Evening foraging trip to the pond behind our property
There is something about winter, you know? Passing through this harsh and food-free season makes me eager to shake off winter’s traces with a rash of spring-green foraging. I do it again now that fall breathes winter’s foreboding breath. I seldom forage in summer. Spring, though, and fall, and I am in kneeboots and gloves, briar-wicking clothing, knives, pruners, bags and baskets on my person. Sometimes I cannot wait until I am past the age of respectability and can go about my business looking like a bag lady at all times a year; as it is, it’s only when it’s time for a free harvest that you’ll find me, wild-eyed and eager, tromping through the woods and fields.
Some years are good, some not so good. What often holds true in the garden holds true in the neighboring fields, deserted orchards and woods around here. This, despite the cold, was a good year.
The boletes are in. And it was a great year.
I am not about to tell you how to find wild mushrooms, or where. Consider the world of mushrooms to be a bell curve: at one low end, the edible mushrooms; those in the hugely humped middle are inedible; the other low end are mushrooms that will outright kill you. The ones that you can eat, though, well: woodland heaven.