We cut through the grass with our bodies, merging with the field. The calls of birds alert the other creatures to our presence as we swish and crackle our way through grass that’s taller than we are. At last, we come upon a clearing.
On my path through the internet today, I stumbled upon Sam Thayer, the midwest’s wild food guru. He’s written two guides that I often see on people’s shelves, all at varying degrees of wear. Some are practically falling apart from use.
In the interview, Sam brings up an important point: you don’t have to live on a farm or next to a national park to harvest wild food. City-dwellers have an abundance of wild foods right out their front door. Like anywhere else, you just have to know what to look for.
By Nicholas Tippins
Wild edible plants are healthy, fun, and free. If you live in an area where plants are not treated with chemicals, there’s no reason not to get started today.
Don’t I need to be an expert at plant identification before I can forage and eat wild foods?
The short answer: no. Chances are you already know and can identify wild edible plants. Can you recognize a dandelion? If so, you’re already on your way to becoming an expert forager.
It may occur to you that the soulful experience I had with the apples was less than practical. It occurred to me when I brought them back to my kitchen, and they tasted sour next to all of the cultivated, sweeter varieties of food. They were certainly not dessert, nor were they savory enough to put into our dinner (though I might have tried if I had been cooking alone). The question seeks to be answered, what to do with sour apples?
By Nicholas Tippins
Though the gravel road is missing its population of cars, I can see life and movement spinning all around it. Trees bend and ache with the wind, flowers spire to the sun and awaken their brilliance. Ghosts of travelers walk this way with me, knowing I, too, search for something that they missed finding in their whole life’s wandering.
By Nicholas Tippins
Three jars of superfoods sit on my shelf. Dark bottles, carrying ancient medicine. I dip my spoon into the jar of Spirulina, and draw out a green so dark it I could be looking at it in the bottom of the ocean. The next one is brighter, like grass sprinkled with emeralds. The third is brown, the color of root and bark. They contain nearly all the vitamins, minerals, antioxidants and adaptogens that my body needs.
I can see my ancestors harvesting these sacred foods, making medicinal meals from them. Continue reading
We scatter in different directions, combing the forest floor. One woman finds a patch of Lady’s Thumb, while another discovers abundant Stinging Nettle. A friend of mine teaches me about Purslane by shoving a fat stem into my mouth. It is rich and tangy, full of good meat. Meanwhile, a few men gather to chat around a tower of Lamb’s Quarter. We feel the tiny hairs on the plants as we harvest them, the cool of the leaves even in the glow of the sun.
My soul craves wildness.
Black caps from the thicket behind my cabin open themselves into my mouth. They flood the flavor of love and the smell of bark. Continue reading
“Spring” is the perfect word. That’s just what the forest floor does, popping may apples and wood violets from the formerly barren, leaf-strewn earth. We’ve had a few cold snaps, windy days, and even some snow (which is to be expected in Wisconsin in April), but now that May has arrived, it appears that Spring is here to stay. Nevertheless, old-timers will tell you not to count on it until May has ended, for a check of old weather reports says the last frost isn’t until the end of this month.
Regardless of the risk–or even because of it–plants surge up towards the ample sunlight, gathering nourishment from the earth and sky, readying themselves for the frosts, heat, insects, and foraging humans that will come their way, hoping (I imagine) to live long enough to be pollinated and produce offspring. Continue reading
Raw umber. This is the color of the spring that bubbles up between a hunting stand and a zillion wild milkweed plants. The field lies below the ridge I grew up on, and it is the place I forged a spiritual connection with nature, staring into the depths of this spontaneous, life-giving flow. Continue reading