A patch of my own

I was very worried that I would miss the lingon season (aren’t we all!), but, fortunately the doc found out that the not being able to breathe and being extremely tired was due to resurgence in my asthma.  Quite why it’s chosen to come back now is anyone’s guess, but nevertheless ... probably all this clean air. (Anders, it’s your sawmill!! J)  So I decided to celebrate the beginning of my resurgence by trying to find the lingon patches I’d noticed up an old track in the hills to the north.  After cycling up the hill, well, I say cycling, I mean – after cycling on the flat bits and the slight slope, I get off, try and start breathing again, check which pocket the phone is in case I collapse on the right side and need to ring the emergency services, walk the rest of the hill. After that, what I failed to notice previously was that the first lingon patch is over a ditch, which is filled with that moss stuff, which grows in water and is about 6m long. Humm, I didn’t bring my wellies, which is a big mistake in a forest (yet another thing they don’t show in adventure films!). Oh well, try a bit further on and there it was. Behold - A large rock with trees growing on top of it surrounded by a glowing mass of lingon and no ditch!  As rocks tend to have a severe lack of water, I knew I’d be safe with my trainers and so I was.  It was marvellous, piles of the things, I picked 2.5kg in an hour, give or take a few minutes spent breathing.  All the other patches of lingon in the area have been completely picked clean by ravening locals or ravening town dwellers that come out in fine weather, park in sidings and pick berries/mushrooms/anything else that is lying around. So it’s my very own local lingon patch, known only to me and several ruminants. Hurrah.

I suppose I should say that the English for lingon is cowberry. It’s much nicer than cranberry having a richer taste and is slightly tarter. Cranberries are, in fact, lingon lite.