Manna for the winter
Lake Huron, July 1615. Samuel de Champlain's party eats one meal a day, and the food is running out.1
He had set out on 9 July with an interpreter, his own man and ten Native men, in two canoes too full to take anyone else.1 They went up the Ottawa River, crossed Lake Nipissing and came down the French River. Champlain saw only rock, not ten acres fit to plough.1 "It is true," he wrote, "as I have stated above, that there was no lack of blueberries and raspberries; for otherwise we should have been in danger of starvation."1
Near the lake they met three hundred men of a people the French named the High Hairs. Their hair was dressed very high, and better combed than a French courtier's. They wore no breechcloths. Their bodies were cut with patterns, their faces painted, their noses pierced and their ears fringed with beads. Their name would later be spelled Ottawa.1
Champlain gave their chief a hatchet, and the chief was as pleased "as if I had made him some rich gift". With charcoal on a piece of bark, he drew Champlain a map of his country. His people had come to dry blueberries "to serve them as manna in the winter when they can no longer find anything."1
Earlier, Champlain had noted an Algonquin people who dried the berries for winter "just as we do plums in France for Lent."1 In time the berries would become a trade good, a farm crop and a lab rat's dinner.
Sweet as plum cake
In January 1636 the magistrates of Massachusetts sent an officer to seize the preacher Roger Williams and ship him to England. He had been banished that autumn, most of all for insisting that magistrates had no right "to deal in matters of conscience and religion." By the time the officer came he was gone, and that spring he founded Providence.2
Seven years later he sailed for England after all, to win a charter for Providence.2 On the voyage he drew up, "in a rude lumpe at Sea," a phrasebook of his Native neighbours' language, A Key into the Language of America.3 It is full of food. Williams had walked nearly a hundred miles through the woods with some two hundred Native men, each with a little basket of parched corn meal on his back. "With a spoonfull of this meale and a spoonfull of water from the Brooke," he wrote, "have I made many a good dinner and supper."3, 4
Attitaash were Williams's hurtleberries, "sweete like Currants".3, 5 Dried, they were sautaash, and they kept all year. Beaten to powder and mixed with the parched meal, they made sautauthig, "as sweet to them as plum or spice cake to the English."3
A generation later the berries were a trade. John Josselyn, who spent eight years at his brother's plantation in Maine, found the Indians drying them in the sun and selling them to the English by the bushel.5 The English put them in puddings instead of currants. In a basin of milk with sugar and spice, they were "a most excellent Summer Dish". For cold stomachs they went into sack, a Spanish wine. Josselyn thought them good, too, "to allay the burning heat of Feavers".5
Five shovelfuls of loam
Most people believed the blueberry could not be cultivated. Four state experiment stations had tried to grow it as a fruit and got nowhere.6
Frederick Coville, a government botanist in Washington, had a farm in the middle of the problem. In May 1905 he had paid $400 for forty acres near Greenfield, New Hampshire, so that his four children would learn the country skills he grew up with. The pastures around it were full of wild blueberries, and within a year they had his attention.6, 7
In July 1908, after three summers of casual looking and three weeks of hard searching, he found his bush in an "old, brushy, mountain pasture" on his neighbour Fred Brooks's farm. It stood about seven feet tall, "old and somewhat decrepit", and its berries were more than half an inch across.6, 7
The soil was the puzzle. On 22 December 1908 he potted blueberry seedlings in small drinking glasses, so that he could watch the roots through the sides.6 Half got the soil the department used for its roses, the gardener's mix of "five shovelfuls of loam, one shovelful of cow manure, and a handful of lime." The rest got acid peat. Rose cuttings went into both.6
Forty-four days later the rose in garden soil had about quadrupled its leaves. The rose in peat was barely alive. The blueberries did the opposite. In the rich soil they made almost no new roots, and their old leaves turned purple.6
The blueberry, Coville showed, wanted none of what a good farmer gives a crop. It needed acid soil, and air at its roots. It had no root hairs at all. A fungus lived in its rootlets instead, and by Coville's reckoning the fungus fed it.6 He published it all in 1910.6, 7
Pick, pick
In the pine barrens of New Jersey, the White family grew cranberries. Elizabeth White's father had written the book on them, Cranberry Culture, in 1870. Her own first real job on the farm, at twenty-two, was bushel man, the one the pickers brought their berries to.8, 9
In September 1910 the photographer Lewis Hine came to Whites Bog for the National Child Labor Committee. Families from South Philadelphia were living in shacks there, four weeks into the school year.9 Four-year-old Victoria Borsa was picking beside her brother of seven. "While I was photographing them," the caption reads, "the mother was impatiently urging them to 'pick, pick.'" Salvin Nocito, five, carried two pecks of cranberries "for long distance to the 'bushel-man.'"9
The committee's worry covered blueberry pickers too. Elizabeth White defended the cranberry growers against its charges.8 Later she answered it another way. After its investigation, farm rules kept children under ten out of the bogs. In 1929 she opened a nursery with the Council of Women for Home Missions. Thirty-six children came on the first day. Seven were babies, and there were four baskets to use as cribs.8
A plate with a hole in it
Coville's bulletin reached Elizabeth White, and she saw at once what it could mean for the sandy, acid waste land around her father's bogs.10 In January 1911 she wrote to offer land and help. She and Coville worked together for the next twenty-six years.7, 11
White found the best wild bushes through the woodsmen of the pines, who picked the wild highbush every summer and called it "Swamp Huckleberries".11 She gave them little aluminium plates with a hole five-eighths of an inch across. A berry that slipped through was too small. Each finder got a jar of formalin to keep the sample fresh, a fee for the berries and a wage for leading her to the bush.11
Between 1911 and 1916 they found "an even 100" superior wild bushes, nearly all named for their finders. Each finder hoped theirs would prove the best. Sam Lemmon's bush could hardly be called the Lemmon, so it became Sam. The best of all was found by a man known as Rube Leek. "Leek savors of onions," White explained, "and Rube did not seem an appropriate name for so aristocratic a bush." The happy solution was Rubel, Rube plus the first letter of Leek.11
Size was not enough. Berries with tough skins, watery or mealy flesh, or a habit of cracking in the rain were thrown out, "thousands upon thousands of bearing bushes dug up and burned." Coville crossed the most promising in his Washington greenhouses and sent the seedlings back. Not one in a hundred was worth keeping.11
In 1916 Whitesbog shipped its first cultivated blueberries, about 600 quarts.11 By 1921 Coville could put the change in one line. "Instead of berries the size of peas, like the ordinary wild blueberry, we now have hybrids producing berries the size of Concord grapes."10 In 1936 the growers' cooperative shipped over 600,000 quarts of the berries developed at Whitesbog.11
That year Coville named his last variety Dixi, Latin for "I have spoken". He died in January 1937. In 1992 his varieties still covered three-quarters of America's cultivated blueberry fields.7
Old rats on a rod
In February 1999 the Department of Agriculture's research service ranked foods by ORAC, a test-tube score of antioxidant power. Blueberries came third among the fruits, behind prunes and raisins.12 If the early findings held up, said the service's head, Floyd Horn, people "may be able to reduce risk of diseases of aging", senility included, "simply by adding high-ORAC foods to their diets."12
That September a Boston team led by James Joseph reported on rats nineteen months old, fed blueberry extract for eight weeks. Set on a rod, the blueberry rats held on longer before they fell. Of three extracts tested, only blueberry won back some of the balance lost with age.13 What trials in people have found since is in the Research tab.
By 2007 a recipe column could claim that no other common fruit or vegetable was as loaded with antioxidants.14 In 2012 the department took its ORAC tables down. It said the scores had "no relevance" to human health, and that companies routinely misused them to sell their products.15
The star berries
The same column had a story. The blossom end of each berry forms a five-pointed star, it said, and "the elders of the tribe would tell how the Great Spirit sent 'star berries' to relieve the children's hunger during a time of famine."14 Its words echo, word for word in places, a page on the US Highbush Blueberry Council's website marked "Copyright 2002", which set the story beside a "beef jerky called Sautauthig" made with dried blueberries and meat.14, 16 A California growers' commission and a South Dakota health department tell it still.17
None of them names a nation or a storyteller. The California page cites the council, and the trail ends at the council's page, which names no source.16, 17
The jerky is easier to check. Williams's sautauthig was dried berries and parched corn meal. There was no meat in it.3, 4
Other pages put sautauthig at the first Thanksgiving. "Historians believe the Pilgrims served" it, says a New England history site, quoting what it calls a Plimoth colonist's recipe, boiled "with a gentle fire".18 The passage is real, but it is not about blueberries. John Winthrop the younger, governor of Connecticut, wrote it in 1662 for the scientist Robert Boyle. It describes samp, a porridge of Indian corn.3, 4 The earliest account of the feast is Edward Winslow's letter of December 1621, which tells of fowl, of Massasoit with some ninety men, and of five deer. His list of the country's fruits has grapes, strawberries, gooseberries, raspberries and plums, and no blueberries.19
The same site tells how Maine's sardine canneries lost their Southern markets in the Civil War and switched to canning blueberries for Union troops.18, 20 But Maine had no sardine canneries in the war. George Burnham of Portland tried Eastport's little herring in olive oil in 1867 and gave up, beaten by the herring-oil flavour. The industry took hold at Eastport in the fall of 1875, ten years after the war.21 A war did start it, said one of its founders, Henry Sellmann. It was the Franco-German war of 1870, when the French navy blockaded Germany's ports and cut off the Norwegian herring a New York firm imported from Hamburg as "Russian sardines".21
Still manna in winter
Rube Leek's aristocratic bush is still grown. Fred Brooks's old pasture bush is in the family tree of thirteen of the department's first fifteen varieties.7
And in January, when there is nothing left to pick, you will find the berries in the freezer, doing the job the High Hairs dried them for in 1615. They serve as manna in the winter.1