Ode to the Chokecherry

El Capitan - photo by JoAnn Sturman

Scott Sturman

Prunus virginiana or chokecherry grows along Nebraska’s creeks and produces a berry which is mostly seed.  When ready for harvest, the purple or dark red pulp and skin are fleshy and have an astringent taste, but when boiled with sugar and water make a delicious jam, best consumed over a steaming pile of pancakes drenched in melted butter.  Other than rhubarb, the chokecherry was one of the few fresh fruits available in the High Plains and a welcome break from our staple of canned fruit.

Cattle County around Harrison, Nebraska, 1962.  “Living and Dietary Habits of the Landed Gentry”–the p.c. version:

“Good morning, Honey,” my grandfather Jack greeted his wife Bertha, who was seated in the sun room reading the New York Times and drinking a cup of coffee.  He gently kissed her on the cheek and clasped her hand in his.  He felt energized after his usual morning jog before driving to their 4000 acre ranch to attend to chores and the Herefords.

“What got into you, Jack?  Up and ready to go to work at ten in the morning.  There must be some major projects at the ranch today.  Can I make you some breakfast?  And by the way, your hands are so soft.”

“I’ll just grab some tofu and celery sticks from the frig, Bert.  I recently ordered some man’s hand care from the Sear’s Catalogue, and it’s made a real difference.  What are your plans for the day?”

“Nothing unusual–a bit of shopping then lunch with the girls.  But later today I thought I’d be adventurous and make some jam from the chokecherries the grandchildren picked yesterday.”

“I just love your jam, Bert.  It’s just packed full of antioxidants.  Such a healthy choice.”

“One can never be too careful with all the free radicals ravaging our bodies, and with the nearest blueberry a thousand miles away, I thought I’d make two quarts of jam to last for the next two weeks.”

“That’s a lot of work, Bert.  I’m going to Pilates this afternoon, but I’ll cancel my scheduled self-esteem class this evening to come home early to wash the dishes, so you an go to your yoga class tonight.”

“You’re so thoughtful, Dear. Just make sure you use the power scrub cycle on the dishwasher.  The residue on the pots is like concrete.”

Actual Version:

Around dinner time after being up since 4 in the morning moving cattle, fixing fences and lifting bales, Old Jack, my grandfather, caked with dirt and wind burnt sauntered past the kitchen puffing on one of the less-than-a-hundred filterless Camels he smoked daily.  He surveyed five adult women surrounded by pots, strainers, and separators, then went to his den to have a drink or two.  My grandmother Bertha, my mother, and her three grown sisters were making chokecherry jam; they had begun at dawn and would continue well into the night until the last pan was scoured, dried, and put away.  In the midst of all this toil Grandma would prepare dinner for Jack, her daughters, son-in-laws, and the grandkids–fried chicken, potatoes and gravy, baked beans, cold slaw, cherry pies with crusts made of lard, flour, and sugar, and vanilla ice cream with canned peaches covered with cream too thick to pour from a jar.

The day before we eleven grandchildren competed with the birds to pick bushels of chokecherries from the bushes lining Hat Creek a few miles north of town.  Avoiding the poison ivy the best we could, we grabbed clusters of berries, stripped them from their stems, and dumped them into buckets at our feet.  Due to western Nebraska’s short growing season, these few days in August were the only time the berries were suitably ripe to make the next year’s supply of jam. 

Making jam was a labor intensive affair, and in the 1950s and 60s the women of the family did all the work.  Over the course of a few days, they would make enough jam to supply five families for the next year.  The non cooperative stems were removed from the cherries, which were washed then drained.  Four parts of cherries to one part of water were simmered in huge pots until they softened.  The water was then decanted, and the pulp and skin removed from the seeds using a hand turned separator.  The pulp was then mixed with equal amounts of sugar and then stirred vigorously until brought to a rapid boil.  The mixture was poured into sterile jars, sealed, and stored in the basement.

Even though Denham Harman’s work with antioxidants, free radicals, and their purported relationship to aging was known in academic circles, the knowledge had not penetrated into rural Nebraska and Wyoming, where grease and cholesterol were dietary staples.  Men generally smoked, and with all the free radicals floating in their systems, it was a wonder any of them lived beyond thirty.  But most did and many survived to old age.  Perhaps the theory of antioxidants and aging was not all that solid and required further investigation.

In February 2013 The Scientific American published an article, “Is the Free-Radical Theory of Aging Dead?”, discussing recent research concerning a correlation which has been taken for granted for fifty years.  Denham’s claims were never reliably reproduced by the scientific community, so independent researchers genetically engineered a round worm to make it incapable of producing natural anti oxidants.  Free radicals soared, but much to the researcher’s surprise, the altered worm lived as long as normal worms with endogenous anti oxidants.  Another scientist engineered a mouse, which produced no anti oxidants, and found it lived longer than its normal cohort.  The explanation proposes that free radicals enhance the body’s ability to recognize genetic errors, make repairs, and slow the aging process.  Taking anti oxidant dietary supplements such as vitamin E and beta carotene are detrimental to good health.

Blueberries, pomegranates, and dark chocolate are eaten by a lot of malleable, unhappy people, who believe gobbling down these tasty morsels will help them live forever.  The wiser connoisseur eats them for pleasure, knowing their supposed anti aging properties are old science and grossly exaggerated by the health food industry.  Despite the chokecherry’s teeming levels of anti oxidants, our family enjoyed pancakes and waffles smothered in chokecherry jam, not for its anti aging properties, but for its unique and delicious taste. 

Cherry Pitter