“You’ve got to go out on a limb sometimes because that’s where the fruit is.”
Last weekend we took a nice long hike up to an old fire-lookout. The structure is no longer there, but you can still see the remnants of the old foundation. It’s amazing to think that not long ago, men (and possibly women?) were hired to live in these places keeping watch for blazes. How lonely it must have been. Perhaps it was also very quiet and peaceful, made more tolerable by the abundance of sweet huckleberries ripe for the picking in late August. I know that huckleberries are a luxury to us native Montanans, but it breaks my heart to think of all the folks out there who have never tasted one. We love them on our pancakes, in our muffins, and definitely straight out of the bowl. Yet, the finest way to sample a huckleberry is to wake up before the sun, drive to a remote location in the mountains of northwest Montana, and start walking. If you’re lucky, you will be greeted by endless bushes on a south-facing slope. Find the ones that are dark purple and pluck easily from the bush. When you bite into it, you will swear you are tasting pure sunshine.