Introduction
Beth Harris is a Malden resident and a harpsichord technician by trade. Through her walks, bike rides, and reading, she learned about the flora and fauna of the Mystic River watershed and began thinking of ways to use local, natural materials to live more sustainably. In this guest blog, Beth talks about her thought process when foraging in an urban watershed like ours — how foraging can make immediate use of the invasive plants we pull and teach us to make something, like rope, instead of buying it new. Beth emphasizes the importance of safety and permission in this craft and is always conscious of the other species that rely on these natural resources, using natural debris on the ground which would otherwise be swept away or consuming non-native invasive species which have little food value to the local wildlife.
by Beth Harris
A line of linden trees flanks the wide path I'm walking down one later winter day, their tell tale debris littering the way. My eyes scan the dropped twigs and though I resist for a moment, I then happen upon a particularly nice piece and pick it up. Maybe three feet of a branch, on which the weather, and the occasional cars have removed nearly all of the outer bark, and done a pretty good job at softening the inner fibers. The wood within drops out easily. Basswood is silky, light, and nearly white in color. I wonder what people once did with these little sticks. "Maybe kindling?", an answer comes as I begin taking sections of the fibrous underbark, twisting and coiling them as I continue walking.
PC: Beth Harris
Once again I think about how this natural environment cares for the people who live in it and wonder how it provided for the people who first lived here. This, particular, individual patch of land. Was it once forested in Oaks? Did blueberries and huckleberries always grow on the hill? For me the exploration of these questions this is part of a personal mandate, one of my answers to the unfolding related disasters of climate change and overconsumption. I recognize deeply that the land we inherit today differs wildly from the land inherited by it's original inhabitants. From the introduction of non-native species, to the deforestation and paving of vast swaths of the ground, our settler ancestors reshaped much of our environment, and we continue that habit today. Yet, I feel an urgent need to understand how the land continues to provide and care for us, and how we can provide and care for it. How I can interlock my life with that of the natural world around me, become intertwined, much like the little rope developing in my hands.
Foraging is one of many ways I come into this communion. Like learning the process of making a rope, a specific protocol helps me understand how and when to gather. I first encountered the term "The Honorable Harvest" in the book Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer. Yes! magazine has also published her essay on the subject here.
All of her recommendations offer me guidance, but some need extra consideration as they apply to gathering in our largely urban area. Permission is critical, as it applies not only to the plants gathered, but also as it applies to modern concepts of land ownership. Whether speaking with owners of private property, or knowing and abiding by policy in public space, obtaining and maintaining permission ensures that foraging is a source of joy rather than a source of conflict. For example, since many people use public parks regularly, walking off paths could quickly deteriorate turf and undergrowth, especially if done in wet weather, or without discretion.
"Take only what you need" is a thorny ask. I acknowledge being able to feed myself (and get rope) perfectly well from the store. However, the need for intimate connection is non-trivial, and the removal of certain plants and plant material is desirable some of the time. But, I also know there are many birds, insects and other animals, whose lives literally depend upon wild food sources, especially those provided by native plants. That is why, for a large part, my foraging is limited to exotic species, which have little food value to the local wildlife.
Also embedded in the process of eating wild foods is the issue of safety. Positively identifying plants is extremely important. To that end, learning some basic botany helps, and I have made good friends with the app iNaturalist. It allows me to photograph a plant, and uses a large database to guess at the identity. By no means is it the end all of identification though. Recently, I was trying to ID some flower bulbs (not for eating), and it told me they were squids. So, further research, and some common sense help also.
Even certain identification doesn't always ensure a plant's safety for consumption. The ground all over is laced with small amounts of lead and other contaminants. Near roads, parking lots and especially old structures the amount can be far greater. For this reason, I consider most roots off limits for eating, especially if they come from next to my own house. However, lead decreases greatly with a good washing, and take up within a plant also diminishes as you come further up a plant. Leaves, flowers and especially fruits and seeds, take up very little lead, and can provide great amounts of nourishment.
By the time I reach home, my little rope is done. It's not a model of perfection, it's lumpy in places, gets skinnier here, and fatter there. It has whiskery fibers sticking out everywhere and my sweater is decorated all over with little bits. But I have a useful little twisted rope nonetheless. With it I have forged again my own bond with my local natural world. And when I use it in the garden next year, it will help me give back to that natural community.
PC: Beth Harris
If you are interested in finding ways to cook and eat the invasive plants in your yard (or another place where you have permission to forage), stay tuned for future blog posts. This spring I’ll be looking for young sprouts and ephemerals like garlic mustard!
