Waiting for Frost

 "I am not oblivious to the sun as it lowers on its stem, not fooled by the clock holding off, not deceived by its tired hands holding forth" - Dorianne Laux 

Rose hips will sweeten with the first frost, the first sudden, crisp, cold snap that forces them to suck in all their stored sunshine sugars, clutch them tightly to their hearts and not let go. It's been too warm for that here in State College, the earth runs too red-blooded and hot here throughout the Football Season, and so they've been gathered with little avail. Still, I was in the mood for some rose-hip tea, so I went to one of my most bountiful patches near me, on the edge of a park bordering a memorial for a war in our country's short, struggled, bloody rose-hip red history. 

Usually, I don't prefer the gluttonous feeling of succumbing to quantity over quality in the world of wild foods. However, on the Eastern deciduous forests chock full of non-native and plentiful introductions, I don't really mind picking invasives clean. We have native roses, but a vast majority of our prickly floral canes belong to a European invader, multi-flora rose. I hit the rose-hip lottery too, as the bushes were studded with ruby-red fruits like an imperial crown of the East. My hat was quickly filled and I popped hips into my mouth as I went, crunching into the cold, dry fruit and feeling the faded stored summer sugars and their slightly floral notes graze across my tongue. Soon, I feel into a monotonous rhythm of popping, crunching, spitting.  

Having conquered no less than about 1/200th of the rose-hips I saw, soon an overwhelming and human urge to climb a mountain took over me, a possession of solvitur ambulando that often takes ahold of me when little else does, and so I drove a little down the road over the Rothrock State Forest and crawled through some rhododendron and laurels.

 It was a chilly, very dry and bluebird day, the kind of cold dry that gets into your lungs and envelops your entire being. I did make my way up the mountain and found a decent amount of wintergreen as well. It's one of my favorite plants in Central Pennsylvania, a delightfully frosty trail snack. 

    I ended up finding a nice clearing in the middle of Bear Meadows with soft mossy rocks everywhere and promptly dozed off, letting some of the last October rays start to slowly bake me before the cold ice bath of the November gales set in.