Salal In Flower

Day 220: Salal (Gaultheria shallon) is common in the lowland forests of the Pacific Northwest from British Columbia through northern California where it frequently creates impenetrable thickets to the exclusion of other plants. However, it is a native species, and its black berries provided a dietary staple for the indigenous peoples of the coast. The fruit is also much favoured by wildlife such as chipmunks, squirrels, deer and elk, as well as by fruit-eating birds such as robins and grouse. The berries are tasty if you can get past the flannel-like surface texture which also is apparent on the flowers as fine red hairs. The leaves, stems, flowers and fruit are all tacky-sticky, resembling (as I once remarked) resinous velcro. I suspect that the fuzziness was mitigated by the indigenous practice of pounding the fruit together with fat to make pemmican, but I do not speak from experience. My mother cautioned me (incorrectly) that the fruit was poisonous. That's good enough for me.

Salal

Day 253: Salal (Gaultheria shallon) is a common understory plant here in the Pacific Northwest. Given optimum conditions, it can grow to six feet in height, but even less lofty stands of it could be described as the proverbial "impenetrable thicket." The leaves are leathery and stiff. The stems, flowers and berries are fuzzy and sticky (imagine velvet-like, resinous Velcro). Although they are not prickly or hard to remove like burrs, Salal flowers will adhere to fabrics such as wool socks or soft cotton shirts and leave your fingers feeling sticky after you've pulled off a dozen or so. The black berries resemble blueberries superficially, and are mildly sweet and edible. They can be made into jam or jelly; however, they are not particularly juicy and you'll have to gather more than you might expect. They can also be dried and used as an unusual snack. The foliage is wantonly harvested locally by those in the floral trade because it does not wilt, a practice which is leading to a decline in the plant regionally.

A funny aside here: when I was young (eight or nine), my mother warned me that some black-coloured berries might be poisonous. Because she was unfamiliar with Salal, she included it in her caution. I was horrified when a friend picked and ate them as we walked half a mile to the school bus stop, and for several days, I watched her closely, waiting for her to exhibit symptoms or drop dead. When she did neither, the incident fueled a growing distrust of my mother's botanical skills which had also informed me that red Huckleberries were poisonous, but on the same hand, it spurred me into further research to find out exactly which black berries she might have been trying to prevent me from eating. Nevertheless, I always viewed Salal with a certain degree of skepticism as regards its edibility. I did not try them for myself until I was an adult.

Light

Day 52: They say that photography is all about the light. The right light is what that guy with the 40-pound lens is waiting for up at Reflection Lake, and he's so wrapped up in getting the shadows at just the perfect shade of purple that he's oblivious to being eaten by mosquitoes. Light can change the mood of a photo and its ambience, casting a pall on a happy event or brightening a dour one. Photographers talk about light in many terms: backlight, key light, highlight, harsh light, fill light, catch-light, and so on. They carry umbrellas and external flash attachments, strobes, reflectors. Light is an obsession and a passion with us, and yet it is elusive, a perfection never quite attainable, a nirvana just beyond our reach. Too much or too little, and our creations turn commonplace. Poor lighting defeats even our most valiant attempts.

Someone (you know who you are) recently commented on my "good vision." I know you weren't speaking in regard to my sight, but that was my first thought when I read those words. You see, my vision (sight) is lousy, even with corrective lenses. That said, I've learned to compensate. A shadow with a bump in the middle tells me I might trip over a rise in the land, and a bunch of shadows warns me of roots and rocks on the path. I can't see for diddly, but I get by because I've learned to read the light. Does that help my photography? You bet! Light is what brings out those minute details in a subject and turns it into something special, so when you go out to take pictures, don't look for interesting subject matter. Look for interesting light.