Andy Hamilton sums up the vibe of the biggest ever gathering the Association of Foragers has had to date:
Many moons ago, and long before what3words made it big, the BBC adopted this identity policy. You’d see it in corners of studios, up on cameras and above DJ booths. Each show had three different words, the words reflecting the core values and identity of the show. Stuff like creativity, local, inclusion, nature or whatever. This year’s meet up got me thinking about the idea once more as core themes jumped out at me. It felt like these words, or words that would sit next to them in a thesaurus, were on many peoples lips.
Of course the first word had to be kindred, I even renamed the weekend Kindred 24. For me it summed up my experience at last year’s meet up and I hoped it would sum up this years too. It might have seemed like a gamble, but really it wasn’t as the weekend was full of warmth, encouragement and bonds that were being either made or strengthened. In other words it really felt like a place where kindred meet.
In fact one member was so overwhelmed by how at home she felt amongst, after years of not feeling like she belonged, that there were tears, staging “It feels like coming home”. I couldn’t agree more.
This year there was a blistering array of workshops, too many to list. But just for starters there was writing, miso, smoking, butchery, cake making, herbalism we even had a highly entertaining foragers confessional.
Each person who put together a workshop did so for free, and that of course means putting in all the preparation and carrying about a bunch of nerves beforehand. Then there was the folk who disappeared off into the kitchen especially, Alex, Rupert, Craig and Kat (from what I saw, sorry if I’ve left you out). Who worked relentlessly, managing the chaos that was the kitchen, to ensure that we ate better than Kings with two multiple course meals a day.
Ok, so I know some of you will be running for the sick bucket with this one. But it’s a fact that none of this would have come together if it wasn’t for the openness of our members. To be willing to be open with each other, to share knowledge and to be humble enough to listen to others isn’t a given in every field (pardon the pun). This was on show in abundance.
There was of course other words and phrases that I could have used, goddess – due to the drumming, late nights, laughter, drinking, poetry, fire and partial nakedness. Indeed, we are blessed in our association as we have somehow stumbled into creating a near utopian vision of the future.
We might only manage to keep it for a weekend, but to have that glimpse is rather magical and I only hope you come along to share it with us next year.
Emma Sandhu from Curious in Nature remembers the joy of her own childhood in Suburban Newcastle. She wonders if the trend for man made Fairy Doors nailed into unsuspecting trees might be a distraction from the real magic in the woods.
When I was small we used to play in the grounds of a grand Victorian Gothic psychiatric facility which stood opposite my house. The area was half-wild and full of wonderful trees. Stately, smooth-barked beeches with layers upon layers of bright green leaves, gnarled hawthorns which drew blood to match their fruit when you weren’t careful, and a twisted chestnut of eerily singular beauty
We were certain that these trees were also home to the fairies, we didn’t really need to think about it. There, in suburban Newcastle in the 1990s, the trees were magical, and the presence of magical folk was a truth we held to be self-evident. We could feel it in our bones.
Now, thirty years later,
It’s, Spring! Light and frolicsome, the world is making itself new again. Bumble bees buzz busily, songbirds greet the dawn, fluffed-up in their fresh-feathered finery. The quickening of life can be felt all around us.
I head out to the woods to drink it all in, but soon stumble across a man-made fairy trail. At first glance it looks like the work of fly-tippers, but no, this dog-eared mess is where the fairies live now.
I wish people would stop putting human stuff in the woods, it only ends up tattered and sad. Nature’s power to renew itself each spring is nothing short of miraculous. The wilder world never gets dowdy, its paint never peels.
I can’t help feeling that these fairy trails are a symptom of how far childhood has fallen away from the wilder world. In my grumpier moments I begin to worry that today’s children can only see fairies if they’re clearly presented in a designated, manufactured area.
I raised my own children in a tenement flat in a busy part of Glasgow. I was a struggling single mum, and we didn’t have much access to outdoor space. There was a swing park opposite, but the road was too dangerous for them to go alone, so I always came too and we never stayed that long. When we moved to a house with a garden in 2018. I remember having to explain to them that they could go outside any time they wanted. But they didn’t.
When I think about the scant opportunities my kids had to explore the wilder world alone, I know I let them down. We can never get those days of wonder back.
I wonder if this all-too-common sense of loss of the wilder world explains the rise of the seticky-tacky human-made fairy trails. Are we responding to our grief for the wild magic we have lost and failed to pass on to our sweet, indoor children?
In my less grumpy moments, I know we can always find wonder in the wilder world, no matter our stage of life. Nature renews itself every year and it’s never too late to go down to the woods today!
And, if you should find yourself trundling round a synthetic fairy trail during the holidays, try walking slowly, like a curious snail…Take your time and look closely. The real fairy doors and secret beetle-burrow windows are still there behind the fading figurines, the magic is waiting to be found, between the mushrooms and moss, just where we left it.
Ru Kenyon writes about the connection between his foraging practice in both everyday living and work as a foraging teacher with custodianship of The Earth in mind.
Earth Day has always felt an absurd ‘day’ to me, as if we don’t live on the Earth every day. Mostly an opportunity for a bit of posturing, presented in the frame of consumer capitalism. Arguably it does more harm than good
After decades of climate warnings, we’ve entered a time of consequences. In the UK farmers can’t plant crops in waterlogged fields after the wettest February on record. Just a taste of what will happen if we allow this to get much worse . We’ve been over 1.5C above the pre-industrial average temperature for the last 12 months. The temperature we’re supposed to stay under by 2050. Sea temperatures and sea ice show even more alarming departure into uncharted territory.
In 2015 the Oxfam paper titled ‘Extreme Carbon Inequality’ produced in my view the most important graph of our time:
Yes, the wealthiest 10% are responsible for half of ‘lifestyle emissions’. This staggering inequality is largely missing from the conversation. It means, when the world’s governments fly into COP climate conferences, it’s basically the 10%, bargaining with the 10%, over the emissions of the 10%. The sustainable carbon footprint has been calculated at around 1 tonne CO2 per person , ostensibly what we’re all aiming for by 2050. The bottom 50% show us it is entirely possible, now, to live on much lower emissions. Subsistence farmers I assume. Hunter gatherers wouldn’t even feature on the graph.
When politicians talk about a green transition, it’s mostly shifting the 10%’s consumption to clean energy. Two major problems – 1. It’s too late 2. It’s too resource intensive to replace the whole carbon economy. What’s actually needed is what climate scientist Kevin Anderson calls Equity . Rapid emissions reduction by reigning in the excess of the 10%.
However, that would contradict the economic paradigm of continuous growth. As many have pointed out though, infinite growth on a finite planet is impossible. There is now though an established movement for degrowth. Fundamentally - an overall reduction in energy consumption and materials throughput.
Overturning the economic paradigm would be nothing less than a revolution, of course. It feels unthinkable here but revolutions are a regular feature through history, and given the gathering crises it looks like that time is coming around again. My thesis, as far as foraging’s concerned, is: instituting radical change in society will take more than politics - a change of heart, is needed. Particularly for the 10%. Research has shown dialogue in fact doesn’t change people’s minds, but participation and a sense of belonging do. Foragers are perhaps well placed to open up space to allow people to come to terms with the crisis. Moreover, we sometimes find ourselves with peculiar access to wealthy people. Making explicit connection to the crisis and how we face it is where I mean to take my work.
Written with beginners in mind, AoF member Andy Hamilton’s new book The First Time Forager published by the National Trust is a great foraging guide for beginners, and handy to have with you in your basket or bag when out foraging. Here, AoF member Sam Webster reviews the book after a few jaunts taking it outdoors for action.
I really like it how it focuses on the most common and easy to recognise species, which is something I always tell beginner foragers to do:don’t over complicate things by trying to learn to much too quickly, get to know a few things really well, learn their habitat, look-alikes and their uses before learning more species. Andy’s book is perfect for this.There’s a great reference section for a quick check on id features and look-alikes which is great in the field, and a more in-depth detailed description for when you’ve got a little more time at home to sit and learn about what you’ve found.
I also really love the photos in the book. I’ve been taking it with me on my guided forays and showing my beginner foragers what the plant will look like later on in the year when it’s in flower or fruiting. The pictures are a good size and show the details and key features for identification which is really useful for beginners
There is also a great selection of recipes in the book, some of Andy’s own creation and others kindly shared by other foragers. This gives a really nice vibe and shows the wonderful sense of community and sharing that many foragers have, especially those joined by membership with the Association of Foragers.
I’ve found inspiration in this book. I might do nettle spanakopita at my next forage and cook, and I look forward to integrating more of his writing through the seasons. Overall this is a great beginner book, and for those working professionally as foragers a fantastic teaching resource.
Looking at aquatic wildlife in Britain and Ireland, AoF member Susanne Masters’ book Wild Waters is a guide to seeing the stories of plants and animals around us when we are near water. Here is an excerpt from Chapter 1: Immersed on Land:
Lamb that has grazed on salt marsh is sold for a premium. It is thought the salt-marsh plants flavour the meat of sheep which eat them. Salt marsh lamb has ancient roots. Written records show that medieval England’s expanses of salt marsh were used for grazing. Buried evidence uncovered by archaeologists shows that in the Bronze Age, people relying on domestic grazing animals made use of salt marsh around the Severn Estuary area of England as productive land on which to feed their animals.
Lamb isn’t the only product that attracts a premium when it is nurtured by coastal plants, the world’s most expensive potatoes are fuelled by seaweed. On the French island of Noirmoutier new potatoes are harvested young and sold as ‘La Bonnotte'. Along with sandy soil and excellent marketing, these potatoes are shaped by using seaweed as a fertiliser. Jersey potatoes have never reached the peak of £400 per kilo that La Bonnotte potatoes have achieved, but Jersey is also an island that markets its potatoes as seaweed-fertilised. Alongside the nutrients that seaweed contains, there is an advantage in comparison to compost—seaweed contains no agricultural weed seeds. 17th and 19th century records of penalties and fines imposed in Jersey include matters concerning the collection of vraic, as seaweed was locally named. Seaweed featuring in the legal system indicates how valuable it was to people living on Jersey.
Landlocked gardeners who don’t have a nearby seashore for collecting seaweed often use seaweed as a fertiliser for tomatoes without realising—since one of the most popular tomato fertilisers sold in shops uses liquid seaweed extract as a key ingredient. Seaweeds are also showing promise as a way to boost plant health and thereby reducing economic impacts of plant diseases such as blight. Improving plants’ resistance to disease is appealing as a sustainable means of looking after crops without applying chemicals that are toxic not just to pathogens but also ecosystems by leaving residue in soil and on crops, and killing insects.
Another marine-derived fertiliser is fish blood and bone that supplies the three main nutrients that plants need to grow: nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium. An advantage this organic fertiliser has over chemical extracts is that it yields these nutrients slowly. Slow-release fertilisers need less frequent application and they don’t leach so many nutrients into waterways as there is more time for plants to absorb them.
Plantain is native from the shores of Morocco to the Bering-Straits, being one of the first plants to colonise as the Eurasian ice sheets melted. It’s now naturalised over all but the most arid of countries.
U.S. foraging author Samuel Thayer describes plantain as a “mediocre edible”, and suggest that there is “nothing positive about the flavour or texture of plantain greens”. This is a plant that can split groups. Yet with a bit of work, might the world be overlooking a valuable food source.
Younger leaves are almost translucently pale green, like a 1970’s bathroom, darkening and thickening as they age.
The flowers are long spikes of tight green flowers. When they ripen they are perhaps similar to the imaginative eye as mini elongated corn cobs. Dotted up the stem and easily rubbed off 13–15 cm (5–6 in) tall and rarely to 70 cm (28 in) tall
Broadleaf plantain grows close to footpaths and where soil has been disturbed. This perennial can be found all year round. Leaves form a rosette a rosette - round shape - of leaves flush with the ground. Each will grow up to (but rarely) 30cm long. Generally, about 15cm. Leaves are oval (like an egg) shaped. Look for thick ribbed veins, which when removed look like a thin piece of elastic..
One of my favourite uses of this plant is with mushrooms and cheese but it can be used in many dishes in place of spinach. Plants can often vary in flavour depending how old they are, what time of year you pick and location. Don’t give up hope if you don’t like the flavour keep trying and failing that, this recipe brings out the mushroomy flavour.
You can use button mushrooms or any mushroom of a similar shape for this recipe.
8-20 St Georges Mushrooms 2-3 cups plantain 1-2 cloves of garlic 1 tbs butter or oil 1 cup cream cheese seasoning 2 tbs breadcrumbs 2 tbs parmesan
Plantain leaves and stems contain flavonoids which help fight off free radicals, this allows the body to dismiss uncomfortable anti inflammatory reactions. In other words, plantain leaves can act as an anti inflammatory agent.
Three years on from the lockdowns and societal change caused by the Covid-19 pandemic, we are reflecting by listening to Rupert Waites story of creating and distributing a syrup that offered more than a foraged taste of hedgerow.
In covid we saw it as the best time to get out and to re-establish a place in the world through foraging, joining in the wider community, giving and receiving and stopping and seeing the beauty in the world.
We donated elderberry and rosehip syrup to care homes for two reasons. Firstly, to offer some immune support to the people that are likely to need it most. But also just to give them something to brighten their day.
When people have dementia it can be a taste or a smell that triggers memories, often transporting folks to happier times. Rosehip in particular was something that always went down well, it raised a smile and brought back happier times.
I used to work in a care home cooking and we always worked hard to try to get the residents outdoors, but it was difficult. We were often more successful in bringing the outdoors in. If you are 95 and suffering a bit, you especially deserve a little joy in any way possible.
The feedback we got mostly came from carers and medical staff. It was a real pick me up for many isolated individuals; something that just said someone cares.
The idea to sell some and give some away is in its infancy but one which we are committed to. Working with Napiers we both have charities that we would like to benefit from the goodness as well as offer it to those who can afford it.
We found it difficult in the pandemic though to find receptive homes for all of it. Some went in via care staff but other homes were reluctant to accept anything at all that wasn't on their books. It was understandable as they were under fire and criticism from all sides. We managed though to get three (care homes) on board and also gave plenty away to day centres, hospital workers, nurseries, scout groups and just everyone that came through our door. It was really time consuming but so great to see everyone come in the door with joy on their face and a story to tell.
Our oldest picker was 83, and she had memories of childhood picking and the commercial rosehip syrup – delrosa. Many of the younger pickers were discovering the joy of foraging for the first time and I loved seeing that generational knowledge gap being bridged.
The work with local landowners is as yet also in its infancy. We have a really successful partnership with Gifford community Woodland and operate on a Birch sap for cash and help with events type arrangement. They allow us access to tap the sap and in turn we donate time , money and some nice plants to help them enhance their offering. It's a win win situation and shows off how you can commercialise a resource, make friends and make the forest a better place for all.
We have a nice relationship with a Highland Croft, and a local regenerative woodland project too. In the past we worked with a local care home ,to plant up things that were both edible and attractive. It’s now a space of joy and wonder for the residents. It attracts people, volunteers, wildlife and gasps of amazement! On top of that it also gave us wild foods to use in our pop up restaurant. We pay for them and put money back into the garden for more plants.
We are currently expanding our horizons, are looking into alternative uses for the Highland Croft, as well as looking into regenerating a run-down farming estate. We’re hoping to make it a more useful resource for us and for the wildlife and people in the surrounding area. It's our belief that only by properly integrating plants people and places will we see things truly thrive. It is of course a work in progress, I hope in time it'll enable us to make great use of everyone's skills to help build toward a much better present. Ever the optimists I see a much brighter future than most and its in these little spaces that we can prove and demonstrate the good ideas.
I feel that as simple a thing as collecting rosehips has so much to offer as a community exercise where all are welcome to share their stories and joy of the landscape. Everyone felt like their efforts were meaningful. We didn't have nearly as much time this year but its something we really want to cement into our calendar and be ready for. Or would hope someone with more time might take it up and run with it. I could see it becoming a national not for profit thing, involving schools, nurseries, and people of all ages regardless. That's my kind of revolution. All starting with rosehips. A Rosehip Revolution. I think the answers to many of life’s problems present themselves in those calm moments in the hedgerows and afterwards round a table in the kitchen. And one of the answers is to ask for less and to give more whilst rejoicing together in the beauty and bounty that surrounds us.
Making your own rosehip syrup is so easy.
Make sure your bottles are sterilised, boil the mixture and decant straight into the hot bottles
Ensure that the sugar content is high
Always use glass bottles with a securely fastening and air tight lid
Bottles can be sterilised by popping them in a moderate oven for 10 minutes or by sealing them full and immersing them in simmering water for 30 minutes to pasteurise
Unpasteurised, it keeps in the freezer
Once opened I keep it in the fridge.
Foraging and ADHD By Sam Webster and Freya Rimmington
My opinion of ADHD has changed, like many I thought was an excuse for lazy, easily distracted kids who didn’t want to go to school. That was partly based on experience, used to work in a school for pupils who had been expelled. I remember one pupil in particular who had ADHD, with hindsight - the school environment was the worst place for her - she was very easily distracted and the tiniest little thing and her head would fling round to see what it was, she couldn’t sit still or stay quiet. Little did I think back then that I could have ADHD too.
I’m quite new to understanding the nuances of living with ADHD, but after to talking to some other neurospicy members of the Association of Foragers I feel like I've found people who get me A huge proportion of professional foragers and other outdoor instructors seem to have ADHD, all experiencing very similar symptoms. Unsurprisingly we all came to the conclusion: Foraging helps.
The art of finding wild food is a hyperfocus activity; foraging for and learning about plants, seaweeds and mushrooms is something that can never get boring and more importantly it can never be “completed”. Psychologist William Dodson, suggests that there are five things that are the top motivating factors for someone with ADHD: Interesting, Novel, Challenging, Urgent, and Passion (INCUP for short). Foraging is a subject that ticks all these boxes for me, it has the motivating factors necessary to keep my ADHD brain engaged.
Foraging coupled with my diagnosis, helps me make peace with who I am as a person: I have learned to rein in my inner critic and to try and find ways to work with my brain rather than fighting against it.
People with ADHD are much more attentive and notice the small fine details (under INCUP rich circumstances). Fellow forager, Freya Rimmington said “often while leading a foraging course she’ll spot a tiny mushroom, thirty paces away, hiding behind a leaf, attendees will look baffled and say to “how the hell did you notice that”. This perceptive impression is somewhat ruined however at the end of the course she is tearing her hair out looking for her car keys that are sitting on the bench right next to her. This high level of competence and perception juxtaposed with almost inexplicable blindsightedness is the dichotomy that is ADHD, it is one of the reasons it can be difficult for those without to understand us and take the condition seriously.
Many of us desperately struggle with - or straight up avoid - the clerical side of running foraging events. Being stuck, sitting down, indoors, looking at a spreadsheet or writing emails is obviously not a stimulating time for anyone, but when you’ve got ADHD it can be EXCRUCIATING! Our brains race to find reasons to stop the necessary task or they invent other incredibly “important” things you could be doing instead, conducting extensive research into all the wild things you can make into paper. But it’s what we’ve got to do in order to run the business we all love! For most of us a few hours in the woods is required post admin to reset our brains.
Foragers with ADHD are blessed with the ability to look everywhere, we tap into small signals, environmental, seasonal, or just good vibes that tell us something good is to be found nearby. It’s enough to send us darting through the countryside on the hunt! Finding the elusive mushroom or herb not only means food but also equates to that dopamine high we are constantly chasing. Result.
Foraging is great for everyone’s mental health, for me when I’m out foraging either on my own or with other foragers I find the constant background noise in my head become calm and quiet, a sense of still and focus floods my brain and all the stresses and responsibilities are forgotten for a few blissful hours. I struggle with the traditional concept of mindfulness and being calm and still, particularly if I’m required to sit quietly, I just wanna jump up and make noise. So the focus I get from foraging is the best type of meditation.
Another fellow forager, Emma Cronin once said to me that the best thing she ever did was take up foraging, it keeps her intrigued, interested and constantly learning.
Nature is incredible and a constant wonder. It’s a pleasure to have a brain that’s wired to embrace it. I think when you have ADHD it hits all the right buttons.
I will always have ADHD and I will always forage.
Written By
Sam Webster and Freya Rimmington
An introduction to finding yourself through foraging from AoF member Sam Webster.
When I spot a comfy patch of moss in the woods. I lie on it, I find a river, my shoes are off and I paddle in it, and then walk home barefoot because I didn’t bring a towel. Foraging made me the person I am today. It has taught me more than just how to find food and how to feed myself, foraging has taught me how disconnected we humans are from the rest of the natural world.
Foraging is more than just finding food, medicine or materials. It’s about being aware we share our food with all the other living things that we also share the planet with. Like when you spot a hungry slug munching its way through a perfect porcini. If there are older porcini about, I often move the slugs to other less desirable specimens that I won't be taking home, after all they live a harder life than we do. Foraging is about knowing the weather; mushrooms grow after a few days after rain. This is because mushrooms grow through cell hydration, the more water they absorb the bigger they get. If you go out too early then they will be too small to pick, Flowers are sweeter on a hot sunny day because there are more pollinators about, so the flowers produce more food for them to entice them to come to their flower. This means we are in tune with the seasons, we notice the temperature changes, the length of days changing and the different foods that emerge with the seasonal changes. We notice migratory birds and animals hiding away for winter, this tells our body clock it’s time too for us to slow down for winter. When they return again in the spring, once it starts to warm up, it’s time for us to get excited for the new life spring brings. Being a forager, means excitement, I am constantly excited about all the many aspects of each season.
Interconnected
I believe in the plant world everything is talking to each other through the wood wide fungal web, sending messages to alert one another of changes or dangers around them. Animals have great senses, they can smell, see or hear if a predator is coming. For example, if you wander noisily through a wood, you won't see many animals. But if you sit still and quiet in a wood for long enough, you’ll notice, birds especially robins coming to see what you’re doing. I was once sat in Macclesfield Forest, quietly collecting wood sorrel, when two rutting stags were having a debate. I stayed very still until they got too close and then stood up, they immediately stopped fighting and legged it.
Listening to nature
It’s the norm is our western society to put thick pieces of rubber or plastic on our feet so we feel nothing from the ground. I actually hate wearing shoes and feel much more connected when I walk barefoot in my surroundings. We cover ourselves in overpowering chemical scents, which block out all other natural, wild, important smells. Since I stopped using perfume and scented cleaners my nose has become much more receptive to the smells out there. I can smell the rain coming, or smell a mushroom before I see it. We’re surrounded by noisy machines like cars, so we hear very little. I find it hard to find wild places where there isn't the sound of cars or aeroplanes in my fairly rural area of Cheshire. These droning noises block out the hammer of woodpeckers or calls of insects and birds. We don't notice the gentle song of the wind. These sounds are all around us all of the time and, if we are not careful, we are in danger of missing them. This is a shame as natural sounds are the most calming and relaxing sounds we can listen to. According to the mental health charity Mind time in nature can reduce feelings of loneliness, anxiety, depression and overall improve our mood. However, instead of embracing the calming noises of the natural world and all it can give us we can find ourselves blocking it out in order to listen to recorded meditation apps! I feel most connected with nature when I’m using as many senses as I can, so it helps to have my nose clear, my skin bare and my ears tuned into what the world is trying to tell me
This is why I love to spend time alone in quiet woods connected with my world. A world that has over 8 million other species out there, each being interacting with its neighbouring species, communicating, fighting, sharing, and listening to each other.
I don't know about you but, when I’m not foraging, I can feel really left out of the world I call home. We’ve just had a city break over the holidays, we’ve been to museums and parks etc and I've had less time to forage and explore the natural world. There's been very few green wild spaces, only manicured grass and a few trees surrounded by concrete. It's been loud with the drone of cars and chatter, there's lots of fumes and other man-made smells (though the restaurant smells were pretty good). Getting home I can feel it in my body and my mind, that I'm more tense and not as relaxed and calm. I miss my wild time. I long for the feeling I get from nature, the sense of calm and peace, feeling my heart rate slow, my muscles relax and the cloud of responsibilities and chores float away from my head space. I'm excited to get back to that world, to spot things, to smell things, hear things, feel things and taste things again.
Nature watching
I’d love to be able to understand the world like our ancestors did before we had modern technology, bury my ear in the ground and listen to what's going on, who is talking to who, which species are putting up a fight or sharing what they have with others. I’d draw the line at relying on stars to get me to places because satnav is easier to follow! But is this wrong, to navigate without really looking where we’re going, which way we're travelling, or without really noticing the natural landmarks just following a little arrow along a line on a screen.
Weather watching
We also look at the weather on our phones and tv but rarely look at the actual weather. Noticing changes of the seasons, why things thrive some years and not others, that a red sky at night means we will have dry weather and a red sky in the morning means that it’s going to be changeable. A simple pine cone will show if it’s going to rain soon, as they detect increased humidity caused by the incoming rain evaporating and dispersing in the local area. When the humidity increases water absorbs into the cone and it triggers the fibres to contract closing the cone. All these little acts or bits of knowledge is where the connection with nature comes from, even if it’s something as simple as knowing which way is north. Where you are… which way are you facing right now?
I don't think I would now be questioning how connected to nature I am if I had not become a forager, and for that reason I think foraging is one of the most important things in my life. I am now an ambassador for nature, I want to protect it, preserve it and watch it grow. I wish everyone could feel how I feel about nature because it's the best high you can get.
Sophie Wren shares a sense of place in Yorkshire led by the abundance and taste of bistort.
In the sheltered nook of a valley I kneel by the side of a stream and gather a bunch of large, spade-shaped leaves. The stream’s peaty water slides under a rough stone footbridge and onwards, towards woodland of twisty oaks. This place feels ancient, and I think about the people of old who might have stopped here to gather the very same leaves. The leaves are vibrant green in the sunlight and have a beautiful pink tint to their slender stems. They belong to a plant called common bistort, Bistorta officinalis, which has an abundance of local nicknames including ‘passion dock’, ‘sweet dock’, ‘Easter man giant’, ‘dockings’, ‘ledger’ and ‘snake root’. These many affectionate names hint at the plant’s local significance; it has a long history of being eaten in Calderdale, Yorkshire and is the key ingredient in an Easter time breakfast dish known as ‘dock pudding’.
In search of a Local Legend
Bistort is abundant in parts of Cumbria and Southern Scotland, as well as Calderdale. Elsewhere in the country it can be scarce or absent. I have searched many a stream bank in Northumberland, for example, and only found one small patch.
Look for it on the ‘ledges’: banks of rivers and streams, as well as in damp meadows. It grows in lively congregations and if you ever walk the river path between Hebden Bridge and Mytholmroyd you will see it carpeting the banks. Looking like the smart cousin of broadleaved dock (Rumex obtusifolius), common bistort has neatly-edged leaves and pink, ‘winged’ stems that differentiate it from members of the dock family.
Where its rhizomes have been exposed by the flow of the water you might see stout and twisted red-brown roots. The people of the past likened these roots to snakes, and their appearance may have been the inspiration for some of its more archaic names, such as ‘adderwort’. Flowers appear in summer and the pretty pink heads have an almost fluffy appearance, growing in spikes on tall, slender stems.
Dock Pudding for Breakfast
The local traditions surrounding common bistort in Calderdale are still very much alive and well. Every year around Easter time, people gather for the World Dock Pudding Championships in the village of Mytholmroyd, where contestants cook up their version of the savoury pudding in front of a crowd, ready for the judges’ taste test. The competition was founded in 1971 to keep the pudding-making tradition alive.
Basic ingredients for the pudding, which is traditionally served as part of a cooked breakfast, are: common bistort, nettles, oatmeal, onions and seasoning. There are many variations and ‘secret ingredients’ included by those who enter the competition. My colleague and good friend Leonie Morris devised an extremely tasty recipe, which is a contemporary twist on the traditional method and includes a spoonful of miso paste.
If you are interested in a unique way to enjoy this tasty wild food, check out my bistort bhajis video and recipe. The bhajis include two wild ingredients and cost just 50p to make.
Living legacy
There is something extremely special about gathering bistort along local stream banks, and cooking up dock pudding over a campfire, with our Live Wild foraging groups. Perhaps it is the feeling of being closer to our ancestors as we wander well-worn paths, chatting and laughing, nibbling the raw leaves and collecting handfuls in our baskets. There is also a sense of creating new stories that are part of a future legacy. Who knows, perhaps over time some new nicknames for this plant might even emerge!
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