Rain-kissed wild black currant goodness.

It’s wild booze month at Hunger & Thirst and again I have Butterpoweredbike to thank for motivating me to the computer to write something. That—and for getting me into the liquor cabinet for a night of distraction from my many winter obligations.

Fortunately, Gregg and I were good little alcohol squirrels over the warmer months, storing wild foraged ingredients in bottles of booze now and again. One batch of our prized bathtub gin—made from vodka flavored with juniper “berries” and wild angelica—remains, but as of the other night there were also a few experiments yet to be tried: wild grape vodka, wild black currant vodka, and wild black currant brandy among them.

Black currants abound around an old miner's cabin at high elevation above Fairplay, Colorado.

We tested the currant vodka first. It is a stunning deep black-red-purple in color, a beautiful contrast to the recent whites of snows we’ve been getting in the high country.

Gregg says the taste is similar to the black currant juice he drank every morning over breakfast while visiting Austria last winter. In fact, he is so obsessed with the stuff that any time we try anything flavored with the fruit—the vodka, brandy, and also some preserves I made—he gets to ruminating on how to obtain black currant juice in bulk.

“Maybe I could import some?” he says. “Or get it from Vitamin Cottage?”

“Vitamin Cottage?” I reply, taken aback. “Why on earth would you do that if we can forage it ourselves?”

“For me to have a glass of it every day you’d have to make that your sole foraging pursuit,” he explains.

“Let me get this straight: You wouldn’t even want any Boletus edulis?” I argue, since he prizes the wild porcini so.

But he asserts: “Not if it cuts into my black currant supply.”

I see.

Inconspicuous ground cover shields the dark, delicious, dangling berries.

Currant Debate

Not to be confused with the sticky red currants or purple gooseberries that also abound in the Colorado high country, the currants I used to infuse the boozes four months ago were the big, shiny black berries of a low-lying spineless Ribes—what I think to be wild northern black currant (Ribes americanum) as described by Kershaw et. al. (1998) in Plants of the Rocky Mountains but not the same as the popular European variety (Ribes nigrum).

We collected a bunch late in fall, handfuls at a time, on our hands and knees in the underbrush of a shaded mountainside valley next to the ruins of a miner’s cabin in high elevation Fairplay, Colorado.

Europeans were among Colorado’s early miners, so at first I thought my find might be a cultivated variety, especially since the currants fruit so profusely in proximity to the dilapidated cabin.

In Wild Edible Plants of Western North America (1970, 1975), however, Donald Kirk explains that “the various Ribes species are the alternate host to the White Pine Blister Rust, the most deadly fungus disease of Western White Pine, and other 5 needle pines…” For this reason, currant cultivation was widely banned throughout the United States’ early history, and even native species were targeted for eradication. While black currant cultivation is beginning to catch on in places, restrictions on growing it remain to this day in a number of U.S. states.

Intoxicating Liquid Currant Candy

Wild black currant liqueur provides momentary respite despite the clear reminder of a 1:30 responsibility.

Our black currant vodka was good straight up, but that’s not how we drink, so I mixed a basic cocktail with club soda and simple syrup. “Mmm,” Gregg said, calling it a “fruity drink” while acknowledging the strong and distinctive flavor of the currants. It’s too bad I only made a pint because we downed our drinks fast and then he helped himself to a second one, polishing off the batch in an evening.

The next night I dipped into the black currant brandy. Now that’s the stuff with which my current currant dreams are flavored. A sucker for sweet liqueurs, I added a few tablespoons of simple syrup to a shot of the wild red-purple brandy and served it over crushed ice.

What can I say? It is divinity in a glass. We voted it best in house, albeit based on a survey of only two residents. After that it was all I could do to rescue it from the boyfriend’s eager gaze, as I hope to share some with my parents come February.

Shoving the brandy back in the closet, I opened a bottle of wild grape vodka in its stead and endeavored a similar creation—wild grape liqueur over crushed ice. It suffices, but it’s nothing to write the internet about—at least not compared to wild black currant brandy.

MORE INFO:

• Marshall, K. Anna. 1995. Ribes americanum. In: Fire Effects Information System, [Online]. USDA, Forest Service, Rocky Mountain Research Station, Fire Sciences Laboratory.
• Ribes newsgroup from luvnpeas.org.

Pumpkin and wild acorns soup, garnished with pumpkin seeds and a dollop of sour cream.

Okay I’ll admit it. I’m rusty—rusty at cooking, rusty at foraging, rusty at writing about stuff that interests me. I swear I ignore the writing for a week and suddenly it’s three weeks and before I know it I’ve totally forgotten that I actually enjoy writing.

The computer crash didn’t help. I lost several not-yet-published entries I was excited about—one on homemade wild sumac candies (think pink lemon drops), yet another acorn rant, and a fun-filled account of recent drama that took place around a foragers’ gathering down Denver way, wherein Gregg’s car landed in the impound just as I was making the famous Hank Shaw’s acquaintance. (This was hilarious … in retrospect.) Needless to say, I lost composure, data, and momentum. Follow with a 3-day power outage in wintry Colorado at 11,000 feet and you’ve got one cold, frustrated forager-blogger.

Although the airport security offer who confiscated my wild currant preserves wouldn't take them home with him, he did at least oblige me a final photo.

Luckily a mid-west vacation intervened, just what I needed to rest up from all that insanity. I brought two jars of black currant preserves along with me in my travels—one low-sugar second attempt for dad who thought last year’s batch too sweet, and one to share in lieu of cranberry sauce at my aunt’s house over Thanksgiving. Of course, leave it to me to pack all my liquid items into a separate baggie for airport security but then forget that fruit preserves also qualify as liquids/gels not to be transported in larger-than-4-ounce containers in carry-on luggage. (Although the airport security offer who confiscated my wild currant preserves wouldn’t take them home with him, he did at least oblige me a final photo.)

Tonight, back home and empowered, thankfully, I sat down finally to write again. Then wouldn’t you know it—I blow a fuse. Not once, but twice. And this after I finally cleaned the place up and put my headlamp back in the camping box where it goes. Just to write a wild edible entry for my neglected internet weblog I have to dig around in the dark for my headlamp, don the snowboots, head out in the cold, and flip the switch back. I did it the first time and now, instead of doing it a second time, I’m sitting in the dark typing with my headlamp on hoping Gregg gets back here quick and handles the fuse box before I blow an altogether different kind of fuse.

Acorns Add Nutty Flavor to Squash Soup

All right then—400 words is probably plenty of self-pity for one entry, so let’s get on to Pumpkin and Acorns Soup, which I made for the first time this morning.

I was inspired first by Butterpoweredbike’s pestering me to make an acorn dish for the November Wild Things Round Up, and second by the fact that I had a couple pumpkins lying around—candidates for jack-o-lanterns that never materialized—plus a crate full of beat up “river beers” discarded by Gregg’s sister after her summer sojourn through the Grand Canyon. The idea for soup came from Hank Shaw’s acorn soup account in Hunt, Gather, Cook: Finding the Forgotten Feast (2011), which includes his recipe for an acorn soup with porcini and brandy. Plus I figured squash soups are nice in fall with so many winter squashes available, cold temps and autumn colors and all.

This inconsistent acorn meal required a second grind and leach because the big pieces were still tanniny.

The acorn meal was in the refrigerator already. I made it last month from a batch of 2-year-old dried acorns gifted me by Butter, who at the time professed to being “not really into acorns” but who has since created several gourmet acorn recipes to drool for. The acorns were a mixed batch of burr, long skinny white, and red, a pretty assortment whose picture sadly died with computer too. These I sorted, cracked, soaked,
testa-peeled, ground, and cold-leached into flour, only to find I had to re-grind and re-leach due to inconsistent tannin removal caused by an inconsistent grind. The meal came out an inconsistent texture still but tannin-taste-free, deep-brown and slightly chunky. It was work, but worth it as always.

To make the soup I carved up some pumpkin chunks, peeled, steamed, and pureed with a small amount of water, then transferred the puree to a pot, into which I also poured a “river Tecate.” In a separate pan I sautéed finely chopped onions and garlic in butter with salt until almost brown, then added these along with pepper and a small amount of grated Cheddar cheese. In another pot I combined water with acorn meal and simmered until the acorns softened. Then I mixed the two soups together and simmered for 20 minutes.

Meanwhile I had a batch of buttered and salted pumpkin seeds going in the toaster oven, so that when it came time to serve I could drop a few seeds onto the soup along with a dollop of sour cream. Though I had intended the pumpkin seeds as a garnish, Gregg liked the added flavor and textures enough to help himself to additional soup-topping pumpkin seeds and cream throughout the meal.

We’ll definitely make this one again—maybe next time before Thanksgiving.

For more Wild Food Girl entries on acorns, please see my October Wild Edible Notebook, which is about acorns, and Zen and the Art of Acorn Processing, which describes a method for acorn processing in detail.

A teensy bit more than halfway through November I am once again honored to present the Wild Edible Notebook, my journal-style tale of select plants. This sixth issue centers on two blue-purple edibles, namely wild grapes and juniper “berries”—late fall forage to carry us over through the cold winter until the start of next spring’s wildcrafting season. The November issue also includes my recent news on Cattail Bob’s book, Best-Tasting Wild Plants of Colorado and the Rockies (1998), as well as a short piece by contributing writer Wendy Petty (www.zesterdaily.com) aka Butterpoweredbike (www.hungerandthirstforlife.blogspot.com).

With this release, I’m closing up the Wild Edible Notebook shop for the season, to return in June of 2012. In the meantime, I plan to continue pondering and posting here at the blog from time to time.

As with all other Wild Edible Notebooks, if you want to read it, you have to download it—and that means joining the list if you haven’t already.

How to Join the List

If you go through the process to join the list you will receive one (at most two) emails from me a month. You can unsubscribe whenever you want. To join, scroll to the bottom of this page and fill in your info. You’ll receive an email asking you to click on a confirmation link, and after doing that, you’ll get another email with the download link for the November issue of the Wild Edible Notebook—in your choice of either a handy print-and-fold booklet or a file you can breeze through onscreen or print out one-sided. You’ll be able to access all prior notebooks as well.

Calling Advertisers

Take advantage of free advertising via the Wild Edible Notebook. This offer is open to both established purveyors of wild food products/equipment as well as individuals with classified ads. These will be free of charge until further notice, so please, send them my way and I’ll try to get you in the next issue.

Digging burdock root deep in the brush with Jim Pullen of KGNU. Photo by Butterpoweredbike.

As wild food foragers, we sometimes find ourselves on unfamiliar ground. A trip somewhere new can be both exciting and intimidating. What is there to forage here?

This was the situation in which my co-foraging friend, Butterpoweredbike, and I found ourselves two weeks ago in the dry, windswept hills northwest of Lyons, Colorado. We’d been invited there by the landowner, Cheri Hoffer, after she heard of our plight to find a plot of private land on which to forage with KGNU producer Jim Pullen, who wanted to tape us foraging for radio.

Together, we drove the long, rough, dirt road there wondering whether we’d made a mistake. Neither of us was familiar with the habitat; everything seemed to be brown, and the media was on its way. What were we going to find? Crap. 

Fortunately Jim was a tolerant fellow, patiently recording my long list of must-says regarding foraging regulations, my homages to all the expert foragers from whose expertise I’ve benefited, a heads up on Hunt, Gather, Cook author Hank Shaw’s dinner tonight at the Black Cat in Boulder, safety tips and the like—choking on my words and then stopping and restarting again all the while—before actually getting around to foraging.

As it turns out, not much of this stuff made the radio. Instead, limited to just a few minutes of air time, Jim was more interested in the candid, giddy and humorous exclamations of us two “raging intellects” (he called us that) exuberant over whatever wild food we could manage to find.

Before going any further I therefore feel obligated to provide a synopsis of current foraging regulations for public lands in the Boulder/Denver area:

Boulder-Area Foraging Regulations 

National Forest regulations vary, so it’s good to learn them on a forest-by-forest basis by contacting the local Ranger District of the forest you hope to forage in advance of your visit.

According to the public affairs office for the Arapaho/Roosevelt National Forest and Pawnee Grasslands, which abut the major metropolitan areas of Denver and Boulder, foraging plants in quantity in these forests is simply not allowed, as the potential impact is too great. That said, foraging a handful or tasting non-threatened plants in these forests is allowed; the policy is called “incidental use” and is designed to allow for a “personal experience” with nature. Incidentally, an “incidental” quantity is probably a good place to start for new foragers anyway.

The public affairs office also indicated that well-used locations like trailheads and campgrounds in local national forest areas may have been sprayed to slow the spread of the pine beetle infestation, so those would not be areas from which to taste-test.

Some seasonal forest products—like firewood and transplants—can be collected upon obtaining a permit, which are available from forest service offices such as the Boulder Ranger District (303-541-2500).

The policy on Boulder County Open Space lands is zero-plant picking.

None of these regulations apply to foraging private land, hence our interest in finding some for the radio interview. There, only the landowner’s rules apply—those, and of course nature’s rules for sustainability such as not clear-cutting or otherwise damaging habitat, leaving enough of the individual plant or colony for it to be able to regenerate, and, as Sam Thayer explains, foraging plants “with single underground storage organs like single roots, tubers, or corms” only from rich stands, as removal of these organs kills the plants.

Foraging Gold in Nature’s Gutters

We all but struck out on the hillside with Jim Pullen that day, finding one mullein (Verbascum thapsis: The leaves make for good tea after the fine hairs are strained out, in addition to the plant’s medicinal uses) and one dandelion to fawn over.

Luckily, we had more success when Cheri led us down into a tangled gully on the backside of her hill. In that protected, damp zone we found wild oregano (Monarda fistulosa), burdock (Arctium species), and ripe rose hips (Rosa species), to name a few, despite it being mid-October already. Butter made me crawl deep into the underbrush to dig out a burdock root with her hori hori and both Jim and I emerged covered in burs from head to toe—but with some good recordings regardless.

Shameless Dog Boarding Plug

Big thanks are in order to Cheri Hoffer of Canine Campovers, a network of home boarders catering to dog owners throughout the Boulder/Denver area, for offering up both her time and land to our emergency foraging cause. Board your pup with Canine Campovers today!

On Air with Maeve Conran

To listen to the show, tune into KGNU’s Morning Magazine this morning between 8:00 and 8:30 Mountain Time or stay tuned for a download link—and try not to laugh when I stutter, okay?

Hank Shaw, author of Hunt, Gather, Cook: Finding the Forgotten Feast, makes a tour stop at the Black Cat Farm Table Bistro in Boulder, Colorado on Tuesday, November 1 to sign books and help guests rediscover that which has been forgotten through a prix fixe feast featuring foraged foods and flavors. 

Chef Eric Skokan presents the menu, which is slated to include risotto with porcini and second cutting hay, pickled mallow, campfire trout, spruce, pine nut aioli, crispy thistle, Colorado lamb (not to be confused with the next menu item) lamb’s quarters, burdock root gratin, and pickled rose hips, with maple and walnut cake, black walnut ice cream, and nocino for dessert. Any of the non-foraged ingredients are deeply local, with 80% of the restaurant’s usual provisions coming from their 70-acre Black Cat Farm. 

Hunt, Gather, Cook 

Shaw’s first book after departing a career in political journalism, Hunt, Gather, Cook synthesizes the author’s lifelong interest in wild plants, his former career as a chef, and his love for fresh and saltwater fare along with a newfound interest in hunting “for food and fulfillment,” which he presents in an enjoyable and accessible format for would-be wild food fans. The book includes food gathering, processing, and preparation instructions along with recipes geared towards adventurous as well as distinguished palettes. Stories of the author’s own experiences rediscovering the world of wild food illuminate the content. 

Published in May of 2011 by Rodale Books, Hunt, Gather, Cook is contained within an artistically appointed, black and white, hardcover book, making it not only an interesting read but also an attractive volume for display. (Only one other wild edible book in my collection is hardcover, incidentally—and that is 1970’s wild food cookbook.) Shaw also maintains an award-winning blog at www.honest-food.net.

I skipped around as I read Hunt, Gather, Cook, getting sucked into his entries on some of my old east coast favorites like sassafras and day lily. I can’t wait to try pickled sea beans, “Homemade Root Beer Syrup” made from sassafras roots despite USDA warnings (see Shaw’s argument on that one), and “Madrone Bark Tea Eggs.” 

The clamming and fishing part struck a chord with me too, as I am from a family of clammers and fishers. If there were a wild food book to recommend to my angling dad or hunting brother-in-law (if only to capitalize on their other interests to convince them of the joys of wild plant forage), this book is probably it. 

Plant Presentation 

The plant section, “Foraging from Coast to Coast,” is 75 pages long, divided into chapters on wild greens, fruits and berries, seaside vegetables, wines, and acorns—which are of course my most recent obsession. It’s a nice overview of things to forage and how to use them. Not to be mistaken for an identification guide, Hunt, Gather, Cook is instead a narrative account of the California-based author’s experiences with North American flora and fauna, both in the field and in the kitchen. I particularly love how Hank Shaw is always processing wild food during football games. (Whereas I have lately taken to removing the testas from acorn meats over reruns of Sex and the City.) 

Dining Reservations

Anyway, call the Black Cat in Boulder for reservations (303.444.5500; www.blackcatboulder.com) if interested in Tuesday’s dinner; rolling seatings beginning at 5:30. The four course meal costs $65 (+$25 optional wine flight) and includes a signed copy of Hunt, Gather, Cook. 

Will I be there? No, sadly, I have to work. But I imagine it will be better than my wildest wild food dreams.

NOTE: Here’s a link to an interview with Shaw in the Westword by Laura Shunk.

Cattail Bob Seebeck’s popular local guide, Best-Tasting Wild Plants of Colorado and the Rockies (1998) is now back in print, self-published and available for purchase either directly from the author (email cattailbob[at]q.com) or the Pikes Peak Community College (PPCC) bookstore, with plans underway to make it available at Amazon in the near future. 

In recent years, used copies of the formerly out-of-print guide have been selling for upwards of $100 online. (Today I saw a new copy going for $229; holy crapola!) Seebeck is currently offering the re-issues for $25 plus $3 shipping & handling.   

The succinct field guide to approximately 70 edible plants deemed best-tasting by Bob is prized for its inclusion of four full-color pictures of each plant at different seasons of the year, aiding identification. Entries are divided into high and low altitude categories and include charts describing growth phases of plants by month and altitude. Look-alikes for edible plants are listed along with their toxicity in addition to a separate, bright-red-appointed section on toxic plants to be avoided. 

Instead of specific recipes, he includes food preparation suggestions such as this one for pennycress (Thlaspi arvense): “Strong, almost garlic-like flavor. …Young fresh leaves work best in salads, sauces, soups, and stir fries…,” leaving the reader free to invent her own wild concoctions. 

Cattail Bob Seebeck discusses stinging nettles (2009).

“I eat wild plants almost every day during the growing season, usually as a nibble or a snack, as I’m outside quite a bit,” Cattail Bob said. “Since my life right now is hectic between working, teaching, spending time with my son and working on my house and my rental house, I usually eat on the run anyway, so grabbing a wild edible plant I happen to see growing nearby fits my busy lifestyle. One day (I keep telling myself) I’ll have the time to work on original recipes and possibly a book on original wild edible plant recipes,” he said, adding that his favorite wild dish is his “special recipe for pancakes using wild amaranth seeds, buckwheat flour (not wild) and wild huckleberries.” Cattail Bob has not once been poisoned by eating wild edible plants. 

Nature and Self-Sufficiency

“I’ve always been interested in nature and self sufficiency, even as a kid,” Cattail Bob said. “In addition to my keen interest in survival and wild useful herbs, I’ve also built three homes using energy and self sufficient concepts. Two of those homes were built way out in the country and completely off the grid.” 

Cattail Bob's hand-built dodecagon-shaped house in Drake.

“I have very fond memories of my childhood, hiking in the hills around our house, fishing on the lake, growing things with my parents and grandparents (who lived next door),” said Cattail Bob, who grew up in the country on a lake back east. “I began teaching wilderness survival classes in my early twenties in Colorado. I also began working with the Larimer County Fire, Search and Rescue crew, eventually becoming a squad boss.” The proud father of a 17-year-old son, he now works as a foreman for a timber crew in the Monument area in addition to teaching. 

Wild Plant College 

Cattail Bob will offer “Survival Plants” and “Advanced Survival Plants” starting in April at PPCC. The classes are open to both enrolled students and members of the general public. In addition, two (indoor) 2-credit classes are under consideration by the college for January: “Survival Plants of Yellowstone and the Pacific Northwest” and “Survival Plants of the American Southwest.” Next summer, Cattail Bob will also offer “Survival Plants” at Red Rocks Community College in Denver for the first time. He continues to give summer classes in Drake through Loveland Parks and Recreation (combined with Greeley). 

Projects in the Queue 

The ever-busy author is also working on state-by-state series called Survival Plants of [insert State name] for Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, Utah, Wyoming, Montana and Idaho. “I may eventually include Nevada,” he said. “I also have enough photos and information to someday begin books for Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, Nebraska and North and South Dakota.” 

“Each state has roughly 200 useful plants, give or take,” Cattail Bob explained. “By useful plants I mean wild edible, medicinal, poisonous and toolcraft herbs.” 

“Every state has a few useful herbs that are endangered or rare. I will not include those in my books nor do I teach these in my classes,” Cattail Bob added. “Some plants may be rare in one state but common in another, for example Datil Yucca is common in New Mexico and Arizona, but rare in Colorado.” The new Colorado book is slated for release in the Spring of 2012. 

In addition, stay tuned for Cattail Bob’s own “Smell the Wildflowers” game, designed to improve your wild olfactory prowess—definitely something an allergic asthmatic like yours truly could make use of to hone her smelling skills. 

Even Experts Need Experts 

You may read my blog and enjoy my off-color remarks, my tales of foraging joys and woes, but keep in mind that there’s a wealth of real expertise out there, in many cases in the form of self-published works by those whom I like to refer to as “OG” foragers—OG standing for “Original Gangster” and meaning “originator” or “most wise”—and in my opinion, Cattail Bob is one of the authors most deserving of the title. 

As for Bob, his favorite wild herbal author is Michael Moore. “His information on wild medicinals is very comprehensive and his sense of humor is entertaining,” Cattail Bob said. “His books however, don’t have enough photographs in my opinion. I was sorry to hear of his passing last year. We lost a great teacher and author who will be hard to replace.” 

Eating Wild & Local

“More and more people are becoming aware of the fact that vegetables grown close to home are healthier for us,” Cattail Bob concluded. “What better ‘close to home’ vegetables are there than wild edibles?”

NOTE: I wrote a piece about one of Cattail Bob’s classes in Drake on my old blog if you’re interested. Pictures are repeats.

October snow hovers in the high country.

It’s mid October and it just keeps snowing here in the high country at 11,000 feet in Colorado Rockies. You’d think foraging season were over, but it’s not. 

Two days ago I awoke to a steady snow and found myself unable to focus on work. By noon it stopped but the wind kicked up; the way it whipped around the house inspired Gregg to curl up by the fire and swear he’d stay inside all day. I felt exactly the opposite, however: I needed to go outside.

It’s hunting season so the hand-me-down pink bell bottom cords and orange puffy vest were in order. It was hat and gloves weather too with all that wind. 

The mining road was vacant and the snow plentiful. I reveled in getting fresh tracks as I hiked through 3”- 4” deep swaths of pow. At a switchback I clambered over the fallen tree trunk that obscures the footpath to the secret meadow, which I descended brushing snow off the low bushes as I went. 

There were many non-producing low juniper shrubs en route but eventually I found the one I was looking for, which I’d spied a few days prior. It is the most fruitful creeping juniper shrub I’ve ever found, and despite the snow it was still laden with plump, blue berries. 

Unbelievable plump and tasty juniper bounty.

Juniper “Berries” for Bizarre Beverages 

The so-called berries of juniper (Juniperus species) are distinctive for their gin-like aroma, as they are its key ingredient. Some authors say they are mildly toxic and not to be consumed in quantity—but they’re so strong so I couldn’t imagine eating many in one sitting anyway. Instead, they do better as a seasoning, with common uses including sauerkraut, meats, and stews in addition to gin. If you don’t have a juniper forest nearby, then I suppose you could always pick up some imported ones from Cost Plus World Market!   

There are 60 species of juniper (Juniperus) in North America according to Betty B. Derig and Margaret C.  Fuller in Wild Berries of the West (2001). From tall tree to creeping shrub, the plant is ubiquitous, it’s most telling feature the gin-smelling blue berries. These “berries” are not actually berries at all but instead female cones that reach maturity in their second year. 

Taste varies from species to species, as my friend, the talented taster/smeller/forager Butterpoweredbike points out. It also varies from plant to plant, which is why she is prone to field-tasting her finds prior to foraging them. Her favorite Juniperus species to date is communis, aka common juniper, which, as Derig and Fuller explain, is a creeping shrub with needle-like leaves rather than scales. J. communis is also my favorite, the one that lies on my secret footpath, and the only one I’ve ever foraged. 

Juniper "berries" under snow.

Snow-Foraged Syrup  

Over the past year I’ve turned several bottles of cheap vodka into gin with juniper “berries,” sometimes in combination with other botanicals. Commenter Ellen left this thought on my post regarding it: “Oh how cool. I’ve been meaning to do this. What I want to do is make a strong juniper-flavored syrup or tincture, to flavor soda. I love a good G&T, but sometimes I just want that wonderful flavor to quench my thirst. After a hot day in the sun, nothing is more refreshing, but it can make my head spin. So I wanted to flavor my tonic water with juniper for a non-alcoholic G&T soda for those days when head spinniness is not optimal.” 

I’d wanted to make juniper syrup ever since.   

Snow season does not necessarily mean the sky is gray.

Out on the snowy slope under blazing white peaks towering over the still autumn-colored valley, I gathered a ½ pint of the plump, blue “berries.” Then I tucked them into my backpack and my cold hands into my gloves, perched on the steep fallen trunk of a bristlecone tree, and let the wind buffet me, thinking how much I love winter. The clouds cleared to permit the sun’s rays and a bright blue sky for a meditative moment; when they blew back over again I returned home to simmer my berries. 

For the syrup I added enough water to cover and heated on low for a bit, crushing the “berries” with my meat tenderizer as I went, then strained to extract the “essence” before adding an equal part sugar to the liquid (the 1:1 ratio of simple syrup) and voila—juniper cocktail syrup! 

Lacking tonic or seltzer I tried the creation with the dregs of my homemade gin on crushed ice. Both Gregg and I found “gin and juniper liquor” to be sweet and good, albeit unusual. Then I tried to be adventurous and added some syrup to a glass of scotch whiskey and water over ice. That was a fail, especially since I’m no whiskey fan and Gregg wouldn’t touch it.

Anyway, juniper is good for flavoring things. It is in season right now where I live and quite possibly where you live too. The nice thing is that even in a national forest, a person can gather so little as to be considered “incidental use” but still have enough to flavor a dish or three. 

Edible dandelion leaf popping out of snow.

Dandelions Under Snow 

Other recent snow-forage we’ve found in the Colorado high country includes dandelions, currants, and gooseberries. 

We found the dandion greens poking out of snow from grassy beds under willows along the same mining road. Some were as long as my arm!

I took a small bag and they almost wilted by the time I got home (perhaps in part because I stuffed my sweatshirt into the backpack on top of them) so I washed and ran them through the food processor immediately. The chopped greens smell exactly like a fresh mowed lawn—which, instead of off-putting, is a smell we treasure, as we don’t get much of it in these parts. To this I added finely chopped raw onions, oil, soy sauce, and tofu cubes for a batch of the cold marinated salad that has become my go-to dandelion recipe. Yum! 

Currant & Gooseberry Vinaigrette 

I had also hoped for and was tickled to find a few remaining spiny red hi-bush currants and spinier purple gooseberries dangling from their bare branches. I don’t care if Gregory Tilford says “Bad news—only a few species of currant are palatable” in Edible and Medicinal Plants of the West (1997). Even sour things make for good flavoring.  

Wild foraged Currant & Gooseberry Vinaigrette.

Although both Ribes species bore berries that were by that point fairly fermented, and although the gooseberries stabbed me repeatedly, stained my fingers the color of blood, and induced itching, I gathered maybe 1/5 of a pint combined, then returned home to transform them into Currant & Gooseberry Vinaigrette. 

To make the salad dressing, I washed and simmered the berries (without bothering to remove the mixed-in leaves and detritus) with just enough water to cover for a couple of minutes, crushing the berries with the meat tenderizer as I went. After cooking them down on low temperature, I strained, pressed out the juicy essence, sweetened that and mixed it with oil, vinegar, and finely chopped garlic. This I served on a green salad topped with tofu cubes, which turned hot pink upon salad dressing application. I guess Gregg must enjoy things that are hot pink, for while I found the color cause for skepticism, he declared it delicious nonetheless. 

I imagine this berry vinaigrette technique would work well with many different kinds of berries. Last week I made a huckleberry vinaigrette to die for, and rose hips are next up.  

It’s Just Frozen Water 

Snow. It’s just frozen water. It’s not keeping me from my foraging—and I hope it won’t keep you from yours!

Halfway through October I am once again honored to present the Wild Edible Notebook, my journal-style tale of select plants. This fifth issue is about acorns. It includes an entry about my own experience processing and preparing a bounty of Colorado acorns (yes, we have acorns) as well as a Wisconsin acorn neophyte’s adventures with her back yard bur oak. The accounts feature interviews with none other than wild food guru, Samuel Thayer. There are also reviews of Thayer’s two books, Nature’s Garden (2010) and The Forager’s Harvest (2006) as well as Hank Shaw’s recently-released book, Hunt, Gather, Cook (2011). As you can see from the cover at right, I went hogwild with InDesign’s  pencil tool for this issue.

As with all other Wild Edible Notebooks, if you want to read it, you have to download it—and that means joining the list if you haven’t already.

How to Join the List

If you go through the process to join the list you will receive one (at most two) emails from me a month. You can unsubscribe whenever you want. To join, scroll to the bottom of this page and fill in your info. You’ll receive an email asking you to click on a confirmation link, and after doing that, you’ll get another email with the download link for the October issue of the Wild Edible Notebook—in your choice of either a handy print-and-fold booklet or a file you can breeze through onscreen or print out one-sided.

Calling Advertisers

Take advantage of free advertising via the Wild Edible Notebook. This offer is open to both established purveyors of wild food products/equipment as well as individuals with classified ads. These will be free of charge until further notice, so please, send them my way and I’ll try to get you in the next issue.

NOTE: I took the notebooks down, made a change, and re-uploaded them five minutes ago. There was a part that was supposed to be funny but maybe wasn’t worded the best. This has now been changed, as of 5:15 p.m. Thanks. -e

Strawberry Park hot springs in fall. Photo by Gregg Davis.

This blog is just the small-potatoes-rambling of one over-exuberant semi-neophyte foraging addict, but I swear, wild food must be en vogue or something—because in the last four months I have received not one or two but three different emails from producers seeking to create TV or web shows about foraging. 

One inquired as to whether my collecting missions require acts of bravery. Acts of bravery? I was inclined to reply in the negative, but, eager to please, I dug deep and ventured this response: “Does hanging off a mountainside to collect currants count?” (It’s not that I have to hang off the mountainside; it’s just that that’s where the best currants are.) I got the sense that he appreciated my effort but found the answer wanting, however.   

Next he asked whether I travel worldwide for special wild foods. “Um, no,” I replied. Clearly my hobby is less sexy than TV might hope. “Mostly I forage locally where I live,” I explained. Really I’m just a poor fool working 10 jobs, scavenging my food from the wild so I can afford to live in paradise, and banging away at the keyboard about things that interest me whenever I get the chance.   

Steamboat aspen (and fern) change.

Even if I did have a budget for foreign foraging travel, I’m not sure how I’d feel about the idea. So many things appeal to me about foraging locally—the environmental benefit of reduced fossil fuel use for food procurement, the zero economic impact that free food has on my “pocketbook,” and my increased connection to this place I call home, to name a few. 

That is not to say, however, that I don’t bring my foraging gear—some pint containers, bags, scissors, and books—on the road with me when I travel for other reasons. I am an opportunistic forager. If I’m bound for unfamiliar territory anyway, there’s no way I’m missing out on the plant life. 

Unintentional Foraging Vacation 

So last week, we went to Strawberry Park Hot Springs in Steamboat to soak and relax and celebrate the end of my summer writing gig. I had never been there before and our timing was perfect to hit the springs while the aspen change was at its peak. It was absolutely stunning. 

Still—you know the first thing I noticed, even before the springs themselves? Chokecherries hanging by the check-in wagon. And the second? Plump, ripe, near-translucent red rose hips hanging over the picnic table at our campsite. The third? An oak tree busting forth with tiny albeit beautiful brown and green acorns above the stone steps to the washroom. 

Gregg succeeded in tearing me away from the plants for our first soak, but shortly thereafter I was at it again—waking up early both mornings to get my plant expeditions out of the way so I could enjoy relaxing at the pools (with my stack of wild edible books, of course). 

White Berries: To Eat or Not to Eat?  

Fall is good berry foraging in the Steamboat area, apparently—for the trees at the springs were laden with various kinds of ripe, juicy, mouthwatering fruits. “Can I eat some of your berries?” I asked the attendant.  

“Sure,” he replied. “Just don’t eat the wrong berries; there are definitely some you don’t want to eat,” he said, indicating the white berries in particular. 

White berries do seem to have a bad rap. On a recent visit to my local coffee shop I spied a card pertaining to berry-eating at the top of the deck in the “Worst Case Scenario Survival Game.” On “How to Hunt for Berries in the Wilderness,” the game says “Most blue and black berries are edible, while only some red ones are edible, and most white ones are poisonous.” 

Perhaps this is true, but I’m fairly certain the white berries at the springs belonged to red osier dogwood (Cornus sericea), the leaves of which were combined with kinnikinnik to make a “smoking mixture” by native people, according to Betty Derig and Margaret Fuller in Wild Berries of the West (2001). The authors also state, however, that “the bitter berries of red osier dogwood are edible but not palatable.”  

“Although sometimes consumed by Indian tribes of the Northwest, the berries (of red osier dogwood) do not taste good and may be toxic if eaten in large quantities,” writes Gregory Tilford in Edible and Medicinal Plants of the West (1997). 

Hmm. It’s not like palatability has ever stopped me from tasting a wild plant before. 

Still, in the end, something did stop me from trying those white berries—for as I spent two days traipsing around the fruitful grounds, I was far too distracted by more promising prospects. It’s so nice to have the problem of too many wild edibles competing for my attention. 

The attendant’s was fair warning, however, that berry identification and consumption is not a matter to be taken lightly. (Again: Please cross-reference anything you read or see here with appropriate identification guides prior to consuming.) Without further ado, then, here is an overview and notes on some of the berry fruits we found and tried:

Chokecherries 

The chokecherries (Prunus species) seemed to be fully ripe for our visit—plump and dark red-black in color, dangling out of reach above my head in most places. I didn’t find them in any quantity but there are likely still fruitful patches out there. They looked a lot more appetizing than they tasted, however—which was mouth-puckeringly astringent despite a small burst of sweet. Still, I’d make jam out them. Lately, I’ll make jam out of anything. 

One thing to keep in mind is that chokecherry pits, leaves, and stems contain cyanogenic glycosides that can form toxic hydrogen cyanide under certain conditions, according to a clinical toxicology presentation from the veterinary program at Colorado State University. HCN poisoning from leaves and stems of chokecherry, serviceberry, elderberry, and other plants can result in sudden livestock death. Although humans are less susceptible than certain ruminants, these are not parts to be eating from these plants. 

Rose hips ripe and ready for the picking.

Rose Hips 

Not only were the rose hips (Rosa species) ripe and enticing, but they were also right outside the door of our covered wagon, so I couldn’t keep myself from picking and nibbling on their soft exteriors. Cattail Bob Seebeck says “fresh, ripe rose hips are the most potent source of vitamin C in the Rockies” and that “one rose hip is equal to about 500 mg of vitamin C.” If that doesn’t help me finally kick this cold, I don’t know what will. My initial experiment with rose hip jelly last year was not all that successful, but I’ll link to it in case you want to review. Here’s hoping this year’s concoction works out a little better…

Hawthorn 

Hawthorn berries in Steamboat Springs. Photo by Gregg Davis.

Related to wild rose is hawthorn (Crataegus species), also in the Rosaceae family, which might explain why our attendant mistook the red berries of the local hawthorn trees for rose hips. Whereas the rose bushes had numerous, small, thin thorns, however, the hawthorn trees had big, inch-long, spikes. Derig and Fuller explain that coastal tribes used these thorns for “making rakes to catch herring and for lancing boils and piercing ears.” 

Akin to tiny apples, the berries range in color from red to purple-black depending on species. According to Derig and Fuller, they are edible “but taste sweet, insipid, bitter, or astringent, varying from tree to tree.” The ones we tried were red and somewhat mealy and tasteless raw, in keeping with the authors’ assertion that hawthorn berries were not a choice food for many native people. Still, the day I have the opportunity to collect a good hawthorn bounty, I intend to find a use for them. 

In his entry on chokecherries in The Forager’s Harvest (2006), Samuel Thayer describes the also-thorny buckthorn (Rhamnus species) as a toxic-fruit-producing tree, explaining that glossy Rhamnus frangula fruits superficially resemble chokecherries but contain numerous seeds to the cherry’s one, and that common buckthorn (Rhamnus cathartica) is a “powerful cathartic.” 

Hawthorn spine. Photo by Gregg Davis.

I mention all this to say that in Rhamnus’ range, one should be careful not to be deceived by either its cherry-like or hawthorn-thorn-like appearance. Though the berries range from red to dark-black, Rhamnus is one genus whose berries don’t necessarily conform to the notion that “most blue and black berries are edible.” 

While catharsis may seem appealing in the “cleansing” or “purification” sense of the word, Wikipedia explains that “in medicine, a cathartic is a substance that accelerates defecation.”   

Serviceberry 

Of all the Steamboat berries, I am most excited about serviceberry (Amelanchier species, also in the rose family), despite the fact that we were only able to scavenge a handful of berries to taste, as the season’s peak was past in that location. “I have found a few trees whose fruit was truly distasteful,” Thayer (2006) says of the serviceberry, “but more commonly they bear what seems like a gift straight from heaven.” The latter was definitely my experience too. 

“They’re not better than huckleberries,” Gregg insisted, but I begged to differ as I scaled steep hillsides in my flip flops trying to score any last dangling berry I spied. Serviceberries—watch out! Next year, you and I have some acquainting to do. Mmm! 

Holly-like leaves of Oregon grape.

Oregon grapes 

We found powder-blue Oregon grapes aka holly grapes (Mahonia species) low to the ground amidst the grasses alongside a trail into the forest. They’re tart and I preferred to spit out the seeds, but as tart fruits make good jellies and pies, I’d love to try some recipes one day with Oregon grapes. Derig and Fuller’s book has one for Oregon grape jelly. True to the plant’s name, the leaves are holly-like, which in my lack of experience with this plant I found unusual.  

False Solomon’s Seal 

The other berries I found trailside were the red, sticky-sweet berries of false Solomon’s seal, aka Solomon’s plume (Maianthemum species). On less mature plants nearby, the berries were speckled, but on the plants with yellow-brown leaves, they were fully red and ripe and somewhat translucent. 

False Solomon's seal or Solomon's plume with ripe, sticky-sweet red berries.

This was an exciting find for me as I grew up with this plant back east, and it was one of those that fit into the category of red berries your mom always warned you not to eat. But there it was in several of my books—so of course I had to venture a try. I found the berries to be sweet and yummy, though they have a seed inside that would need to be removed for food preparation. 

In Nature’s Garden (2010), Thayer makes a distinction between eastern and western varieties of Solomon’s plume, saying that the western berries he tried were better tasting than those he found in the East—so maybe it’s a good thing it took this long for me to try them. Derig and Fuller say “the bitterness of false Solomon’s seal berries protects us from eating enough to cause severe diarrhea—a possible reaction,” though there is no mention of diarrhea in Thayer’s account. 

I collected a bunch of these so after I eat them, if diarrhea occurs, I’ll be sure to post a follow-up in all the gory detail, hopefully in 2,000 words or less.

UPDATE 10.26.11: After Rico’s comment (below) I re-thought my chokecherry comment and changed the wording to say the chokecherries “seemed” fully ripe instead of “were” fully ripe, especially as I am coming to learn that some fruits and berries are best after hit with a frost or three. (I’m not sure if this applies to chokecherries, but “seemed” “seemed” to be the better wording in retrospect.)

As of September 2011, the South Park Ranger District does not require a mushroom permit. Fungi foraging in the neighboring White River National Forest, however, requires a free permit for personal use.

Note: I wrote this article at the behest of a Forest Service representative; it is re-posted here, plus subtitles, with permission of the Summit Daily News, which ran it on October 1.  

Just as collecting firewood from the national forest for home use requires a permit, so too does foraging for fungus in the White River National Forest in and around Summit County, Colorado, including areas that were once part of the Arapahoe National Forest. 

Fungi Foraging Permit Free but Required

“Mushroom gathering requires a personal use permit that we have been issuing for free at the Dillon Ranger District Office,” said Cary Green, timber management assistant for the East Zone White River National Forest. The limit is five gallons of mushrooms/day — the equivalent of one 5-gallon bucket or two grocery sacks — with a total season limit of 67 lbs. Other popular Forest Service permits include those for Christmas trees, boughs and transplants.

Commercial Mushrooming

Gathering mushrooms to sell, on the other hand, requires a commercial use permit in the White River National Forest. These are limited to designated areas and cost $100 for the season or $75 for 30 days (333 lbs max.), $60 for 21 days (200 lbs max.), $40 for 14 days (133 lbs max.), and $20 for 7 days (67 lbs max). 

Regulations Vary

“Permit rules, costs and regulations vary across national forests,” Green said. “Each national forest has a forest product program. They should be similar for each ranger district on the forest, but there may be some exceptions.” 

“While in fact the policy should be uniform across the region, up until recently mushroom collection in this area has been hit or miss,” said Pat Thrasher, public affairs officer for the White River National Forest. Since then, he explained, “we’ve seen a significant upturn in mushroom production. There are more people looking for mushrooms quite possibly because more people are finding mushrooms. Suffice it to say that folks who are planning on collecting mushrooms in the White River National Forest should get a personal use permit from (their local) ranger district.” 

Other Food Forage

As far as other food forage is concerned — such as berries or leafy greens — neither the Dillon Ranger District nor the neighboring South Park Ranger District have specific permits available, though Green indicated that “personal use permits are product specific” and “any time an individual removes a product from the forest and takes it home for personal use, a permit is required.” For products not covered by existing permits, “a special permit may need to be issued,” Green said, “and calling in advance is recommended since certain individuals can only issue those permits.”   

“One thing to keep in mind is that if an individual is foraging for the day and uses what they gather at camp that evening, then no permit is required,” he added. “For example, gathering firewood for a campfire while backpacking at a backcountry lake or gathering some berries or mushrooms to eat on the trail or cook over the campfire/stove while camping. This is considered incidental use,” he said. 

Shaggy mane soldiers popping out of the roadbed after a good rain.

Managing Forests

“Managing the forest products available on our federal lands is just a small part of making sure opportunities are available to utilize our natural resources,” Green concluded, “while making sure they are not taken advantage of or depleted at the same time.” 

Collecting mushrooms, edibles, firewood and other forest gifts on private land is another story. These zones are up to the owners’ discretion — although if you want your fungus to fruit into the unforeseeable future, it is advisable not to collect every last mushroom you see on any one foraging mission, nor to pollute or otherwise destroy habitat. 

Although the time for king boletes (Boletus edulis) may have passed, other edible mushrooms are still to be found in the shoulder season before the snow sticks, including short-stemmed slippery jacks (Suillus brevipes), shaggy manes (Coprinus comatus) and high-elevation oyster mushrooms (Pleurotus populinus), to name a few. The best time to look is one to four days (depending on species) after a good rain follows a warm spell.

INFO:

• Dillon Ranger District: (970) 468-5400 – 680 Blue River Parkway,Silverthorne,CO
• White River National Forest: (970) 945-2521 – 900 Grand Ave., Glenwood Springs, CO