Harvesting the "Crane-berries"

If you happened to read this blog last spring, I shared with you how the term “cranberry” comes from the original name of “crane-berries”, for the flower of the cranberry looks remarkably like the head of a heron, which the early settlers called “cranes”.
Well, the “crane berries” were ready for harvest at the bog I walk around and, once again, it makes me realize how thankful I should be to any farmer who gets produce to my table. What a labor of love it is. The culmination of a year’s work, and hard work it is.
I don’t know if I ever mentioned it, but the man who owns the bog I walk around looks, at least to me, like Santa in his younger years. Ruddy cheeks, twinkling blue eyes, a beard that isn’t white yet, and a disposition that radiates kindness. He lets many of us walk our dogs on his property as though we were the “landed gentries” that owned it. He’s willing to stop and talk about what process he is going through, whether it’s watering, weeding, harvesting etc. He roles with the many punches that nature throws at him throughout the year: coming out in the middle of the night to set the sprinklers when an unexpected frost happens, flooding the bogs, not just at harvest, but also in the winter before a freeze, trying to do his best to cool the berries in the heat of summer. All with a hope and prayer that the harvest will be worth it.

This year looked to be a banner year. We had had lots of sun, although not enough rain, so many times he had to irrigate. But it was looking grand. I watched the berries swell and ripen and just this week when I saw them all floating ready for harvest, this bog seemed to have more berries than I had ever seen. But it turns out, this isn’t his only bog he owns, nor is it the only variety of cranberry that he grows. On another bog in Plymouth he has a variety of cranberry called, what was it? Black cranberry I think. And that is a far more delicate berry and sadly, that crop was entirely ruined.

We had an unusually hot Labor Day weekend that scorched the berries and made them worthless. I never knew that the berries needed to be “hardened” and again, this is a more temperamental variety and the heat was just too much for them at the end. He had to toss all of them out. What a heartbreak that must be, but again, he has the right disposition for this and you don’t hear him grumbling, threatening to sue Mother Nature etc. Perhaps there are some really thankful worms where he dumped them.

Which brings up an interesting point. After each harvest there are always berries lining the bank that didn’t get sucked up in the pipe, but they will remain there, uneaten throughout the winter. I take it that they are not on the menu for the many voles, shrews and mice whose homes line the banks of the bog. Coyotes and fox eat cherries and other fruit, but it never seems there are any missing from the piles. Maybe, if they could add sugar as we do, they would be more likely to eat them.

Surely though, some animals are delighted with the harvest. The Mallards, which have been growing in numbers on the slough, suddenly have an instant lake to cavort in. Much chasing and squawking was going on last week as males chased other males and females squawked their encouragement.
The ponds that they draw the water from to flood the bogs, have their shorelines drop a good 10 feet or so, uncovering all new feeding grounds for the sandpipers that are passing through and working the mudflats. Yellowlegs were present in abundance this week, seemingly delighted with both working the new edges of the pond and wading hip-deep in the flooded bogs finding whatever delectables you find in a flooded bog.
The Great Blue Heron also seemed to like the fact that, in the smaller containment pond everything was more crowded together, so, easier pickings for breakfast. Fast food, heron style.


So, this Thanksgiving, if you, like so many others, have cranberries on the menu, stop for a moment to thank the person who invested their earnings and spent their time bringing those berries to fruition so you could enjoy them. The owner of the bog I walk around sells to Ocean Spray and I always wish there was a way to say, “I want Chet’s berries please.” For that matter, he is so kind that he has always let me “glean” the berries that are left around the edge, for nothing. However, in recent years, I have decided it is only right that I should buy them and in a small way support this year long effort of his. It’s the least I could do, because of course, it is his bog that makes this blog possible. So I owe him for much more than berries, I owe him for the joy in the morning this walk brings me. And in a small way, the education it may be bringing you. Off to the store with you then to buy some “crane-berries” to help support the work of a very kindly man.