Elderberries in the Green

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Living close to the earth, the seasons set the pace. I find that the development of flowers, fruits, and vegetables don’t follow a calendar, but they do proceed to ripen in a somewhat orderly rhythm. On Trinidad’s birthday, July 3, for example, the big strawberry harvest is typically over and the cherries are coming on. I always want a big bowl of strawberries at the party but adjust to the possibility of cherries.

The harvest, loving preparation, and storage of strawberries, raspberries, cherries, blueberries and peaches (commonly in that order) usually fits around my other calendar commitments. A weekend away here and there makes for a late night or early morning push to complete a project making juice, liqueur, or freezing bumper crops, and rarely is a harvest missed.

This year, the elderberries could be an exception. Somehow, I overlooked this dear tree, being so absorbed by plans to visit friends and fellow Joy Collective members in Germany and Austria soon. “Those are going to wait to ripen until you get home,” Seda told me one day recently, and I gasped.

I knew it wasn’t true. One look at the blushing berries, and I sensed I’d be lucky if I could pick them before flying out. They’ll most likely all turn purple while in Seda’s care during the 2 weeks I’m gone. I’m priming for a harvest and canning the day before I leave. And I’ll have some talks with my friend, the Elderberry.

Fortunately, the processing of elderberry juice is shortish and sweet, if she chooses to deliver post haste. The boughs of berries are gathered to fill the top of the steamer juicer (oh, divine invention), water is added, then the whole thing bubbles away until boiling hot juice fills the spigot. We can then pour the purple-black elixir into hot jars and water bath seal them for the finish.

But this year, what will happen? By the time you read this, the deed will be done by Seda (who’s never done it solo or in the lead before) or by me. No doubt there will be a second, smaller harvest that will await my return. But for now, I’m priming for purple by Sunday. Nature may be the ultimate Creator, but I too have a space at the table. We are all part of this co-creation.

When have calendars and rhythms other than your own illuminated how much you care for another being or activity? How do you work with a sense of torn-ness?