LAW 40:THE FINE ART OF FORAGING

Those of you who live in a big city environment may think that there are no foraging options available to you. That is very likely not true. Mungo and i live, admittedly on the fringe of Baltimore city. We are like most city dwellers, surrounded by the concrete jungle, yet we have found multiple opportunities to forage for a variety of the tasty goodies offered up seasonally by Mother Nature.

the target berry

We have been closely watching a long stretch of black raspberries since they started blooming. There was no inconvenience, no extra trips to evaluate the ripeness of said berries, as this patch is conveniently located on the way to one of our favorite, local grocery stores. Alas, even with this almost daily monitoring someone beat us to the first ripe flush. Drat!

50 shades of red?

Persistence did finally pay off; Friday morning, armed with a trusty grocery bag (my berry pail having gone AWOL) we set off to harvest the bounty. Although we did get a goodly amount, we did not achieve the full potential possible, as i forgot that plastic grocery bags today are thin and flimsy constructs, incapable of fending off the aggression of thorns. Sigh. Luckily i had a hair tie with me, which was put to use repairing the damage.

the happy forager

Foraging has become very trendy, both on the personal level and for very high end, trendy restaurants. Interesting that what goes around comes around. Foraging, or eating wild has been a necessary part of human life for, well, forever. I remember both hating and loving the long, hot, did i mention hot and sweaty berry picking trips organized by my mother. I mean what self-respecting kid wants to great dressed up in long sleeve shirts, long pants, socks, shoes, hats and most annoyingly of all, gloves! in the middle of August in Northern Wisconsin. Right! Uggh! We would spend hours, it felt like an eternity to us, stripping bare the forested verge of one or more local farm field, all with permission of course. It would have likely took far less time than it did if  not for the 'one for the mouth, one for the pail rule'. Of course once out in the field the gloves would come off; i think there was some sort of competition to see who could get their hands the most beautiful, deep purple. Hours later, pails finally full to my mother's satisfaction, we would tramp out of the woods, whining about the myriad mosquito bites, scratches and of course, how hungry we were. Those were the days my friends. If we only knew.

poor little broken bag

More later,
Morgainne
Check out Onboard Cooking to see what happens to the raspberries!