Foraging — A Sense of Place
Supermarket isles groaning with the constant availability of fresh produce flown in from all corners of the world have ruined our relationship with place through the food we consume. In the process we mostly overlook the abundance we have on our doorsteps, and fall out of pace with the rhythms of nature.
Since moving to a 3-hectare property in rural Portugal, I’ve made it a priority to forge a relationship with the land. Despite my rural upbringing on a farm in South Africa, I too, through my urban existence in the intervening years, lost the connection with nature as a provider of nutrient dense food, and the nuanced movement of the seasons.
Building a relationship with the land is a slow, and sometimes frustrating process, as it is only through observation and experimentation that true understanding can take place. But if one employs patience, one is richly rewarded with the various gifts every specific geographical place has to offer through the unique alchemy of soil and climate.
So much of what we consume is related to conditioning and marketing, so when I started to educate myself on the plants that grow wild on the land, it took quite a while for my brain to adjust to a new way of looking at the array of plants which could potentially find their way onto my plate. Because of that initial hesitation my way into foraging actually started with the cultivation of calendula flowers in my vegetable garden.
Edible flowers felt adventurous enough for me to serve as an impetus into the unknown. Like the ancient Romans, who used the flowers of calendula officialis to dye their cheeses and butter, and flavour their soups and meat, I love the variety of ways these petals, ranging from yellow to orange, are able to find their way onto my plate for most of the year. It makes me feel like I am eating mouthfuls of sunshine. Unfortunately, despite my consumption of copious amounts of flower petals, I haven’t seen any fairies, which according to the ancient Romans was one of the potential side effects.
My next step still bordered on the mundane, yet as a lover of asparagus it was a huge thrill when I learned to identify wild asparagus (asparagus albus) on the land. And, once I knew what to look for, I realised that it grows in abundance near the rock walls that are either fallen down or still intact, delineating our borders. I quickly learned that these thin tender shoots grow so fast that unless one checks daily one may well be too late to collect them, as they can grow up to a metre tall when not picked. Because they are often scattered around a big area, foraging enough spears for a meal can be a challenge, as one only finds one or two per plant, which in itself can be a trial, as the plants are very prickly.
Once I discovered the joys of eating food mother Nature has provided without my intervention, I quickly transitioned to adding pennywort (umbilicus rupestris) and chickweed (stellaria media) to my salads, or piled high on top of vegetarian patties to create a sense of artistic flair.
Soon after I started this journey, I joined a mushroom club, but identifying mushrooms correctly make me nervous, as there are just too many poisonous ones that could be confused with edible ones, so I still tend to stick to the ones purchased from the supermarket, with the exception of parasol mushrooms (macrolepiota procera) that I am confident in identifying, and which I dry and add in powdered form to mushroom dishes for a deeper layer of flavour and additional nutrients.
Not as many foraged plants as mushrooms can be mistaken for something poisonous, with the exception of perhaps Queen Anne’s Lace (daucus carota), so I feel much more confident when trying to identify the edible ones. Its characteristic single dark red flower in the middle of a collection of white lacy umbels, which is said to be a drop of blood that fell on the lace Queen Anne was sewing when she pricked her finger, makes it easy to identify from other look-alikes that are poisonous. This marker isn’t present in all varieties of Queen Anne’s Lace, but luckily for me it is in the variety that grows on our land, so it didn’t take me long to dry these flower heads and infuse them in sugar, to bake olive oil cake with just a hint of carrot.
Once I got going it didn’t take long for me to spend huge chunks of time flicking through herbal medicine books to discover different ways in which I could use the plants I managed to identify. The bright yellow petals of dandelion flowers (taraxacum officinale) found their way into an infused vinegar, and honey & dandelion butter that is delicious on flap jacks, but the hairy leaves of the plant also found their way into bottles filled with aguadente (local firewater) to slowly turn into a tincture.
More tinctures and infused oils followed, making me feel like some sort of modern-day witch brewing up potions and lotions. I watched in fascination as the clear liquid infused with the bright yellow flowers of St. John’s Wort (hypericum perforatum) slowly turned a deep crimson. Once believed to dispel evil spirits, it is today mostly used as a restorative nerve tonic, while infusing oil with various parts of the plant is said to calm nerve pain.
The cheerful yellow flowers of mullein (verbascum thapsus) grow on tall flower stalks, which in the past were dried and dipped in tallow to be used as torches, while the flowers and leaves were used as both fabric and hair dye, but what piqued my interest was that a tincture made from the leaves of the plant is said to be beneficial in treating respiratory ailments, especially as I suffer from asthma.
Summer isn’t a great season for foraging on the land, with the exception perhaps of purslane (portulaca oleracea), which has the highest amount of omega-3 fatty acids of any vegetable, and adds a lovely sour note when sprinkled over food or added to salad.
In anticipation of autumn, I am keeping a close eye on the berries on the hawthorn trees (crataegus monogya), which are gradually turning red. Belonging to the same family as roses and apples, hawthorn trees are gorgeous in spring when they are covered in a veil of tiny white flowers, but it is the ketchup made from the berries that I am looking forward to. The two small bottles I made last autumn as an experiment didn’t last long, and even though harvesting the tiny red berries amidst the long thorns of the tree is quite a challenge, and the whole process is rather tedious, as the berries are more pip than flesh, I am committed to increase the amount of ketchup I make this year, which is also why I’ve spent a large part of winter pruning these thorny bushes into trees — not just to make it easier for me to strim under them, but to give me better access to their red berries.
And so, as time passes and I learn how to add an extra layer of nutrients to the food I consume, and support my health with tinctures and oils, I am recalibrating my body and life to the rhythm of the seasons, while anchoring myself to the land I now call home.
# Remember to only eat plants you can positively identify. It is also wise to consume small amounts of foraged foods at first, as some people can have allergic reactions. Also remember that food foraged close to roads or in urban areas could have been sprayed with products harmful to health, so it is important to forage only in places you know the plants are healthy.
