Nature's year : $b The seasons of Cape CodHay, John
History
Nature's year : $b The seasons of Cape Cod
Hay, John
Natural history -- Massachusetts -- Cape Cod; Natural history -- Outdoor books
The winter land is a harder environment, though we sometimes make
more of its rigidity than we need to. At the pond’s edge I brush past
a bayberry bush, and its dried, dark gray berries smell as pungently
and herbaceously as they did when ripe--waxen and pewter colored--in
the fall. There are checkerberry or partridgeberry plants rimming the
pond. In fact they grow well through the acid earth of these woodlands,
and their shiny leaves stay green throughout the winter. They are also
called wintergreen, or mountain tea, and their leaves taste spicy and
aromatic. Are we still common enough to make new names instead of
numbers, implying that familiarity, touch, and association have not
been left behind?
You know the checkerberry, hugging the ground with shiny, flavored
leaves, tiny bell-like flowers pure white in the late spring, bright
red berries in the autumn. Something to say hello to, and not
merely to recognize as _Gaultheria procumbens_ and pass by. To name
means to know, love--perhaps even to laugh at. The fact that the
checkerberry has so many other common names is a human distinction.
Consider: grouseberry, spiceberry, oneberry, chicken-berry, deerberry,
groundberry, hillberry, ivyberry, boxberry, teaberry, greenberry,
ivy-plum, chinks, drunkards, red pollen, rapper-dandies, wax cluster,
redberry tea, Canadian tea. They dance in friendship. I have been told
that the name “Drunkards” comes from the use of checkerberry tea as a
remedy for a hangover, but am unable to corroborate it.
While I am pulling off my skates and chewing on a spicy leaf, a trim,
round little chickadee comes within four feet of me and twitters and
scolds. Then two warier golden-crowned kinglets show up suddenly in a
nearby shrub, crying: “Tseet! Tseet!” and flit away. We climb up the
steep sides of the pond and face the slopes toward the north. Bold
gusts of wind strike us. Stiff briars and branches whip us as we walk
along a narrow path, and the play of winter sunlight through the clouds
goes lively across the grasses and through the gray trees.
_Contrast and Response_
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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