Blackberry pie: late summer foraging and Norwegian allemannsretten

The school year began with two weeks of rain. We bustled to class under umbrellas, hiked through spattering mist, scraped mud from our boots and ran the shoe-drier nonstop. “Summer’s over,” we said. The moment we returned to Norway, fall began.

But somehow the last week of August, the sky cleared. The mist that always presages a brilliantly blue day lay on the fjord in early mornings. Sun cut through the few clouds by 8:30 and left us under a clear sky. Afternoons have been T-shirt weather (a rarity here in any season). We’ve been able to sit outside on the patio for dinner night after night. I remember only one time the weather has been so nice here for so long, in the spring of 2018.

*Mist rising up from the low-tide fjord.*

Actually, we’re in a drought. Plants are flopping. The soil’s usual clay texture was far more crumbly when we dug up our potatoes on Friday. Norway makes a huge proportion of its energy from hydroelectric installations, and with waterfalls drying up, this is another contribution in our local context to Europe’s current skyrocketing energy prices. I’ll confess, at this busy time of the school year I’m not feeling too sad for the drought. I have never appreciated sunshine so much as when I’ve lived here on the west coast of Norway. I’ll take as much as I can get.

Since returning for the new school year, my husband and I have been checking the blackberry patch that grows about a twelve-minute walk from home. We were tipped off about this by a couple of our colleagues two years ago, and each year since we clamor for these deep-flavored, juicy berries. They’ve come later than ever this year (perhaps the rainy summer) but in these last couple of halcyon weeks the hard red fruits are plumping, darkening. Last weekend we headed out with bowls to pick our fill.

*My husband Taren is the speediest berry picker I’ve ever met.*

One of the best things about being outdoors in Norway is the cultural and legally-protected allemannsretten (“every man’s right” or often rendered in English as the “right to roam”). Recognized throughout the Nordic countries, the allemannsretten means that anyone is free to hike on, camp, and even forage wild edibles from privately-owned natural areas. Hiking trails in our area routinely wind through farmers’ land (when you find a gate closed, leave it closed behind you; when you find a gate open, leave it open). The “No Trespassing” or “Private Property” signs so ubiquitous in the US are nowhere to be found. One doesn’t need to drive to a park to be in nature here.

The blackberries start out a deep red and slowly (so frustratingly slowly!) darken. When they are ripe, they pull away easily from the bramble. Unlike raspberries, the core of the blackberry stays in, giving them their characteristic crunch.

*The pie crust recipe I’m using these days comes from* The Hoosier Mama Book of Pie. It takes some work, and that’s what makes it so good.

So when we go foraging for berries or mushrooms, we’re technically doing so on someone’s land. I’ll say, I still get a bit anxious doing this, especially in this blackberry patch right by the roadside: the strong rhetoric of private property that I grew up with makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong. But then I pop one of these delicious berries into my mouth. Tart, sweet, warmed up by the sun, tight sacs of juice bursting around the crunchy core–it’s all worth it. I’ll keep picking them.

Some of the berries of course we just eat fresh or put into morning bowls of oats, and these last couple of years we have tried a few different baked goods with them. Nothing so far has compared to a perfect blackberry pie. I think my favorite has been a pie of three parts blackberries to one part raspberries, although with the blackberries coming late this year, only a few raspberries remained, so our pie last week was almost entirely blackberries.

We put a crumb topping on before we bake and then smother the hot piece of pie in whipped cream. There’s nothing better. I’m still sighing in satisfaction. Good late summer.

I see a bit of rain in the forecast coming up next week. That’s good. The land needs the water. And as we head into the dark season, that will have its own joys and cozy traditions. But here’s to a late summer, a reminder of how beautiful this place is in the bright sun. I got to go out kayaking this last week with a few colleagues and students (I don’t have any photos; I didn’t bring my phone), and being out on the water too is such a joy. I’ll store these feelings up for later on.

Best wishes for the coming weeks. Be well, and happy writing,
Jimmy