I had never noticed, or maybe never seen, thimbleberries before we lived here on the river. They're in the raspberry/blackberry family in that the fruit is actually a community of seeds surrounded by sweet, red tastiness.
Their common name, Thimbleberry, is an obvious choice because the fruits are more open than raspberries, and when you pull them off the bush, they easily perch on the top of your finger like a seamstress's best friend.
The leaves are oversized and shaped like those on maple trees, gracefully shaped green umbrellas hovering above their arching, prickled stems.
It's impossible to tell whether our thimbleberries escaped from a former owner's garden or not. But given their location—the hillside just below the house and just above the river—it's quite probable that the original root stock flowed downstream with a flood tide or extra-high ice out in the spring.
Jay and I don't get too many of these berries because Goldie has decided she likes them. it's the only time we ever see her eat fruit. She prefers them plucked from the bush and gently lobbed in her direction.
As yes, we do live according to the Queen Dog's rules. Doesn't everyone?
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