Behold The Mighty May Apple

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by Freddä Burton

If you've been looking for something really different to spice up your daily menu—a unique fruit, say, with an indescribably exotic flavor that conjures up visions of sunny tropical isles—chances are you won't have to look much further than your own back yard.

Because the mighty May apple bears just such a treat. And if you live anywhere in the eastern half of the United States between Quebec and Florida, you shouldn't have any trouble finding enough of the fruit to make loads of succulent preserves and a gallon or two of the most delicious summer punch this side of the Garden of Eden!

Fortunately for all of us, the May apple (known among scientific circles as Podophyllum peltatum ) is one of the simplest to identify of all forest forageables. The species is sometimes called "umbrella plant" or "duck's foot" . . . and it's easy to see why. The mature plant, which bears one or two large (often a foot across) flat leaves centrally attached to either a single or "Y"-branched stem, by gosh, looks like a miniature umbrella. And because its expansive foliage is deeply cleft, some naturalists (the more imaginative ones, anyway) think it resembles—yep, you guessed it—a duck's foot. Take a look at the accompanying photos and draw your own conclusions.

The best places to look for May apple plants are moist, open woods and the edges of boggy meadows. Keep your eyes open for a cluster of greenery, rather than lone specimens. Podophyllum peltatum grows from a single underground rhizoid stem which—in very early spring—sends up dozens of finger-shaped shoots sporting young leaves tightly furled around a central stalk. Within a matter of just a few weeks, huge rambling colonies of full-blown specimens twelve to eighteen inches tall blanket entire patches of ground, completely shading (and in effect mulching) the earth from which they've sprung.

Interestingly enough, only the dual-leaved "Y"-branched members of the community bear flowers and fruit. In midspring, a single large (two inches in diameter) white blossom with six to nine petals appears at the fork of each "Y"-plant's stem, nodding inconspicuously beneath its own personal "umbrella". The bloom is a true forest beauty . . . although the odor it exudes is downright nasty.

Then, in June or early July (depending on the climate where you live), the attractive blossom gives way to a smooth, fleshy "berry" the size and shape of a small lemon. The little globe is at first green, but—within a matter of weeks—ripens to a distinct yellow. Strangely enough, the plant's foliage dies off at about the same time . . . so that, come apple-hunting season (mid-July or August) often only the dry, bare stems and the fruit remain. (Which, incidentally, is why it's a good idea to "scout out" and actually map May apple patches in the early spring, when the distinctive green leaves make positive identification easy. Then you can simply return in midsummer and harvest the goodies with no fear of getting—shudder—The Wrong Thing by mistake.)

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