A Short History of Strawberries

Here’s a photo of some strawberries my daughter and her family in Oregon picked this summer. Last year, my wife and I picked strawberries at a small farm near our other daughter/son-in-law in North Carolina. Strawberries are wonderful! (I hated them as a kid because of a texture issue I had with the seeds; what was I thinking!) They are grown in pockets throughout most of the country. Sometimes I’m curious as to where a particular food came from, its history, so to speak. So why not strawberries? 

Also, I was intrigued by the description of vast meadows of wild strawberries in early America--acres upon acres of them--given in a book I am reading, called Travels of William Bartram. Bartram was a second generation plant explorer/collector from Pennsylvania who kept a detailed log of a 2-year long trip he spent exploring the wilds of South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida in the early 1770's, shortly before the Revolutionary War. It is a fascinating account of encounters with alligators in the middle of the night, beautiful wilderness, and friendly encounters with native Indian cultures. Here is an excerpt about coming upon a huge field of wild strawberries in Cherokee country of North Georgia (note: the spelling and grammar are all his):

Proceeding on our return to town, continued through part of this high forest skirting on the meadows: began to ascend the hills of a ridge which we were under the necessity of crossing; and having gained its summit, enjoyed a most enchanting view; a vast expanse of green meadows and strawberry fields; a meandering river gliding through, saluting in its various turnings the swelling, green, turfy knolls, embellished with parterres of flowers and fruitful strawberry beds; flocks of turkies strolling about them; herds of deer prancing in the meads or bounding over the hills; companies of young, innocent Cherokee virgins, some busy gathering the rich fragrant fruit, others having already filled their baskets, lay reclined under the shade of floriferous and fragrant native bowers of Magnolia, Azalea, . . . disclosing their beauties to the fluttering breeze, and bathing their limbs in the cool fleeting streams; whilst other parties, more gay and libertine, were yet collecting strawberries, or wantonly chasing their companions, tantalising them, staining their lips and cheeks with the rich fruit. 

The sylvan scene of primitive innocence was enchanting, and perhaps too enticing for hearty young men long to continue idle spectators. In fine, nature prevailing over reason, we wished at least to have a more active part in their delicious sports.

Bartram and his companion, a local trader, were soon discovered by some older Cherokee matrons who sounded an alarm that sent the young ladies scattering for cover. Some of them subsequently emerged and offered the travelers some fresh strawberries:

We accepted a basket, sat down and regaled ourselves on the delicious fruit, encircled by the whole assembly of the innocent jocose sylvan nymphs: by this time the several parties, under the conduct of the elder matrons, had disposed themselves in companies on the green, turfy banks. 

My young companion, the trader, by concessions and suitable apologies for the bold intrusion, having compromised the matter with them, engaged them to bring their collections to his house at a stipulated price: we parted friendly.

I began to wonder if the strawberry was indeed a native plant or had been introduced by early colonists from Europe. After all, Europeans had been a constant presence in the area since the founding of St. Augustine in 1565. By Bartram's time, it had been well over 200 years--nearly as long as his colonial times to our own.

The story of the strawberry is really pretty cool. When Europeans came to Massachusetts the native Indians were already cultivating beds of native strawberries (Fragaria virginiana). When the Spanish arrived to conquer Chile and Peru in the 1500's, the natives had been cultivating and trading strawberries (Frageria chiloensis), probably for many centuries. Unfortunately, the eastern strawberries were very small compared to today's strawberries (actually the native strawberry still grows in wild in parts of the Eastern US); and the western strawberry (grows from Chile to Alaska along the western mountains) was larger but not as flavorful. 

It wasn't until 1712 when an enterprising Frenchman named Frezier brought back seven plants from Chile with particularly large fruit. He planted them in France and for 30 years they were propagated and flourished, but never produced fruit. Finally, someone happened to plant some strawberries from the American colonies next to these beds. What Frezier didn't know was that the western strawberry (F. chiloensis) had male and female flowers on different plants. He had only collected female plants. The male pollen from the eastern strawberry plants (F. virginiana) fertilized the Chilean female flowers and the fortuitous result was a large, flavor-packed hybrid. All of our cultivated strawberry varieties today (except ever-bearing types) are descended from this bed of strawberries growing in France. Isn't it ironic that our two native species of strawberry had to go all the way to France to get together, then come back home and fill our baskets.

Remember this bit of botanical serendipity next time you bite into a big 'ol juicy strawberry!

Post Script:  William Bartram also spent time, on numerous occasions, as a guest in native Indian villages. There he observed another way to eat strawberries: the women would grind the fruit with mortar and pestle into a mush, then mix it in with corn mush and drop it in hot bear fat for strawberry corn fritters or bake it for strawberry corn bread. Try it out!  (maybe sans the bear fat ...)

        [facts gleaned from Plants For Man by Robert Schery and the website of Vegetarians in Paradise; for a more complete account, go to this link)]

-