May Apples

It is late July at the Reservoir, and with it comes a cycle of hot humid days, occassionally punctuated with thunderstorms. The rain has come frequently enough to green the grass which had browned during two months of drought. The dryness had done nothing to slow the growth of grasses, berry canes, multiflora rose, which were beginning to reclaim the trail, so in lieu of a band of enthusiastic volunteers, I loaded the mower into the back of the Subaru, and pushed it one lap around the pond. The mowing was not without excitement. I managed to disturb a nest of yellow jackets who swarmed about me and chased me for fifty yards down the path. I somehow managed to escape with only two stings, so after giving the bees some time to calm down, I reclaimed the mower and continue around the pond.

Later that day I returned with my dogs and my pruners, to walk another lap around, cutting back any stray cane and rose that had invaded the path. The dogs were excited to run and explore, and did their best to make sure they collected as many burrs as possible. Just as we got to the north bridge, the sky began to rumble and the rain came down--fast and fierce. I picked up our pace to a jog, then a run, with all three dogs right underfoot, seeming to think that if they kept right up against me they might get some shelter from the rain. The lightning flashes and thunderbolts made the trip back quite un-nerving, and with each clap I was reminded that people DO in fact get struck by lightning--as my father did just two weeks ago. By the time we got back to the car, we were all soaked to the bone, and the smell of wet dog still permeates the car days later.

Yesterday before venturing out I checked the radar, and took just one companion, our Cairn Terrier Chris. As we circled the reservoir we could hear the regular slap of the beaver's tail. He is getting bolder and does not seem to be making much of an effort to hide his presence these days. Chris was in a particularly adventurous mood, and decided to take a walk out on a narrow tree where turtles frequently perch. He managed to execute this balancing act with great dexterity, having no trouble turning around at the far end. Proud of himself, he set out for a second trip, and over-confidence got the better of him. He slipped off the log and disappeared completely underwater briefly. When his head reappeared, dog-paddling frantically, he looked a bit like a wet rat. With some coaxing and encouragement, he managed to make it back to dry land.

On the eastern side of the Reservoir we came across a field of may apples. The two umbrella-like leaves of each plant, which float about a foot above the forest floor, were withered and yellowing, but below them the single may apples were growing and ripening. The may apple is a plant frequently commented upon by early European explorers, who were obsessed with identifying the fruits of the new lands they explored. The English word "fruitful" has multiple meanings: abundant, plentiful, productive, and healthy being just a few. For Europeans, the presence of fruit implied the promise of easy and Eden-like living. The absence of fruit produced doubts about the land's potential to create wealth and sustain populations. So as the explorers moved into lands unknown to them, in their journals they constantly commented on the exploitable natural resources of the land, but were especially interested in the presence of fruit. Grains, vegetables and meat might be the foundations of sustainable life, at its meanest level; fruit represented life a step above mere survival. Fruit brought sweetness and joy to living. Fruit that was abundant and could be plucked straight from the plant and consumed--with almost no labor involved--was a decadent luxury. So the discovery of wild fruits in the new land was embraced as a sign of its promise. Beyond berries, however, the New World suffered a deficit, in comparison to the Old, in the realm of luxuriant, natural sweets. The American crab apple was a poor cousin to the endless varieties of cultivated old world apples; pears and peaches were old world fruit; the new world had a few varieties of small wild plums.

The May apple was abundant, so European explorers often commented on it. About the size of a lime, the fruit is greenish yellow. Some explorers called it a citron or a wild lemon. One rather optimistic English explorer declared that it tasted "like apricocks." In fact all parts of the plant except the fruit are poisonous, and even the fruit has been known to cause diarrhea. Although some whites called it the "indian apple" it doesn't appear that Indians found it too desirable. Another common name is "hog apple," and botanist Asa Gray described it as "slightly acid, mawkish, eaten by pigs and boys." Indeed, there is not too much of the may apple worth eating. Inside its glossy rind is mostly air, some stringy pulp, and some seeds.

I was nonetheless surprised after searching Thoreau's writings that I could not find a single passage on the May Apple. Certainly Thoreau would have encounted this plant, and could not have passed it by without close inspection. And for Thoreau, a botanical study was never complete until you had not simply viewed, touched and smelled the item, but tasted it too. I suspect that somewhere in his writings he does comment on the May Apple, perhaps using an alternative name for the fruit.

If you'd like to follow in the footsteps of the early European explorers, and see if the may apple does indeed taste "like apricocks," now is your chance. Head to your local forest, and seek out the may apple. They will generally be found in large colonies, rather than as solitary plants, so they should not be hard to spot.