Blog o’ Gnosis

Another early morning walk, this time along a trail in the Laguna de Santa Rosa. The trail meanders through the remnants of one of California’s major freshwater wetlands, with wide paths strewn with fallen grasses and dust. In the morning it is all tamped down with a light coating of dew, so the dust stays low and the air fresh.

One long stretch follows a series of ponds and waterways, the edge of the water choked with willow and briar, poison oak and Himalayan blackberry. The berries have been ripening steadily for the last few weeks, and these bushes so close to the trail have all been picked clean by a constant stream of visitors. I love a luscious, ripe blackberry as much as anybody, but I don’t even try to find one in this stand.

My eye is drawn instead to the opposite side of the trail, where out of the jumbled grasses rises a tangle of wild rose canes. The blooms are long gone, pink as I recall, small and lightly fragrant. Even the leaves are turning and falling, and what remains are thin clusters of tiny red rose hips scattered among the briars.

Not a one has been picked. Not the larger ones, which are scarlet on top but pale orange underneath, needing a few more days to sun-ripen; not even the smaller ones that are so red their color does not yet have a name. Long past ruby and deeper than scarlet all the way around, these broadcast their ripeness with an almost velvet glow.

This is a find that makes me stop and linger, as there is no need to hurry about a treasure that no one else sees. I know just what this rose hip will taste like, and I take my time finding the one that emits the darkest light, that hangs the lowest, that is so ripe it has intoxicated itself in the making.

There is only one way to eat a wild rose hip: slowly, with all senses engaged. First you must pick it carefully, so the soft skin does not split from the pressure of your fingers. Then raise it to your mouth and gently guide it so that it is cushioned by lips and tongue, resting gingerly between upper and lower teeth. Breathe in, and let the aroma of the unbroken rose hip travel down your throat.

Then slowly let your teeth sink into its flesh, letting loose all the coarse, furry seeds within. Do not allow the seeds to escape, don’t try to separate the sweet from the bitter. Hold it all there in the front of your mouth, and with each slow bite compress your lips and tongue so that the sweet juice trickles out. Coat your tongue with it, let each bite fill your mouth with juice until the sweetness crowds out your breath and you are forced to swallow.

As you swallow, let that compression squeeze the last bit of juice from the rose hip until all that is left is a dry mash between your teeth. Find a worthy spot along the trail and blow the seeds out all in a rush, letting them scatter. They will fall to the earth and burrow through the dark of the year, while you can go back to the briar patch and seek out another heavy-lidded fruit. Repeat until sated, or until the dew rises with the sun.

That is how you eat a wild rose hip. Any questions?

This entry was posted on Friday, September 14th, 2007 at 10:13 pm and is filed under General. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.