At first it’s hard to pinpoint what exactly makes nagoonberries wonderful. They’re a single berry on a tiny plant that are preyed upon by those who don’t pick anything else. People guard their patches and carefully scout out the perfect minute to harvest before other people become aware that it’s time. You can find the berry in many spots, but usually end up with a mere cup or two.
I’m not even sure the berries are that great. Unlike a raspberry or strawberry, which is immediately satisfying, the taste of nagoons is subtle. Their true essence comes out when they are cooked. If you’ve ever juiced nagoonberries by letting them slowly simmer, and smelled the scent wafting through the room, you know why this berry is prized. To get to the point where you can experience this, however, you need enough berries to make them worthwhile to cook.
I get a little sad when any particular type of berry is done, but I’m heartened by the knowledge that there are other varieties left to harvest. I feel differently, however, if I’ve missed out on nagoonberries. To get to my spot and find I’ve missed the window, or there are only little nubs of berries remaining on the plant, makes me feel that I’ve lost something of summer.
Perhaps it is also this sense of the hunt that draws me to this berry. I roam farther for them than any other plant. I get myself close to lost in the meadows, wandering from one sun-drenched spot to another. I’m reassured by knowing that if I go too far one way, I’ll end up at the slough — and too far in the other direction will find me on the road. Still in a place where getting lost can be catastrophic, I enjoy the fact that I can’t pinpoint my location on Google Maps.
Sometimes on a warm day, in a particular spot where the air has heated the berry before I pick it, I catch that distinctive smell. Sometimes, the scent will become noticeable when I put my hands to my face. My collecting container might not ever get as full as it does with other berries, but every nagoonberry is hard fought and I view each one as a prize.
At work, I tried to explain nagoonberries to my supervisor in Anchorage. To those who haven’t experienced them, it is hard to convey their value. It wasn’t until I compared them to someone’s secret morel mushroom spot that she began to appreciate what I was saying about how valued the berry was.
But, that’s not the heart of what makes a nagoonberry great. To find their quality, you need a desire to share what is so amazing about this place that we live and bring it to people who have never been to Alaska. A jar or two of nagoonberry jelly is the opportunity to send all that is great about Southeast to those who don’t have the luck to live here.
• Corinne Conlon is a freelance writer based out of Juneau. She can be reached at dirtgirlgardening@gmail.com.
