Once upon a time, in the rolling hills of a land called America, there grew a humble berry known as the black currant. Carried over the ocean by early European immigrants, its glossy, obsidian beads hung in clusters on sturdy shrubs, their tart sweetness a secret treasure of the earth.

 The black currant was no ordinary fruit, it brimmed with the magic of vitality, bursting with vitamin C and antioxidants that whispered promises of health and vigor. Gardeners and cooks cherished it, weaving its sharp, rich flavor into jams, pies, and cordials that warmed hearths and hearts alike. But this berry had a shadowed past, for it carried a curse or so the people believed. 

In the early 1900s, a great fear swept through the land. The black currant, it was said, harbored a silent menace: a fungal disease called white pine blister rust. White pine blister rust required two hosts to complete its deadly life cycle: a five-needle pine (like the white pine) and a Ribes species (like black currants). The evil fungus would spread via spores through the air, infecting pines causing severe damage and in some case even death. 

This plague threatened the mighty white pine, a titan of the forests, whose timber built homes and dreams of a young nation. The pine was the backbone of the lumber trade, and its fall would spell ruin. So, the rulers of the land, in their infinite wisdom, declared a ban on the little black-berry. 

By 1911, the black currant was branded an outlaw, its cultivation forbidden across the nation. Fields were uprooted, bushes burned, and the once-beloved berry vanished into whispers and memory. Years passed, and the ban held firm. The white pine stood tall again, but the absence of the black currant left a void in the land. Other berries like sweet strawberries and mild blueberries filled markets, but none carried the black currant’s wild spirit. Across the sea, in lands like England and France, black currants flourished, their juices staining lips and their liqueurs warming taverns.

  Then, one spring over ninety years after the ban was imposed, a murmur of change stirred the air. Scientists, those modern alchemists, discovered that not all black currants carried the curse. New varieties, resistant to the white pine blister rust, emerged like heroes from a medieval tale. State by state, the ban began to lift, starting with NY in 2003. Farmers and gardeners, long denied, rejoiced. The black currant could return, its name cleared at last. The black currant, once forbidden, became a symbol of resilience, its sharp flavor a reminder that even the smallest things could endure great trials. And so, the black currant reclaimed its place in the American landscape, its roots sinking deep into a land that had once cast it out.

  Three years ago, I planted a black currant bush for myself and it has produced a bounty of fruit since I planted it. Now black currants aren’t for everyone as they are much tarter than other fruits and their flavor packs a punch. But for cooking, making or baking there is nothing better as even a small amount of berries will leave a lasting impression. Last year I used my currants for jam which I will be making more of this year, but I am also looking for a good scone recipe as well. If you have one, please send it my way.