then. The flavor was tucked back somewhere in my memory bank and the childhood memories flooded in as soon as I popped a ripe currant in my mouth. I was probably around 7 years old-- younger, older, I don't know.. The flavor brings to mind the warmth of the June days and the breezes and the smell of the air. I remember sitting there, under the grape vines with my brothers, scouring that bush for some tasty red nibbles.
This has all given me a little insight into what my Mom's real frustration with the currant bush may have been.
See, I'm pretty sure that I won't get to harvest enough currants to use for anything significant.
They're bright red and tempting and right at the eye-level of a curious toddler.
They don't all get ripe at once, and even when they start to turn red, they need a few days on the bush to get sweet. Evan doesn't care. He eats all he can reach, no matter what color they are.
They're disappearing faster than they can get good and ripe, and I found myself growing somewhat frustrated at not being able to pick my currants. Then I remembered my Mom's currant bush...