THE TRUTH ABOUT HUCKLEBERRIES
Growing up in the eastern part of the country, I’ve always been curious about huckleberries. For me, they’ve had a mystique of being the wild, untamed, rough-and-tough John Wayne of berries that only cowboys and bears could subdue. Yes, there was Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn and Hanna-Barbera’s cartoon character, Huckleberry Hound, but neither did much to dispel the myth that I held close of this rugged frontier berry.
And then, last week, I was in Idaho and Montana on a visit to my daughter’s school. And just about everywhere I went, huckleberries were screaming out at me. Not literally, of course. What was screaming out at me was my husband’s voice, because I had become entranced – entranced with the signs outside of every eating spot, on every roadway – signs announcing that huckleberry season had arrived. Huckleberry muffins, huckleberry pie, huckleberry ice cream, hucks on top of pancakes, as a syrup or sauce, even as a variety of soaps and lotions.
And then, the moment of truth. I tasted one, or two or even three, after which I could no longer think of these tender, sweet, juicy berries as anything but luscious. Related to blueberries but more purple than a blueberry’s blue, huckleberries are delicious. And because they’ve never been cultivated commercially but rather grow wild (on the mountains and in the forests of Montana and throughout the Pacific Northwest), they come in a never ending variety of tastes, shades, and sizes. So, if you’re lucky enough to find yourself in a place this summer where hucks are in abundance, don’t miss the chance to sample these tasty little berries. Wild and wooly John Wayne-like, no more. Gentle, elegant and wonderful, yes.
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