on the cover / By Heidi Walters

I’m your thimbleberry: The life and times of Rubus parviflorus

Dr. Larry Alice, of the Department of Biology at Western Kentucky University in Bowling Green, says he can’t really speak to the jam question. Or even to thimbleberry’s unique place in the world. It’s one of the less interesting species in the Rubus genus, in fact. Simple leaves. No prickles, which according to Alice means that it’s “one of the more ancestral groups within Rubus .” It evolved earlier in time than the more complex species in Rubus , which developed prickles.

Alice is interested in the genus as a whole. “I selected Rubus as a group to study because of its taxonomic difficulty, economic (fruit crops and ornamentals) and ecological (invasive weeds) importance, and overall abundance (found on all continents except Antarctica and particularly common in the Northern Hemisphere),” Alice says. “ Rubus is arguably the most difficult plant genus in the world taxonomically.” And that, he says, means he’ll have “a lifetime of work.” He hopes to write the master book on Rubus someday — a monograph, with illustrations and photos.

But he does offer one neat historical note about R. parviflorus . It’s nearest relative is Rubus odoratus , purple-flowering raspberry, found in the eastern states and provinces.

“Both of these species shared a most recent common ancestor at some point in time, and I suspect that this species may have been found throughout North America during a period when the climate was cooler and wetter than present,” Alice says. “Following the Pleistocene glaciation 8,000-12,000 years ago, the Great Plains region became hotter and drier. Consequently, R. odoratus retreated to the east and R. parviflorus went west. The only region of overlap today is in northern and upper peninsula Michigan and Wisconsin. Where both species occur, hybridization has been documented.”

Native American Ethnobotany, a database based at the University of Michigan-Dearborn’s website, contains a list of more than a hundred uses of thimbleberry by indigenous people, from medicinal to culinary. Blackfoot “diviners” gave the berries to people with pulmonary disorders. The Cowlitz applied a poultice of dried leaves to burns. The Karuk made an infusion of roots to treat “thinness” (to stimulate the appetite). The Kwakiutl decocted the leaves to treat stomach trouble. The Okanagan-Colville used a root mixture to treat pimples and blackheads; their young people also rubbed the leaves on their faces for the same purpose. Indigenous people ate the berries and young, green shoots — cooked, dried or raw.

The Washington State Department of Transportation’s website notes a particularly tasty dish by First Peoples. “They formed a berry cake where sticks of roasted clams were layed out in parallel fashion on a board, covering them with a layer of fresh thimbleberries, then another layer of strung clams, and so on,” it reads. “Then they laid a length of plank on top of the pile and pressed the clams and thimbleberries together into a compact loaf, using stones, or sometimes a woman sat on the plank. They sun-dried the flattened cake, then stored it for later use.”

Bob McConnell, cultural resources manager for the Yurok Tribe, says he’s heard that his ancestors picked the berries and dried and mixed them with meat. And he’s also heard of the “thinness” tonic.

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