Mentions of strawberries are popping up everywhere - I’m hoping I find some either tomorrow or this weekend at the farmer’s market.

Pies and tarts and whatnot are all good and fine… I’ll probably make a few and eat some of these large, juicy berries right from the carton. But when I think of berries, the best that I’ve ever had were tiny strawberries picked right near my feet and warm raspberries directly from a bush.

Little wild strawberries, with their distinctive white flowers, used to grow in our yard when I was younger. I got very good at spotting the little flash of red amongst the grass. As the intern at Camp Santanoni (more photos here) in the Adirondacks this past summer I found my strawberry-spotting skills came in handy once again. My commute consisted of a 10-mile (roundtrip) bike ride in and out from the Gate Lodge to the Main Camp. Near the halfway point, where I would always stop to drink some water and enjoy the little stream for a few minutes, I spotted those tell-tale flashes of red along the side of the trail. They only lasted for a week or two (the diminishing returns probably helped along by bears, deer, and other wildlife besides myself), but I looked forward to that tiny snack everyday.

Raspberries were also growing along the trail, most prevalently in the area just past the Farm Complex. These were more abundant and lasted a bit longer. However, they don’t top the best raspberries I’ve tasted. Those were the handful that I ate while hiking the Northville-Lake Placid Trail. My dad and my sister and I were hiking the last portion, which ends at Averyville. We planned on tenting a few miles before that point and then saving the last leg (including walking into Lake Placid) for the next day. At some point though, we missed the turn-off for the clearing we were going to put the tent up in and decided to just keep going, not quite sure if the clearing was just ahead a little further along. It had been a long day and I was tired and starting to get a bit discouraged and not knowing how much further we were going was starting to get to me.

We kept trudging along and eventually found ourselves walking along a wood footbridge in a muddier area, with raspberries bushes growing all along to the left, full of ripe fruit. My dad stopped and picked a bunch, passing them to my sister and I. Nothing tasted better at that point and nothing was more restorative. I felt my mood beginning to lift.

As it turns out, we hiked all the way to the Averyville trailhead and put our tent up near there, cheering at how far we had hiked that day and that tomorrow would be a very leisurely stroll into town.