There’s a bit of hesitancy on the part of most Americans regarding foraging on someone else’s land. I can only think we’ve been trained not to trespass, and, considering the ubiquity of firearms in this country, I suppose this hesitancy is a good thing. But I swear in other countries, Europe in particular, foraging for wild goodies is a natural thing. I also think Americans also consider foraging kind of shameful. Can’t you, you know, just go to the grocery store for those asparagus, El? Are you that bad off, that poor? All I can say is foraging is fun, and it has the side benefit of being cheap. I ask owners first, if they’re around, so I don’t really worry about getting shot.
I never got around to telling you about my bucketfuls of walnuts last fall. It was a messy, messy project, shelling those walnuts, but the eating (eventually) was yummy. I’ve rummaged the property behind me, the property that used to be a part of this property, after I got the go-ahead from its owner. “I’d like to get some of your apples,” I told Elsie. “Apples? We don’t have any apple trees,” she said. Sigh. She’s lived on the property for over fifty years. You’d think she’d know she had 9 trees that bear almost yearly. Well, whatever. Those apples are great, and dang, they’re all MINE.
I went back to the burned-out asparagus farm yesterday. My harvest was kind of slim, but delicious. The deer as usual had gotten the big share, and it’s been so darned cold that the big field didn’t have any yet. It was a fun little walk. I saw so many birds, swallows in particular. Even if the harvest was slim, the hour I spent was quite rich. So go ahead: call me a Euell Gibbons wannabe; I don’t mind.