Wild Plants and Wooly Bears

Jumanji Effect Hits Maine

2012-02-02T08:07:00.000-08:00

An interesting news item caught my attention this morning. While scrolling through online news items, I saw the following headline: “The Jumanji effect? Extra warm winter playing havoc with hibernating animals.”

Does that sound familiar? It should, at least to readers of this blog. Back in early January, I reported on hibernating animals that had stirred, prematurely from their rest, spurred by unusually warm weather.

Here is a quote from the Fox News story: “But rather than hibernating through freezing snowstorms, nature is being awakened by the weird warmth. Even black bears are likely to rise early from their October to March slumber – and they’ll be ravenous, said Paul Curtis, a professor of natural resources and wildlife specialist with Cornell University.”

The article went on to predict a boom in the tick population…bad news for we Mainers. Deer ticks carry Lyme disease, a debilitating and most miserable illness if left undiagnosed and untreated. The Center For Disease Control now recommends a prophylactic dose of antibiotics for tick bites.

Interestingly, while thus far the winter has been something less than an “old-fashioned Maine winter,” Maine has remained far colder than states to our south. Which reminds me to point out that very often, Maine (excepting Alaska) sees the coldest temperatures in the nation.

Still, even we in Maine are subject to change because of this mild season. Of course it has happened before and will happen again. But looking to the future, we might well anticipate an end to the overly-wet conditions that have kept groundwater at extreme high levels.

Winter snows contribute greatly to spring runoff and when we have little snow, runoff from melting ice happens quickly and water levels soon drop to low levels. Unless spring brings lots of rain, Maine may see low water conditions this year.

Even this is not all bad. Many of us who cut our own firewood have experienced difficulty traversing wet areas, places that because of the extended period of high water would normally be dry.

Fishermen, too, may have an earlier season than usual, especially if runoff occurs quickly. Rivers and streams that would see high-water conditions in early spring may present us with pleasant conditions. That doesn’t make for good news for whitewater canoeists, but for every plus, someone else usually gets handed a minus.

In the end, we will roll with the punches. And just maybe, we’ll get our gardens in earlier than usual. Perhaps dry, warm weather will promote a good, healthy crop of tomatoes.

As for me, I’ll try and look for the good in whatever our local climate dishes out.

Groundhog Day 2012

2012-01-31T09:53:00.001-08:00

A large flock of American robins appeared down the road from me the other day. At first, as anyone would easily imagine, thoughts of an early spring ran through my mind. But reality soon intervened, since, after all, it was still January. We have some time left yet for winter.

I suspect that these robins, and no doubt other groups of robins up and down the coast, hail from one of the offshore islands and are on a mini-vacation to the mainland. In fact, I’d bet that the robins I saw in Waldo came here from Vinalhaven or thereabouts. This is not at all unusual, especially during open winters and also, when a warm spell hits, the so-called, “January thaw.”

Robins aside, it’s time to talk woodchuck. Yes, February 2 is Groundhog Day and if the marmot sees its shadow, we will have six more weeks of winter. Well, that suits me just fine, since it would mean that by some time in mid-March, spring would arrive.

This Groundhog Day business is actually a European tradition that the early colonists brought over with them. It just happened that our woodchuck sort of resembled the European hedgehog, the animal that they used as a climate prognosticator.

Also, February 2 is Candlemas Day, a church holiday. Some churches continue to recognize and it, others have relegated Candlemas Day to the musty files of history.

But any way you look at it, February 2 has some meaning for many people. To end this digression, let me cite the following old-time maxim:
“The provident farmer by Candlemas Day
Has half his wood and half his hay.”

So I do hope that all of you have at least half or more of your wood, hay, canned and frozen vegetables and whatever else you need to make it through the winter. February 2 marks a turning point. From here on out, things will begin to change in slow but steady increments.

Gray Fox

2012-01-27T11:36:00.001-08:00

While sitting in the cab of a plow truck and talking with my friend Dan Woodrow, who plows my driveway, we spotted a fairly large animal on the edge of my lawn.

Dan hollered, “Raccoon.” But this critter was long and slender and lacked a raccoon’s markings. At first, I took it for a small coyote, but that wasn’t right either. Then it struck me. We were watching a gray fox. I had seen its tracks a bit earlier, but had forgotten that.

The fox was digging in the snow, which prompted me to recall throwing some lamb scraps out several days earlier.

Despite having spent a lifetime in the woods, I have seen only a few gray foxes. So this sighting was a real big deal to me, and one I am happy to report.

Other than the gray fox, I’ve had red squirrels around, which should surprise no one. And surprisingly, two gray squirrels have taken up residence at my place, something I mentioned in an earlier blog.

Tracks in the snow, however, with the exception of the fox and squirrels, are sadly lacking in variety. Hare tracks are absent, which indicates that these animals are even scarcer than they were last year, which is really saying something.

But despite the dearth of interesting mammals and a pitiful, small number of songbirds, I have high hopes. In only a few weeks, I’m sure things will change. Nothing in nature remains the same for very long. So as the constellation Orion gives way to Leo, and days lengthen and the sun grows higher, big changes are in the offing.

Wildlife Biologist Confirms Reason For Early Winter Bear Sightings

2012-01-24T07:48:00.001-08:00

In a recent post, I mentioned several bear sightings that took place in Searsport around the first week of January. I also reported that people had seen raccoons. My feeling was that the unusually warm winter up until that point was responsible for these animals being out and about.

However, one reader, Robin, commented that, “It's not abnormal for bears, raccoons and skunks to appear in the winter. Bears don't sleep soundly all winter. They wake and sometimes leave the den. We're much more likely to see their tracks in the snow (when we have snow...) than to see the bears because they're out briefly. Sows are typically more active than boars. They're giving birth about now. They'll be awake to tend to the cub(s). Raccoons and skunks come out of hibernation in mid winter for mating season.”

Well, I spoke with Randy Cross, a wildlife biologist and bear specialist with the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife. Randy says that first off, few, if any, female black bears reside in the Searsport area. Also, it is very unlikely that a sow would leave her den after having given birth to cubs. Randy told me, in fact, that sows are very unlikely to leave their dens in winter.

Randy went on to say that around the time of those sightings, the bear or bears were probably male and because of the warm weather and continuing availability of food, were out and about at that time (late December, early January). Randy also mentioned that the animals went to den late this year, also because of the weather, further supporting my thoughts.

Robin also mentioned raccoons and skunks coming out in mid-winter. That’s true enough, but late December and early January is a bit early, at least for Maine. February is the traditional month for ‘coons and especially skunks, to go on the prowl.

Of course in states to the south of us, these animals have different schedules.

But in the end, I do trust bear biologist Randy Cross to give me the right information and that confirmed my suspicions that the animal sightings were somewhat unusual for that particular time of year, at least here in Maine.

Foraging A State Of Mind

2012-01-20T08:37:00.001-08:00

Foraging is for me a state of mind as much as an actual activity. Most everything in life, as I see it, depends upon a personal point of view. But regarding foraging for wild plants (I hunt and fish, too, but hardly consider that “foraging”), neither the memory nor the anticipation of it ever leaves me for very long.

For instance, in shoveling snow from in front of my house and by my greenhouse, I noticed that some wild plants had thus far survived the winter in relatively good shape. Dame’s rocket and ground ivy looked good enough to eat (pun intended).

While I do most of my foraging in rural areas, I am quick to notice the great variety of plants available in built-up places too. I recently wrote about plants seen growing in “urban hedgerows,” those unkempt places between buildings in downtown Belfast. In fact, I can’t visit another town or city but what my eyes aren’t peeled for whatever wild plants may grow there.

Taking that one step further, I’ve noticed chicory growing between the cracks in the sidewalk of downtown Waterville, lamb’s quarters growing up alongside a building on the main drag in Greenville and all manner of good, useful wild plants growing in half-whiskey barrel planters all over Maine.

And even now, during the coldest time of year, I take time to note and identify dried plant specimens that cling to firewood brought in from my woodshed.

Also, while driving about the snow-covered countryside, I make mental notes regarding the dead stalks of last year’s wild plants. This activity has few, if any, participants, at least to my knowledge. But I find it great fun to see how many different plants I can recognize from the warmth of my car while driving along. I’d love to see others become involved in this activity, since it is something that requires no special equipment and can be done virtually any time and any place. And for sure, it does wonders toward helping boost identification skills.

And in somewhere between six and eight weeks from now, one of my favorite wild plant activities will happen. That is, once the March sunshine has its way, wild plants will begin to pop up all over, prompted by the urge to break ground, grow to maturity and either set seed or multiply vegetatively. What a joy to walk outside and with each new day, discover some favorite plant that I haven’t seen since last year.

So now perhaps you see why I say that wild plant foraging is a state of mind.

Bears, 'Coons, Break Hibernation Early

2012-01-13T10:36:00.001-08:00

Here’s some news that I think will interest all readers, no matter where they may live. This past week (January 8-13), reports have come in of encounters with raccoons and black bears. Both these species are hibernators and early January is far too early for either to break their winter slumber.

Of course the lack of snow cover and unusually warm weather has to of caused this unseasonable awakening. Of the two, the raccoons pose little problem, except for homeowners who fail to secure their trash barrels properly. But the bears, well, that’s a different story.

In early spring, when black bears typically stir from their long hibernation, they go out in the world hungry as, well…hungry as bears. Also, these hungry bruins typically have a chip on their shoulders, as anyone would who had not eaten for 5 or 6 months. This gnawing hunger makes them mean and ugly and an ugly bear is a dangerous bear.

So if you encounter a bear, do not venture near it. Bear attacks are rare indeed, but if ever the time were right for a bear to become aggressive toward a human, it would be now.

The weather prognosticator tells us that come this weekend, typically-cold winter conditions will return. If that happens, the ‘coons and bears will no doubt return to wherever it was that they chose to hole up for the winter. And of that, we can be glad.

Benefits of an Open Winter

2012-01-10T07:45:00.000-08:00

What a winter we have had thus far, with moderate and often above-normal temperatures and no lasting snow cover. And while this lack of typical winter conditions may seem an ominous portent of climate change and dire consequences thereof, let me offer an alternate thought.

I suggest that “open winters,” those times when lack of snow cover allows frost to extend deep down in the ground, have a definite purpose. Certain plants, animals and insects get something like a free ride when winter snows arrive in November and remain essentially intact until sometime in March or April. Then, the insulating value of the snow cover allows for the less-hardy among various species to proliferate. This can result in too many of both beneficial and harmful organisms. In essence, a good, snowy winter skews the balance.

I submit that prolonged deep-down freezing resulting from lack of snow cover and also, desiccation, or what we may term, “freeze drying” of plants, insect eggs and insect larvae, is valuable and beneficial. I believe this process is necessary for the balance of nature. Otherwise, we may be beset with overly-aggressive invasives of all types and also, loss of valuable plant and animal species.

As heat tempers steel, prolonged, snow-free winters temper living things. While it is difficult to prove a negative, I nonetheless believe that the list of possible calamities that could occur were it not for the occasional open winter is long and probably very scary. Consider the toxic plants and venomous insects that winters such as this hold in check. It frightens me to contemplate it.

Nature abhors a vacuum, true enough, and nature has its own way of dealing with abundance and dearth. Were it not so, the world would be overrun with all manner of unpleasantness.

As I see it, this winter (I remember similar winters of long ago, so this is not unique) is the leavening agent that puts every hibernating, latent and or dormant species on a level playing field, and that’s a good thing.

MERRYSPRING Presentation

I mentioned in earlier blogs that I had an upcoming presentation at MERRYSPRING Nature Center, 30 Conway Road, Camden, Maine, scheduled for February 14. The center had not contacted me regarding specifics and today I learned why. The person who contracted with me has left and her replacement has only just settled in to office. I did, however, verify that my presentation will be part of their Tuesday Talks at Noon and is indeed scheduled for February 14 at 12:00 p.m.

I’ll show and narrate a DVD dealing with wild plants of Maine and their various uses. Also, I’ll field questions from participants.

The MERRYSPRING people have indicated that they might like to have me come later in the warm season and put on a field trip. It’s a wonderful place, with woods, fields, wet areas and paths through all. And, of course, it abounds with interesting, wild plants.

For more information, contact MERRYSPRING at (207) 236-2239 or visit their website at www.merryspring.org.

Freezer Foraging Time

2011-12-27T07:36:00.000-08:00

Freezer foraging time has arrived. Cold, snow and generally harsh winter conditions have put an end to foraging. The season, though, was extraordinarily long this year, with such goodies as dandelions and dame’s rocket remaining available until well into December.

But now is time to break out those frozen, canned and dried wild foods and enjoy. My freezer brims with frozen goosetongue, lamb’s quarters, fiddleheads, dandelions and even a container of black trumpet mushrooms. And the bottom section of one of my bookshelf houses lots of home-canned goodies. In short, I could, if need be, eat well for several months without visiting a grocery store.

Some may call such as this hoarding. I don’t. Put simply, stores do not offer the same stuff that I pick in the wild or grow myself. Even in the case of domestic vegetables, I find that homegrown and preserved food beats all.

For instance, I recently broke open a jar of full-length, peeled carrots that I canned this fall. Even though coming from a Mason jar, these were far superior in flavor to the insipid, anemic offerings found fresh on greengrocer’s shelves.

So kick back, whip up a meal of those wild goodies you so diligently saved and enjoy. It’s time to reap the benefits of our labors.

By the way, my seminar which was scheduled for 4 p.m. on Feb. 4 at the Country Store in Bowdoinham is cancelled. However, my class at Merryspring on Feb. 14 is still on.

Tom Tries New Plants

2011-12-17T07:27:00.000-08:00

What a fall season we have had. Foragers, gardeners and fishermen were able to get out and glean from nature at a time when, in years past, extreme cold and snow would have surely ended our outdoor pursuits.

As for me, some late-season Swiss chard, kale and even dandelions, have kept me in fresh, green vegetables. And the two early-season snowstorms melted quickly, leaving plants and even lawns, looking green and lush. And it doesn’t look as though any major change is due any time soon.

While thinking on plants and such, I wish to mention that my publisher from Just Write Books, Nancy Randolph, has asked me to revise my book, Wild Plants of Maine, A Useful Guide. This should, hopefully, be accomplished in time for a spring, 2012, release.

An upcoming meeting between we two will determine just which new chapters we will feature in the revision. I expect to offer at least a few common plants that should elicit comments such as, “I can’t believe it,” or perhaps, “Those are edible?”

My summer, at least part of it, was spent sampling new plants and trying new or different ideas. Some of it was rewarding, but two were big letdowns. Specifically, I had long read that northern white cedar, Thuja occidentalis, makes a vitamin-filled tea, a tea that tastes like “evergreen.” The leaves of this common tree are said to be edible as well.

And so on supposed good authority, I brewed up a big pot of cedar tea. The resulting aroma had a pronounced pungency, something that got me wondering if the stuff was going to taste the same as it smelled. Much to my dismay, it tasted far worse than it smelled, and it didn’t smell very good. My overall feeling regarding white cedar tea is that it tastes something like a mixture of turpentine and skunk essence. After that initial sip, I simply could not choke any more down.

While I’m sure that white cedar contains all kinds of wonderful vitamins, I can’t think of any palatable way to ingest them. The aftertaste of the infusion, or tea, lasted for a very, very long time. Most unpleasant, as my English friend Malcolm would say. Other plants, though, excelled and those will appear in my book revision.

The other failed experiment, at least to my mind, involved the winged fruits of red maple, Acer rubrum, also called “Keys,” or “gyros.” Various authorities list these as edible out-of-hand, as “trail nibbles.” So back in early summer, when trees hung heavy with these fruit/seeds, I had at them.

The words, “pucker,” and “astringent” come immediately to mind. And as with northern white cedar tea, the taste of maple gyros lingered far longer than I would have wished. I understand that boiling in several waters can reduce the astringency. After contemplating this, it seemed to me that such trouble was simply not worth the while. In a case of starvation and extreme need, boiled maple keys would probably make a nourishing food. But the end verdict, at least as far as my experience goes, is “Yeccc!” Don’t bother. It’s not worth it.

None of these failed tries will appear in my book revision, space being limited and it being reserved for useful, not offensive, plants. But I mention them here for the benefit of anyone reading this blog who had ever wished to try the plants mentioned here. Hopefully, I have saved someone out there from an unpleasant experience.

At the least, you can be assured that everything listed in my book is something that I personally value and most certainly, eat or have eaten, myself. And I think that is vitally important for any book on edible plants.

Meanwhile, if I don’t get another post out before than, let me wish all my readers a merry and blessed Christmas and a happy, healthy and productive new year.

Tom

Lingering Leaves, Late-Season Trout

2011-12-02T12:05:00.001-08:00

Deciduous trees shed their leaves in fall. Well, that’s sort of true but not quite. Some trees, beech for instance, hold their leaves until spring. Others, such as some oaks and to my surprise, certain apples, hang on to their leaves a lot longer than seems natural.

The reason for this, I’m told, is that trees that hold their leaves until spring have a need for spring mulch and if the leaves all fell in fall, as in October, they would suffer for it. This sounds to me like a reasonable explanation, especially since I cannot think of a better one.

Another thing that had not come to my attention until this past Wednesday is this. Some trees shed their leaves all at once rather than piecemeal.

An apple tree in front of my house held its leaves until Tuesday night. This, in fact, made it difficult for me to get a good view of the sky and caused me to walk just a bit further when setting up my telescope at night.

Anyway, I went to bed Tuesday and the leaves were all there. Wednesday morning they were gone. And yes, it was windy. But that wasn’t the cause, since instead of being scattered about, all the leaves were, and remain, directly beneath tree. It was as if someone had pulled a lever and “presto,” the leaves all dropped off en masse.

In other news, I took advantage of the lingering warm weather and went trout fishing Friday afternoon. Sure, my fingers got a little chilly, but the trout bit well, making any minor discomfort more than worth the effort.

This is the absolute latest that I have ever taken trout in open water. All of this thanks to new and more liberal regulations on open-water fishing, thanks to the Maine Department Of Inland Fisheries And Wildlife.

And if push came to shove, I could probably have gathered a mess of some kind of wild greens. This warmer winter weather may have serious consequences but for right now, it saves on wood and allows outdoor folks to get out and enjoy themselves even into the last month of the year. For me, that’s a good thing.

Urban Hedgerows

2011-11-28T12:34:00.000-08:00

Hedgerows are overgrown strips of land separating two fields or other open areas. Hedgerows typically serve as home to a wide variety of plants, birds, animals and insects. With rampant development eating up farmland at an alarming rate, hedgerows become fewer in number with each passing year.

But another kind of “hedgerow” is popping up, and these, too, serve as sanctuaries for a variety of plants and other critters. I refer to the ditches, vacant strips and similar undeveloped slivers of suburban real estate found between stores and businesses. Every town and city has them, too, and they are visible reminders of what once grew and flourished in a once rural but now urban landscape.

This morning, while waiting for the auto dealer to put a set of snow treads on my Ford Focus, I took a stroll along the retail strip located between Route 1 and downtown Belfast, Maine. Here, parking lots and chain drugstores have replaced woods and fields. I can remember one place, now paved over and home to Duncan Donuts, Sears, Subway and several other chain stores, was once a family farm. I remember the school bus stopping there to let a boy (whose name I forget) off each day. Who ever thought that such a dramatic change would ever take place?

Anyway, these chain stores and other retail businesses, while close together, often have 10-foot-wide patches of unpaved real estate between them.

Many, if not all of these “suburban hedgerows” hold a wide variety of useful wild plants. In fact, urban foragers need not make the trek out to rural locations in order to find useful plants. All they need do is check out the in-town hedgerows.

Today, November 28 was unusually warm. Most of the snow from the pre-Thanksgiving snowstorm had melted, revealing green grass as well as a variety of edible plants. For instance, I saw common sorrel, curled dock, dandelions and common plantain. Most of these plants were in good enough shape to be used for food.

I wondered, though, what would happen if I decided to do some foraging here and someone confronted me. What would I tell them? I came up with several nifty answers, including, “Oh, I’m the Taraxacum (dandelion) inspector,” “Be careful there…this stuff is Glechoma hederacea (ground ivy),” and “It’s okay…I’m going to certify that your Thypha latifolia (cattails) is healthy.”

Upon discovering these urban oases I now realize that no matter how much we dig, cut, build and pave, we cannot stop nature. The plants will go on, no matter what. And that knowledge pleases me no end.

Stink Bugs Overwinter In Maine Garden Debris

2011-11-24T07:11:00.000-08:00

I recently got a message on my answering machine asking whether or not I thought that stink bugs could become a perennial problem here in Maine.

My answer, sadly, is “yes.” These insects spread north from Mexico many decades ago and have reached most if not all of the various states.

In the south, these bugs breed year-round. But in the north, as in Maine, they overwinter in leaf litter and other vegetation.

Two types of bugs come to mind. One, the Harlequin Bug, a large, slow-moving orange-and-black bug, is said to be in Maine. I can’t recall seeing one of these, however. But, Tarnished Plant Bugs, brown, drab-looking bugs, are common here.

These bugs, in their nymphal form, damage crops by injecting a certain toxin into the plant at the same time they suck out its sap. This causes deformed leaves, stems and of course, produce.

To keep these garden pests at bay, make sure to remove all dead vegetation from your garden. Also, frequently check under boards and similar items, since this is where adult bugs hide.

Sadly, I had not yet removed all the debris from my garden before the big snow fell. And yes, I had a few stink bugs around last year. These will now have some safe places to hide. My only recourse is to get at the garden as soon as snow melts in spring.

The only good thing I can say about stink bugs and their ilk is that they will probably never become as numerous as Japanese beetles, another non-native, insect pest.

Harbor Pollock

2011-11-15T11:17:00.000-08:00

Foraging has slowed considerably now and many of our favorite plants have already begun forming the new growth that will eventually be next year’s plant. Fishing, too, has slowed down. But not entirely.

Much of my free time as of late is spent fishing for harbor pollock. These look exactly like the bigger pollock found in offshore locations, except they are far smaller. Still, what they lack in size they make up for in other ways.

First, harbor pollock are exceptionally abundant. Near-limitless schools of pollock enter inshore areas in fall and swarm around docks, floats and piers. Willing biters, harbor pollock readily take a variety of baits (I use clam necks) and artificial lures.

Pollock, despite their diminutive (rarely do these exceed 12 inches in length) size, fight well and put up a fine scrap on ultralight spinning tackle.

Finally, pollock taste great. Old-timers used to “corn” them, meaning to coat in salt overnight. The fillets are soaked in fresh water before frying or using in chowders. Some people fry harbor pollock whole, the same as when cooking a small trout. I prefer my skinless pollock fillets rolled in McCormick Seafood Mix and baked in a toaster oven. This is a greaseless way to a healthful and super-tasty seafood dinner.

Few others take advantage of this outstanding fall fishery. I suppose that by November, most people’s minds are on other things besides fishing. But for me, the chance to collect any kind of wild food is enough to get me out of the office and out on the water.

I thoroughly enjoy harbor pollock. And if you like fresh fish, you would probably like them too. Just go to the nearest harbor and fish near a pier of from a float. Try to hit an incoming tide when it is about halfway in.

Note that Maine has a recreational daily bag limit of 6 pollock under 18 inches in Maine territorial waters. Given the huge numbers of pollock and lack of people fishing for them, this is a rather silly law. But six pollock are better than no pollock and so I head out once again, cooler in one hand, fishing rod in the other.

The inshore pollock fishery lasts until well into winter. Do give it a try.

Wildness Within Walking Distance

2011-11-06T10:31:00.000-08:00

It’s not often that anyone’s poetry strikes a chord in me. But Wildness Within Walking Distance, Robert M. Chute, Just Write Books, 2011, has done just that.

Chute echoes one of my most deeply held convictions when he says, “…unoccupied and undeveloped open land—perhaps our most under-appreciated and endangered natural treasures.”

I’ve always maintained that my woodlot, my so-called, “back 40” is closer to true wilderness than many of our state parks and other organized wilderness areas. On my woodlot, the walker need not stay on marked trails. And there are no regulations to prohibit me or anyone from picking berries or anything else growing there.

My woodlot was never developed, but on the other hand it has been cut over more times than a math student could calculate. But what grows there is what naturally occurs. In other words, commercial interests never totally stripped the place and planted, instead of the mixed hardwood/softwood that grew there of its own accord, a monoculture of balsam fir or red pine. No, my woodlot, like so many other small plots of land, has always grown whatever wants to grow there.

As a lifelong hunter, fisherman and forager, my travels quite naturally take me through reverting farmland, places where old cellar holes tell a haunting story, if only anyone cares to listen. Long-forgotten stands of daylilies and even, to my great pleasure, plots of asparagus, indicate that here, someone lived, families loved, struggled and probably died.

Bits of broken china, kicked out of the earth by burrowing woodchuck, show that the family had placed great stock in such things and treasured a few plates and perhaps some silverware as if it were the jewel from a pontentate’s diadem.

Development, the slow, but steady encroachment of houses, pavement, dogs, cats and people who know not of nor could care less about the history of the place they despoil, pour in like a great molasses flood.

And so people such as Robert M. Chute find that they need to keep the old memories alive. Read his chapter, “The Chilman Place” and you will see just what I mean.

For anyone with a heart and soul that longs for simple but essential and indescribably valuable country knowledge, I highly recommend this book.

Another Storm Fizzles

2011-10-30T07:58:00.000-07:00

Hurry up and shovel that snow befoe it all melts. The weekend snowstorm fell far short of what meteorologists had predicted. This was the snowy equivalent of our recent hurricane, the one that got continual hype on radio, newspaper and television but upon reaching Maine, hardly qualified as a tropical storm.

Like everyone else, I fell prey to the pre-“blizzard” mania and spent two days hauling firewood, putting machinery under cover and otherwise battening down the hatches. In Brooks, Maine, we even cancelled church services in anticipation of what the news media now calls a “severe weather event.”

I think that from now on, I shall go on my gut feeling and pay no mind to what weather prognosticators say. In fact, I did give my native intuition some head this time. Instead of putting the frame and winter cover on my boat, I decided that no matter what, the snow would eventually melt and I could yet get some boating (read “fishing”) in this fall.

So with temps predicted (here we go again with those predictions) to hover in the 50’s this coming week, it appears that the October snowstorm will dissipate as quickly as it arrived. And those of us who yearn for that last meal of dandelions or perhaps a shot of homemade bitters (ground ivy makes a great bitter tea, useful for toning up the digestive system) have some time left yet.

On to another topic. I have two wild plant seminars pending. Specific information on both is still forthcoming, but I can at least give dates and places. The first is for Long Branch School in Bowdoinham on February 4. There, I plan on showing a DVD presentation on wild plants and also, talking about the value of learning to recognize plants at different times of the year. Even in winter, we can easily spot the dead stalks and stems of so many valuable plants. This enables us to return in spring and reap the bounty.

For more info on Long Branch School visit www.longbranchschool.com.

Next, I will give a similar presentation at Merryspring in Camden on Valentine’s Day, February 14.

As soon as more specifics become available, I’ll be sure to post them here. In the meantime, don’t believe everything you hear from the weather forecasters. They are about as reliable as our weather. And you know what they say about that: “If you don’t like the Maine weather, just wait a minute.”

Late-Season Foraging

2011-10-27T12:00:00.001-07:00

Wild Plants And Wooly Bears

The woodstove makes comfortable heat now, as long as it only feeds on lightweight wood such as poplar and birch. A big plus in favor of running a stove this early is that it also affords free hot water for washing dishes. A kettle of water simmering on the stovetop helps canny homeowners to cut down on energy costs.

And burning wood reminds me that the time draws near for us to get last-minute chores done outside and if any garden vegetables remain, to either freeze or can them. This week was my week to pressure can the last of my cabbages and carrots. I’ve enough canned vegetables now to last for at least two months if everything else went south. A good feeling it is, to know that my needs are thus supplied.

Open-water fishing has become a hit-or-miss proposition. Cold water and a change in fish habits make finding such usually cooperative panfish such as white perch and black crappies problematic at best. Some trout fishing still remains in selected waters. Last week, I fished several places in the Moosehead Region and also, went on an extended bird-hunting trip with my buddy Bob Lawrence of Lawrence’s Lakeside Cabins in Rockwood.

Bob took me around to places in the North Country that I had never seen, long, winding roads that opened to stunning vistas of Moosehead Lake, Seboomook Lake and beyond. One road led up the steep face of a small mountain. The place is called “The Stairway To Heaven,” and for good reason. The view was breathtaking.

Returning home with several partridge and a brace of hefty brook trout, it seemed to me that if winter hit us early it would make little difference. I had already had my outdoor fun.

Foraging for green plants has essentially ended, since a killing frost has long since killed most herbaceous perennials. Dandelions remain, however, and it may surprise some people to learn that after being hit with two or three frosts, the usually bitter plants become sweet again, the same as in springtime. So if the mood strikes, do try and get out and find some dandelions for a late-season, wild treat.

Certain apple trees hold their fruit, especially the wild trees found on long-vacant farmland. While it’s usually impossible to figure out the pedigree of these apples, the fact remains that many of them are winter types, the kind that attain their highest degree of sweetness only after a long stretch of cold weather. Some of these can even accept freezing with little or no obvious damage.

Wild root crops, if you can find them, remain available right up until snow covers the ground, making digging for them difficult if not impossible. Groundnuts and Jerusalem artichokes taste sweet now and it makes sense to go out and gather some of these too. Both keep well in the refrigerator, so take home as many as you care to harvest. You won’t hurt next year’s crop, either. Instead, taking a good portion of these tubers amounts to much-needed cultivation. Next year will see more and bigger tubers.

So get out while the getting is good. Do those last-minute chores and make sure to look around for some end-of-the-year wild edible plants. It’s a long time until next spring.

The Mighty Karnac Knows

2011-10-11T09:49:00.000-07:00

Wild Plants And Wooly Bears

Today is Tuesday, October 11, 2011. And without hearing or seeing a weather report, I would know without a doubt that within 24 hours or so, heavy rain will fall on Waldo, Maine.

I’ll explain by citing the late Johnny Carson’s character, “The Mighty Karnac.” Karnac would swipe a sealed envelope across his forehead and then come forth with the answer. After this, Karnac would open the envelope and read the question.

So let’s say that I am playing Karnac. I swipe the envelope across my head and exclaim, “Because they are grading the road.” I open the envelope and read the question. “How do you know it’s going to rain?”

Talk around town is that the road commissioner keeps a tight watch on the long-range forecast. Then when he is assured of impending rain, he grades the gravel roads. Within days, the roads are washed out and residents are compelled to drive on roads that are no better and sometimes far worse than before the grading took place.

Country life has its ups and downs and this is surely a big “down.” But other things, good things, make up for human ineptitude and neglect.

For instance, the weather up until now (yes, rain is surely coming) has been spectacular. Warm temperatures coupled with the brilliant reds and yellows of autumn leaves have combined to make life off the beaten path a physical and spiritual pleasure.

Also, while a few wild plants remain for dedicated foragers to harvest, my attention has lately focused upon picking and preserving vegetables from my garden. Winter squash, picked the day before a killing frost, must sit outside in the sun in order to harden off. At night, these go back inside.

Carrot tops remain green, so I allow them to linger in the ground. When the tops begin to die back, I’ll pull the roots and then pressure can them for winter use.

Swiss chard and kale continue to produce leafy greens and these I accept with much gratitude.

It was with sad farewell that I picked and later ate the last of my summer squash, zucchini and yellow straightnecks. I enjoy these so much that throughout the season, at every opportunity, I sliced and partially fried pounds of squash. Then I placed the rounds on a baking sheet and put that in the freezer. When completely frozen, the partially-cooked squash went into a freezer bag.

Later in winter, I am able to remove just the exact amount of squash for a meal, no more no less. These go from the freezer to the frying pan where they are cooked to perfection in olive or canola oil.

Sometimes I’ll get a hankering for fish and to that end, I have bags and bags of frozen white perch and black crappie fillets. These, too, taste nearly as good as when fresh because of having been cared for properly from the time they were taken from the water.

So my cupboard abounds not only with wild plants but also homegrown vegetables and also fish from local lakes, ponds and streams. I’m fortunate indeed.

To end, let me say that I hope everyone has enjoyed this glorious warm and sunny fall season as much as I have. Take it in now because soon, the heavy rain will fall. I know that because today, they graded the road.

A Wild Mushroom Weekend

2011-10-02T13:30:00.001-07:00

Wild mushrooms have taken center stage as of late. These delightful fungi appeared in great numbers over a long period of time, thanks no doubt, to our recent weather pattern of rain-dry-rain-dry.

My weekend was spent in Brunswick, Maine, doing book signings and giving talks on foraging. And because they now appear in such numbers, my seminars concentrated primarily upon wild mushrooms. And, of course, people have a great and growing interest in this topic.

Still, mushrooms are where you find them and when someone asks me to come to their place and identify the wild mushrooms there, I always say that I cannot guarantee finding one, single mushroom.

So it was to my great pleasure when Emily Equerin, a journalist from The Forecaster, asked me to take time between seminars and accompany her on a mushroom walk in some nearby woods.

We were counting minutes, since I needed to be back in town at a certain time for my next seminar. Nonetheless, we were less than 15 minutes into our walk when I saw some familiar orange mushrooms in the distance. These were chanterelles and my newfound friend and I immediately left the path and strolled over for a closer look. They were, of course, chanterelles.

So we took some time going over the look, feel and even smell of these common woodland mushrooms. After that, my journalist companion became so adept at spotting chanterelles that she often beat me to the punch in noting a distant mushroom or mushrooms.

Lacking a basket or other container, the young writer removed her jacket, placed it on the ground and loaded it to the brim with mushrooms. This, too, was something that I have done numerous times... used whatever was at hand to fashion an ersatz “basket.”

With time running out, we headed back to the car. On the way, I spotted some coral mushrooms and we took some extra time to go over them. All in all, it was a rewarding walk for the both of us.

My seminar went well. People were seriously interested in the topic and I fielded some well-thought questions.

Back home, a couple in my church mentioned that they had some large mushrooms growing on their lawn and would I be interested in them. By their description, I concluded that these had to be giant puffballs. And sure thing, I was interested.

On my way home I stopped at their place and found a number of these colossal fungi, one of them nearly as big around as a basketball. My friends declined the mushrooms, perhaps out of a distaste for wild foods and maybe because they were just too busy. I was busy too, but took the mushrooms anyway. Now my refrigerator brims with gallon bags of peeled and sliced puffball mushrooms.

I plan on freezing what I can, eating as many as possible and giving away the remainder. That’s how wild mushrooms are, too. These things wait upon no one and when they are ripe, that’s when we must pick them.

It has certainly been a productive and enjoyable year for mushrooms for me and perhaps, it is not over yet. But if it is, that’s okay too.

I do plan upon digging some Jerusalem artichoke tubers to keep in the fridge. These, when sliced, rolled in a rub or other spicy coating, are a fine breakfast treat, something interesting in place of home-fried potatoes.

And so it goes. The foraging life always holds surprises. Who knows what wonders will next present themselves?

2011-09-24T08:18:00.001-07:00

Here in my basket are some late-summer mushrooms. The yellow ones are chanterelles and the black ones are black trumpets. Both came from my woodlot. The chanterelles were in a section of mixed hardwood/softwood and the black trumpets came from a large colony growing along and also in, a tote road.

The mushrooms in the photo below are spreading hydnums and are easily identified by the thick stem and distinctive whitish-orange (I liken this to the color of a Cremesicle that I ate as a kid) color of the cap.

But the most distinctive feature of the hydnum mushroom is the spiny-looking projections on the bottom of the cap. These were likened to teeth by whomever gave this mushroom its scientific name of Dentinum remandum.

Of course there are many other easily identified mushrooms around now, but these are probably the choicest, at least in my opinion.

By the way, I'm giving two talks on foraging this coming Saturday, October 1, 2011. These are at two locations in Brunswick. For more info on this, go to www.justwrite.com.

Plants With Symbiotic Relationships

2011-08-23T13:31:00.001-07:00

Feast or famine, that’s what we foragers contend with. Right now, garden vegetables are coming in big-time and also, some of the “weeds” in our garden beds, actually wonderful, edible wild plants, continue to produce.

Today, I picked a big helping of lamb’s quarters, one of my favorite green leafy vegetables. Usually thought of as a plant that only yields its sweet leaves in early summer, lamb’s quarters continue pushing up new growth and also, older plants, those purposely left in the garden, constantly put forth new, tender tips.

In the photo accompanying today’s blog post, you can see me standing with my just-picked lamb’s quarters in my hand. I placed myself just in front of a curious combination of cultivated plants.

First, some “volunteer” winter squash that came up in a raised bed meant for beans and chard, has made its way up my grapevine. Airborne squash is fine with me, since it is always clean and usually insect-free.

In turn, the grapes have overstepped their bounds by growing up, in, on and through a nearby crabapple tree.

None of these adventurous plants has done the least bit of harm to the other. In fact, I enjoy the novelty of seeing squash up in a grape arbor and grapes winding through a crabapple tree.

Such apparently symbiotic associations also occur with wild plants. The Japanese knotweed along my driveway hosts the adventitious vines of groundnuts. At first, the groundnut vines choked out the young knotweed. But as it has matured, the knotweed plants have become more able to withstand the pressure from the groundnut vines.

These things might, perhaps, be indicative of both human and animal relationships. Everything depends upon something else in one way or another. There’s a lesson in that, somewhere.

The Wooly Bear Makes Its Prediction

2011-08-21T06:28:00.000-07:00

I stepped outside this morning to see the namesake for this blog curled up on a paving stone in front of my door. Seeing a wooly bear caterpillar now, in late August, is no big surprise. From now through October, these orange-and-black, 1.2-inch-long caterpillars, the immature form of an Isabella moth, are fairly active.

But this wooly bear was different. According to legend, the length of the black mid-section of a wooly bear, when compared to the orange front and back ends, indicate the length and/or severity of the coming winter. If we are to believe this insect, then winter 2011/2012 will come in like a lamb and go out like a lamb. The moth had no trace of black.

Do I believe the tradition of the wooly bear? Of course not. All the same, such fanciful stories are often rooted in at least a modicum of truth. Is it possible that the wooly bear really can, perhaps in some small way, predict the coming season? I just don’t know. But if the wooly bear on my front walkway is telling the truth, snowmobile, snow shovel and insulated boot sales will probably hit an all-time low this winter.

Other weather and climate traditions are based upon averages. For instance, old-time wisdom holds that when goldenrod (the same goes for Joy-Pye weed) blooms, the first frost of the season is only six weeks away. Well, since goldenrod blooms in early August, and the first frost often arrives around the second week of September, generally speaking, we can see how legend was interwoven with fact.

The same is true for Groundhog Day, or Candlemas Day, an old-time church holiday. Jump ahead six weeks from Groundhog Day and guess what happens? Spring arrives.

But getting back to the all-orange wooly bear. It does puzzle me. As per what happens this winter, we will just have to wait and see.

Pearly Everlasting Time

2011-08-10T09:06:00.001-07:00

It’s pearly everlasting time. Often found in wild dried-flower arrangements, pearly everlasting, Anaphalis margaritacea, has a number of medicinal uses. Just the same, few, if any, depend upon this plant for medicine. But one of its uses would probably enjoy wide appeal if only more people knew of it.

The little white, globular flowers, when chewed, assuage thirst by keeping the mouth moist. When hiking, I like to chew on a few pearly everlasting flowers. Besides their thirst-quenching capabilities, these flowers have a mild but pleasant flavor…at least to my way of thinking.

The plant averages about 18 inches, but can grow as tall as three feet. The leaves, long, thin, grayish-green above and whitish beneath, grow alternately up the stem. The flowers, described above, are held atop the plant in clusters.

Late summer marks the height of pearly everlasting season. When present, these plants often appear in fairly large colonies. They prefer poor, even sterile soil, so common in much of Maine.

So next time you see pearly everlasting, stop and take a minute to pick some flowers. At first, they feel quite dry in the mouth. But with a bit of chewing, they swell and release their flavor. I much prefer these to chewing gum.

By the way, a friend tells me that he enjoys sweet everlasting in a tea. The trouble is, sweet everlasting does not grow anywhere near my friend’s house. I'm convinced that he is picking pearly everlasting and thinks he has sweet everlasting. The same guy also claims to use sweet goldenrod in a tea. That does not grow here either. He is mistaking Canada goldenrod for sweet goldenrod. This all points out the value in making a proper identification. In my friend’s case, there is no harm, since both the actual and imagined species are harmless. But if a look-alike plant was toxic, and someone mistook it for a good one, possibly bad results could occur.

So get a good field guide before using any plant internally. That said, be sure to try the flowers of pearly everlasting. They may become a regular part of your outdoor ventures in late summer.

Now is Time To Identify Wild Edible Plants

2011-08-09T16:08:00.001-07:00

Entering late summer, many wild plants have already matured. This gives foragers an opportunity to examine them in their most easily recognizable form. It also goes hand-in-hand with my frequently stated admonition that we need to be able to recognize the wild, useful plants in all their stages of development.

Also, so many plants are only good as food when they are young. And that often presents a problem in locating them. Young plants are small plants and as such, are sometimes difficult to locate. By noting now where the mature plants stand, we can return to that same spot next spring and reap a harvest of young, tender plants.

The second half of the botanical name, biennis, gives a hint as to the nature of common evening primrose. It is a biennial, meaning that it lives for two, perhaps three years, sets seed and dies.

In early spring, the carrot-shaped roots of first-year plants make fine eating when cooked. Also, the young leaves from the basal rosettes (that is, the leaves, when very young, lie flat on the ground, their stems emanating from a central point) make a nice salad addition and are useful as cooked potherbs.

But finding these plants just after snow melts, when they are at their prime, is a hit-or-miss proposition. That is unless you have an idea where to look. Noting the presence of last year’s dried stalks greatly simplifies the search.

So begin today. Look in fields and lawn edges for the mature primrose. Then, next spring, visit again and reap your reward.

Identify your wild plants now

2011-08-06T18:49:00.000-07:00

Today’s highlighted plant, common evening primrose, Oenothera biennis, is well on its way to maturity. Individual plants have attained their maximum height and are now in flower. Soon, they will develop rocket-shaped seedpods. These will later open and spread hundreds of seeds all around the base of the plant. The plant with numerous small yellow flowers standing next to my greenhouse in the above photo is an evening primrose. The second half of the botanical name, biennis, gives a hint as to the nature of common evening primrose. It is a biennial, meaning that it lives for two, perhaps three years, sets seed and dies.

In early spring, the carrot-shaped roots of first-year plants make fine eating when cooked. Also, the young leaves from the basal rosettes (the leaves, when very young, lie flat on the ground, their stems emanating from a central point) are useful in salads and cooked as a potherb.

But finding these plants just after snow melts is a hit-or-miss proposition, that is unless you have an idea where to look. Noting the presence of last year’s dried stalks greatly simplifies the search.

So begin today. Look in fields and lawn edges for the mature primrose. Then, next spring, visit again and reap your reward.

Forager's delight

2011-07-25T10:12:00.000-07:00

A bout with bronchitis has laid me low and unable to go afield in search of wild plants. Fortunately, my garden has begun to produce beans, chard and summer squash, all favorites of mine.

Also, some garden “weeds” remain, having been purposely spared in order that I might harvest them upon maturity. One of these, purslane, is welcome indeed. This requires but little energy (something I am in short supply of at the moment) to pick…just grab and lift from the loose, garden soil. And if an entire plant comes up roots and all, what of it? Purslane self-seeds readily, so that’s not really a problem. Once established, always present.

Along with purslane and garden vegetables, trout in my pond have reached an acceptable size to harvest. These 9- to 10-inch brook trout are of a perfect length to fit in a frying pan. Also, they are just big and fat enough that one trout satisfies me.

So times are good. This is what we Mainers wait for all winter long. But make no mistake…the seasons continue to change, although it takes a bit of sleuthing to notice it. For instance, goldenrod has acquired its trademark golden hue. A few colored leaves drop from red maples and boneset has begun to bloom. These are all signs of approaching fall.

So while we revel in summer and its comfort and warmth, just remember that the “times they are a-changing.” But for now, enjoy.

July Is Day-Lily Month

2011-07-14T10:18:00.001-07:00

Daylilies, Hemerocallis fulva, rank high on the list of delicious, wild treats available to foragers in July.

A day-lily blossom, as the plant’s common name suggests, last only one day. But not to worry – tomorrow, the plant will produce a blush of new flowers to take the place of yesterday’s spent ones. Both fresh and day-old flowers have uses, as do the unopened flower buds.

Pick and dry the old blossoms for use as a flavoring and thickener for soups and stews. These keep well and add a gourmet touch to any dish. Use the fresh flowers the same as squash or pumpkin blossoms, as a deep-fried treat.

It’s the buds that draw me, though. Cook when yet small and firm and boil until tender, for five minutes or more. These have a texture, at least to my way of thinking, similar to green beans. A slight peppery taste precludes the need for black pepper.

The day-lily season lasts about two weeks, quite long when compared to some of springtime’s ethereal treats. For me, blooming daylilies are a hallmark of summer, the high point of the season. Others, when contemplating the month of July, may think of swimming, picnics and barbeques, hiking or boating. Ask me what comes to mind regarding July and I’ll say, “daylilies.”

Cattail Season in Maine

2011-06-28T13:30:00.000-07:00

Many of us establish our own little traditions, things we look forward to from year-to-year. One of mine involves harvesting seedheads from common cattails, Typha latifolia, for my Fourth of July celebration.

Picking the green seedheads is easy, but finding them at just the right stage for harvesting often requires repeated visits to wetlands or small ponds. When ready for cooking, the seedheads (that is, the sausage-shaped spikes atop the plant) should be light green in color and just soft enough to crumble under moderate pressure from a thumbnail.

It takes but little effort to snap many dozens of ripe seedheads from a colony of cattails. And the week of July 4, give or take a few days, stands as the height of cattail season in Maine.

Take the spikes home and set a pot of water to a rolling boil. Drop in the seedheads and cook for about 10 minutes. Drain and serve with butter, salt and pepper. Then, treat as per corn-on-the-cob. Hold the seedhead by what remains of the spike and gnaw away, twisting the spike as you nibble.

I used to blanch and freeze these specialty items for winter use. But with limited freeze space, it’s difficult to decide among all the wonderful wild foods. Cattails are delicious and perhaps some will wind up in my freezer this year. But if not, that’s okay too. Such high-grade treats as these are best enjoyed fresh.

Anyone who has not tried cattail seedheads has a fine treat in store. But don’t wait too long, because the seedheads will eventually become covered with pollen and no longer good for cooking. The pollen has its uses too, but that’s a topic for a future blog.

Daisies

2011-06-27T05:13:00.001-07:00

One line from the movie Tombstone stands out in my mind. Doc Holliday has just bested Johnny Ringo in a gunfight. As Ringo fell, Holliday looked at him and said, “You’re no daisy. You’re no daisy at all.”

Which, as you might imagine, has me thinking of daisies. Ox-eye daisies have edible buds. These taste so much like carrots that as I chew on them, I keep waiting for the crunch.

The foliage is edible too, but it’s the buds that are my favorite. These are best used in a salad, where they impart a definite carroty flavor. Don’t use too many, though, since they can overpower other elements of a garden or even a wild, salad.

Also, I see that purslane is starting to show in my garden beds. By mid-to late-July, I should have sufficient purslane for a hearty stir-fry. Then, I’ll take a picture and post it here.

Here in Waldo, Maine, the season is a bit tardy. Plants should be larger and further along than they are. But if and when sunny, warm weather reigns again, they will catch up quickly. Until then, we at least have daisies.

Maine's Short Growing Season Prompts Rapid Plant Growth

2011-06-22T13:09:00.000-07:00

Regular readers will recall my oft-repeated admonition to study our wild plants during all the different stages of their growth. Now, in late June, we have an excellent chance to study two common, edible plants. These are curled dock, Rumex crispus and bunchberry, Cornus canadensis.

Driving down most any rural road (and even some major highways) will reveal the striking seedstalks of curled dock. These are long and tapered, with the lance-shaped leaves often hanging down in the manner of a partially-husked ear of corn.

Anyone wishing to introduce curled dock to a new location need only wait for the seeds to fully mature and dry. Then, it is a simple job to walk about and shake them off the seedhead. Or, you could even go to the trouble of saving the seeds and planting them in cultivated ground.

Later, these same seedheads will serve as a center foil in any dried flower arrangement.

Next, bunchberry has a month or so before the bright-red berries develop. Right now, the plant is still in flower, although around my place, the flowers are beginning to fade. But a shady woodland, carpeted with blooming bunchberry, makes a striking sight.

All of Maine’s useful wild plants share one thing in common. They must break ground in spring and begin growing to maturity as fast as possible before the first killing frost. In many cases this involves flowering, developing and shedding seed, all in about five months, more or less.

Such an abbreviated growing season means that none of our wild plants look exactly the same from one month to the next. Some undergo remarkable physical changes from one week to the next.

Foragers and those who just plain appreciate wild plants will do well to learn to recognize plants at all stages of their development.

A good day in Maine

2011-06-21T04:00:00.000-07:00

For me, every day is a good day. Of course some are better than others. But yesterday excelled.

I had the pleasure to fish the Kennebec River from Augusta to Hallowell, with a friend who also happens to be my boss. This humble man knows the river as I know my woodlot…that is, intimately.

Harry gave me a detailed history of what we saw along the shore, as well as what fish populated the river and when and how they came to be. But he also added something that shattered one of my long-held beliefs.

Specifically, I had always thought that on any tidal river, the water was at least partially saline, or brackish, as far upstream as tidal influence held sway. For instance, I would have testified that the Kennebec, as far as the first dam in Waterville, had at least some salt content. After all, the water rises and falls according to the tide.

Not so, according to someone who has studied and researched this topic for some time. Harry explained it to me this way.

While the salt water flows in with the tide, a flowing, freshwater river exerts a like influence. “The river never stops flowing,” Harry said.

It works this way. Fresh water from a river (or even a stream, on a smaller scale) meets salt water from the sea. The salt water pushes in with the tide, an inexorable force. But there comes a point where, although the tide continues to push in, the two waters do not mix. Fresh water pools up and because the tidal push is so great, the fresh water rises upstream, even in purely freshwater sections of river.

So the head of salty influence on any flowing water is yet to be determined. I plan on doing a taste test on several local streams and rivers. And no, I won’t drink the water but I shall stick my finger in and then give a perfunctory lick in order to see if it exhibits any saltiness.

Consider the map of Maine. Look at any coastal town, village or city. Frequently, you will see a place named, rather generically, “Head of Tide.” I always thought that this referred to the line of demarcation between fresh and salt water. It doesn’t.

Let’s add something else to the mix here. Tides are not all the same, ever. The moon exerts a certain pull, or lack of. And this affects the strength and consequent height of any given tide. Add winds, either onshore or offshore and we have a very unpredictable subject.

Clamdiggers are well aware of this. Although the tide chart indicates a negative tide, just the ticket for exposing far-out portions of clamflats, an onshore wind can thwart the moon’s influence, making it a poor day for clamming. The reverse is also true. A stiff, offshore wind can make a marginal tide into an exquisite one.

Every day, I try and learn something new. Yesterday, I learned enough to boggle my mind. Which is why I like being around those who have more knowledge than me or who are just plain better informed and even smarter.

It’s a dull individual indeed, who does not rejoice in adding to his or her personal body of knowledge. For me, it makes life worth living and I truly believe, keeps me young, at least in mind.

Woodland Wildflowers

2011-06-08T13:43:00.000-07:00

As a forager, wild edible plants take top priority. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy non-edibles, either. Wild plants of every type interest me, especially our woodland wildflowers.

I’m not alone in this, either. During my field trips, participants often ask me to identify various plants and many times, the plant is not edible.

Studying wildflowers makes a great and very fulfilling hobby. And since we foragers spend much of our time in the woods, along field edges and along streamsides, we necessarily encounter a host of different wildflowers. Some of these are native, some alien, or introduced. All are interesting.

One wildflower in particular that draws people’s attention is starflower, Trientalis borealis. A member of the primrose family, this 4- to 9-inch plant likes the dappled shade of forest edges. There, it often grows in vast profusion.

Look for two 6- to 7- petaled or pointed star-like flowers (thus the common name) on thin stalks, standing above a whorl of between 5 and 9 long, pointed leaves. Starflowers are blooming now and anyone who goes in shady woodlands ought to locate a stand without any problem.

As with any discipline, it takes time and regular effort to accumulate a personal database. For beginners, this requires a good field guide. My personal favorite, Peterson’s Wildflowers, has it head-and-shoulders above all others simply because of its excellent line drawings. I’ve often said that one good line drawing is worth 1,000 blurry photos.

I also use my Peterson’s guide for pressing flowers. I’ll identify a new flower, pick it and then press it in the book. Right now, my book bulges with pressed and dried specimens. These can last for 100 years or more if properly cared for.

I’ll highlight other wildflowers as time goes on. But for now, starflower is the wildflower of the week.

Blooming Dame's Rocket

2011-06-03T12:07:00.000-07:00

It pleases me to announce that dame’s rocket, Hesperis matronalis, has started blooming around my place. This member of the cress family, a crucifer (having four petals…as in a cross), is one of my all-time favorite plants.

I’ve discussed rocket in the past, but now that it is coming into bloom, it deserves further mention. The young leaves make a sweet, mild potherb, but now the plant lends itself to its best use, that of a highly-fragrant ornamental wildflower.

Not surprisingly, most of the flowers around and in my yard and garden are wildflowers. Many of these grow here because I have hunted them down in fall, taken ripe seed and scattered it here and there around my place.

In my book, Hidden World Revealed, I talk about something I call, “blue time.” This is when rocket, chives and lupine are all in bloom.

As attractive as are the blue flowers of rocket, they also come in white, pink and magenta. All in all, it is a handsome plant. The rather long, lance-shaped, harshly-toothed leaves only add to the plant’s overall appeal.

Dame’s rocket is biennial, meaning that a plant lives approximately two years and then sets seed, beginning a new generation. For those who love rocket as much as I do and wish to start their own colony, just find some in bloom now and mark the spot. Toward summer’s end, return and bring an envelope or sandwich bag in which to store your seed. Just shake the seedpods over the open envelope and you will have anough to get started.

Then, upon returning home, find some rough ground, perhaps a gravel bank or even some land that was disturbed and hasn’t yet grown back into grass or weeds. Strew the rocket seeds and then sit back and wait for next year. It’s really just that easy.

This lovely plant also lends itself to transplanting. The recent spate of cold, rainy weather has helped me to transplant several individual dame’s rocket plants. They have done remarkably well.

Now, when and if warm weather returns, I can think of nothing better than to sit outside at night, binoculars in hand, searching for double stars and deep-sky objects and getting lulled into euphoria by the near-cloying aroma of night-scented, dame’s rocket.

Dame’s rocket is surely a plant that is worth getting to know.

Jewelweed Time

2011-05-27T07:29:00.000-07:00

Jewelweed, Impatiens canadense, has grown to just the perfect height for picking. Look for this rather unassuming plant in wet areas, along streams and brooks and even roadside ditches.

As a potherb, jewelweed falls into a category of its own. It offers only a brief timeframe for harvesting and has what I consider a unique taste.

To pick, gather whole plants. It’s best to trim each plant at the base, but if you simply pull it up intact, then just trim the roots with a pair of scissors. As long as the plant is somewhere between 2 and 4 inches tall, it can be used whole…stem and leaves together.

To prepare, simmer about one inch of water in a saucepan, add rinsed jewelweed and stir. It only takes a minute or two to cook. Then drain and add spices to taste.

Jewelweed grows in dense colonies and pulling entire plants does not harm the colony in the least. The stuff self-seeds with a vengeance, which accounts for its alternate name, “wild touch-me-not.” When the ripe seedpods sense any kind of pressure, as from a human thumb and forefinger, it literally explodes, sending seeds out in a great burst of energy.

A spring-like mechanism inside the seedpod unwinds upon receiving the signal to let go and that’s what makes the thing burst open. It’s one of the marvels of nature and rates up there as a true wonder.

Later in summer we can discuss alternate uses for jewelweed. But for now, at least for the next week or so, it’s time to enjoy the culinary aspects of this marvelously-hardy and useful wild plant.

Before closing, let me say how pleased I am with my new book, Tom Seymour’s Forager’s Notebook. It’s another release from Just Write Books, Topsham, Maine.

Hardcover, my Forager’s Notebook contains lots of old-time, money-saving hints, a yearly calendar consisting of five weeks per month (this makes it open-ended and good for any given year), a “wild plant of the month” and lots more.

Look for a cover photo and more detailed information on this blog…coming soon. Meanwhile, let me say again that I really like this book and have begun using it myself for my “wild” notes.

Constant Rain Dampens Tom's Enthuiasm

2011-05-20T12:43:00.001-07:00

I truly do not like tromping about outside in the rain. Oh, the occasional showery day presents no problems and sometimes, I feel something like comfort from a warm mist or all-enveloping fog. But day after day of rain wears thin.

Foraging for wild plants, at least for me, has gone on hold. On the other hand, I rely upon certain seasonal goodies and this unplanned hiatus from foraging has put a certain crimp in my lifestyle.

For instance, today, instead of any of the numerous fresh, wild greens I could and would have had for lunch, I was relegated to dine on home-canned green beans from last season. These are fine in winter, but in late spring, I don’t want canned. I want fresh.

So I’m just as antsy as can be, practically jumping up and down with anxiety and anticipation, wanting to get out and do what I do this time of year.

Fortunately, I’ve plenty of inside work to keep my mind occupied. Writing assignments galore tie me to the keyboard. But still, that little voice gnaws at my innermost being. “What’s up now? It’s time to harvest dock. Perhaps jewelweed is just right for picking,” A hundred similar questions plague my poor brain.

One thought gives me comfort. Soon, seaside foraging will come into play and at least walking along a beach does not include getting drenched from water clinging to bushes and trees. Rain or shine, seaside foraging can and will happen.

But oh, do I long for a dry, sunny day. It’s not up to me, though. All any of us can do is wait and hope for the best.

Protect Yourself From Ticks

2011-05-17T08:12:00.000-07:00

Insect repellent with DEET was always my first choice for protection from biting insects. But DEET has the bad habit of eating the finish off of fishing rods, plastic items and it even makes the wood sticky on my pipe chanter.

So I recently decided to use Old Time Woodsman’s Fly Dope, which contains no DEET and is quite effective in keeping blackflies at bay. Besides that, it has (to me) an enticing scent.

Typically, I’ll douse my face, hands and neck with Old Woodsman’s before going outside. But this does not protect me from critters that might crawl up inside my pants leg. I found this out the hard way, just this morning.

Last night in bed, I noticed a “bug bite” on my inner thigh. I thought little of it and promptly sank into a sound sleep. This morning, I remembered the bite and decided to take a closer look at it.

I recoiled at the sight of a tick, partly dug into my hide. The usual alcohol treatment did not cause it to withdraw, either, so I used tweezers. But it still wouldn’t budge. Finally, by pinching the skin and keeping pressure with the tweezers, it let loose.

I called the doctor’s office and now must go in so that they can determine if I got all of the tick’s parts from my thigh. And since it was on me for an undetermined period of time, they plan to start me on a regimen of antibiotics, a very unpleasant prospect indeed.

Why do I mention this? For your sakes. If you are reluctant to use DEET on your skin, then go ahead and use whatever else works for you. But for your clothing, particularly socks and pant legs, please spray yourself with something containing DEET.

Also, it helps to wear light-colored clothing. This makes ticks easier to spot. I always wear jeans and this puts me at a disadvantage.

Finally, a nightly “tick check” is in order, at least for the next few months, when Lyme-disease-carrying ticks are most active.

I don’t remember having to worry about such things in the past. But times are changing and all manner of unpleasant insects have spread into the State of Maine in the last 20 years or so. Fire ants, for example, are a problem in Down East Maine. These are aptly named…I can say that from personal experience.

The bottom line is to please, do everything to protect yourself from the insidious threats posed by ticks. And don’t forget to do a daily body check.

Woodland Plants of The Mottled Shade

2011-05-16T10:46:00.000-07:00

The steady passage of time bears heavily upon plant habitats. Pioneer species such as poplar and birch give way to taller, shadier deciduous trees. As this happens, a number of species that depend upon the mottled sunlight of spring die off as the forest canopy becomes thicker.

The process works the other way, too. Selective cutting often creates just the right environment for these early spring plants and they are quick to colonize.

Among these springtime treats are Clintonia, or corn lily, and large-leaved aster. Clintonia first.

This plant has two or three shiny, roundly-pointed leaves. These very slightly resemble the toxic lily-of-the-valley. But Clintonia leaves are wide in the middle and lily-of-the-valley leaves are rather slender.

When young, Clintonia leaves are delicious raw. They have a distinct cucumber taste. This is obvious when the leaf is crushed or broken and helps to make the distinction between Clintonia and lily-of-the-valley.

Often, people ask which domestic vegetables the different wild plants taste like, a difficult question to answer because every wild plant has its own, unique flavor and seldom does a wild plant taste much like any domestic vegetable. Clintonia is one of the exceptions.

I like my Clintonia snipped fine with scissors and added to a salad. It saves buying hothouse cucumbers, a real plus. When the plant sets blossoms, the cucumber taste becomes too pronounced and is no longer pleasant.

Another plant of the mottled shade, large-leaved aster is ready now. This unassuming plant grows in often-huge colonies in places with dappled sunlight. When young, the leaves make a fine potherb when boiled. I particularly enjoy the leaves before they have fully unfurled.

The window of opportunity for harvesting our edible wild plants at their peak of perfection is often short. In the case of the two plants mentioned here, it is too short. So if you aspire to sample either of these, better get out now. Soon, the plants will be gone by and it will be another whole year before the opportunity presents itself again.

The good news is that as one edible wild plant fades, another comes online to take its place. Stay tuned for more.

Contingency Plan For Summer, 2011

2011-05-16T10:14:00.000-07:00

Cold. Wet. Windy. That describes our recent weather and also, the weather for at least one more week.

Shades of 2009, the year with little or no sun from June through mid-August. That year, my crops failed because my gardens were turned to wetlands. The saving grace, of course, was the wild bounty. Although my beans, chard, carrots and others failed, wild edible plants managed to pull through just fine.

While perennially optimistic, I must admit that this year is stacking up to be a repeat of 2009. Since such things are impossible to anticipate and we’ll only know for certain after the fact, it makes great sense to go ahead and plant our gardens but also, spend some extra time in woods, fields, wetlands, seashores and lawn edges, foraging for wild edible plants.

One of my favorite summertime favorites, and one that will soon be of a size to harvest, is goosetongue, or, as the old-timers would say, “shore greens.’

Goosetongue, Plantago juncoides, has long, slender leaves and a seedstalk very similar to common plantain. Great steamed or chopped and mixed in simple salads, this versatile plant freezes well and also lends itself to home canning.

So in only a few weeks, I plan to go out and pick enough goosetongue to can. It’s best to pick this plant early, before the seedstalks emerge. That circumvents the need to separate leaves from seedstalks.

While I fervently hope that summer 2011 will turn into a sunny, pleasant season, it’s good to have a contingency plan for just in case it doesn’t.

Trout, Fiddleheads and Japanese Knotweed--what more can a man ask?

2011-05-03T13:45:00.000-07:00

What a difference two or three days make, especially in spring when wild edible plants are popping up all over like mushrooms after a September rain.

Friday, my efforts resulted in a handful of tiny ostrich ferns and some false Solomon’s seal to nibble on, plus some Japanese knotweed shoots. Not a bad haul, but nothing to put meat on the bones either.

Today, Tuesday, I picked a half-bushel of dandelions from my front lawn and a similar quantity of ostrich fern fiddleheads from a nearby stream. This grand effort took the better part of a day and was precipitated by the knowledge that rain is coming and will stay with us for at least three days, precluding any wild plant harvesting. At least for me, that is.

I wrote a friend the other day and concluded my message by saying, “life is good.” And for me it is.

Yesterday, after knocking off a column for the outdoor magazine I write for, I decided to head out and try and catch a rainbow trout. I had heard that rainbows were plentiful in a certain section of river.

Knowing where these silver-and-raspberry colored trout usually hold, I headed to the scene of past successes. It took much effort to crawl down a rocky bank, with loose rocks and clinging brambles, but finally I reached the bottom.

My hunch paid off. My efforts resulted in two, gorgeous rainbow trout, taken on artificial lures and ultralight spinning tackle.

Before leaving, I picked a bunch of Japanese knotweed shoots and put them in my fish creel.

Talk about a good day. And add today, with the bounty of fiddleheads and dandelions. For someone like me who lives rather close to the bone and depends upon seasonal offerings such as this, I must reiterate my closing salute to my friend: “Life is good.”

Before leaving, let me say that "NLO" wrote, telling me how excited she is in finding some of the wild plants that we discussed in this weekend's adult ed class in Gardiner, Maine. Well, NLO, I am equally as excited. I always get a thrill when people new to foraging for edible wild plants find something new. It is my pleasure and honor that I was able to assist you in this worthy endeavor. Thank you, NLO. And keep up the good work.

Tom

Welcome Foraging Season 2011

2011-04-29T12:17:00.001-07:00

Foraging has begun in earnest for calendar year 2011. Today on the way home from trout fishing, I stopped by a favorite sandy streamside and found a host of wild edibles.

Ostrich fern fiddleheads had only just begun to erupt, but I picked enough for a wee taste. Blunt-leaved dock was ripe for the picking, as was Japanese knotweed and wild oats.

While taking photos of the plants and munching on peeled stalks of wild oats, I mulled over one of the great ironies of springtime foraging. This is what many of us wait for all winter and even as spring draws near, it seems to remain at arm’s length. The plants that we wait so patiently for seem so very far away.

And then it happens, seemingly overnight (and perhaps it does happen overnight). Everything pops up and given the short window of opportunity for so many of the wild edible plants, the whole thing seems completely overwhelming.

Now that dandelions are coming into prime, I know that I’ll have at most, two more weeks to pick and pressure-can my next winter’s supply, a daunting task. But when Jack Frost taps on my window and snowdrifts pile up to knee height, those home-canned dandelions are mighty welcome.

Ditto for fiddleheads. And the same for all the rest. I ask myself if I need to make Japanese knotweed chutney this year…there are five or six half-pints left from last year, and it keeps for several years without the slightest problem.

So here we are at the top of the hour, so to speak. The next three weeks are critical for those who like to preserve their wild edibles. And even for those who simply relish a fresh meal of their favorite wild treats, the woods, fields, streamsides, vacant lots, fallow garden beds and wetlands call. The time has arrived to partake of nature’s free harvest. Welcome to foraging season, 2011.

Snow For May 1

2011-04-27T11:41:00.000-07:00

Every year, it’s a question whether or not snow will linger along my driveway on the first day of May. Two weeks ago, I would have bet almost anything that yes, I’ll have snow.

But now I’m not so sure. Constant, driving rain has had more of a bearing on my disappearing snowpack than has the temperature. But now, with daytime temps in the 50’s and sometimes the 60’s, that, too, has worked its way.

Nonetheless, a fairly deep patch of snow remains on one shaded corner of my land. And with only three days to go, I’m hedging my bets. I really don’t know how long it will last. But if I were forced to take a stand, I would say that yes, there will be at least a trace of snow on May 1. You'll just have to stay tuned to find out which way this goes.

As much as it pleases me to see the land at last snow-free, the lack of snow presents one small problem. I do a bit of fishing each day…a stream down the road makes it easy to try my luck regularly. And on the way, I just stop halfway down my driveway and half-fill a small ice chest with snow. This keeps any trout I might catch fresh as can be.

So now it’s back to making ice cubes.

I realize all this sounds very un-exciting. But to me, it’s a big deal. Everything is relative and all these little, seasonal highlights combine to make life interesting. At least life in the slow lane, in Waldo, Maine.

Almost Here

2011-04-25T13:13:00.001-07:00

One old-time Mainer of my acquaintance had a stock answer to any question that began with, “Can I?” He would say in a rough, drawn-out voice, “Ya can if ya know what you’re doin’.”

Well, that generic retort comes to mind now when people ask me if they can find any number of wild, springtime edible plants. To paraphrase the above-mentioned character, I will say that yes, you can, if you know where to look.

Depending upon where you live in Maine, wild plants may or may not be available. In Mid-Coast Maine, most everything is still a tad too small, miniature versions of what is to come.

For instance, I found some curled dock today. But the entire plant would easily fit in my palm with my fist clenched. Soon, though, soon.

Along those lines, while driving along today, I saw some bloodroot in bloom. These pretty white springtime wildflowers precede ostrich fern fiddleheads and other great wild edibles by only a short time, perhaps one week. In fact, I would guess that early spots, particularly south-facing locations, would offer enough ripe fiddleheads for at least a scant meal.

So the time has almost, but not quite, arrived. Soon, it will all happen and to my mind, far too quickly. Why does nature pack everything into such a compact time span? I simply don’t know. I do know that things I would give an eyetooth for in February are wildly abundant in spring, but only for a short time.

The good news is, as one plant recedes, another takes its place. So from now until the first killing frost of fall, we have an endless succession of interesting, useful, healthful and tasty wild plants to deal with. That’s pretty neat, hey?

Trout, Dandelions and Groundnuts

2011-04-23T05:59:00.001-07:00

Two nights ago I decided to dig a few of the young dandelions that I had eyed for so long. They were small, tender and sweet and other than nibbling on some raw orpine, were the first wild vegetables of the season to grace my table.

My friend Ken Allen shared a thought with me regarding the slow onset of spring. Ken, a year my senior, does not remember an April this cold…ever. Neither do I. We had some real cold Aprils back in the 1970s, but not this cold. Today is April 23 and National Weather Service predicts scattered snow showers this morning.

But those little dandelions served to give me a taste of things to come. Better yet, I went trout fishing yesterday and in addition to catching three brook trout and one brown trout, was able to half-fill my basket-style creel with groundnuts.

So while most people have baked ham for Easter dinner, I look forward to trout, dandelions and groundnuts.

Phoebes On Ice

2011-04-20T10:02:00.003-07:00

For a noontime break from writing, I visited a local trout pond. A slight mist made me glad I had brought a raincoat. A breeze wicked away the heat from my hands, making them so cold that I immediately lost most of the feeling, making it difficult to cast.

In front of me and a bit to the side, a sheet of ice lingered, refusing to melt despite it’s having overstayed its welcome. The trout refused to bite, no surprise there. But on the water, I saw what looked like little, floating insects. This pond has an early midge (a kind of teeny, aquatic fly) hatch and these looked like midges.

Even more ironic, I saw two phoebes, tails bobbing frantically, out on the ice, picking up something. Was it midges, blown by the wind? I don’t know, but since phoebes are flycatchers, they were surely taking some kind of insects. But to see the little birds working a sheet of ice seemed so out of place.

Off toward the center of the pond, a larger bird swam about. A loon. The loons are back, at least here in Mid-Coast Maine.

I finally gave in to the cold, packed my gear in the trunk and drove home.

As miserable and uncomfortably cold as it is, the midges, the phoebes and the loon assure me that better times are surely coming.

Patriot's Day Thoughts

2011-04-18T14:14:00.000-07:00

Monday, April 18, and every government office in Maine is closed. Also, school kids are out in force, rather than being in class where, it would seem, they belong. This puzzles me. My calendar indicates no holiday on this date.

My only thought on this is that tomorrow, April 19, is Patriot’s Day. And I bet that the government has made a three-day weekend out of it for their employees, one of the “Monday” holidays.

This irritates me to no end. Certainly, some “made-up” holidays can, without a thought, be changed from one date to another. But to change the date for observing Patriot’s Day seems one step too far.

Patriot’s Day, as all who read this blog certainly know, marks the beginning of hostilities between the United States and England, the actual bullet-and-blood inception of the American Revolution. It happened in Lexington Massachusetts. American patriots knew that the British were going to move, but they were not certain when or exactly how or where.

I shall offer a re-hash of this event in the words of Robert Lawton, a well-known writer who tackled patriotic themes in the mid-20th century. Lawton writes, in his “Watchwords Of Liberty,” 1943:

“On Lexington Common a group of hastily gathered militiamen stood uneasy in the gray chill of an April dawn. Their appearance was not very military, there were only a few attempts at uniforms. Some were old men, some were youths, all bore arms of some sort.
“There had been the pounding of hoofs in the night, the clatter of windows, the slamming of doors, Paul Revere’s hoarse shout, “The British are coming!’

“There had been hurried dressings, sudden candlelight, fires poked up, muskets, fowling pieces and powder horns snatched from their pegs, old swords strapped on. There had been stumbling trots down paths and lanes, across fields, up the highways, dogs yapping gaily at the prospect of an unexpected hunt, and over all the churchbells far and near, clamoring a wild alarm.

“Now, as they waited, many a breath must have shortened, many eyes turned warily toward the Boston Road. Old Indian fighters looked to the priming of their muskets, cautioned the youngsters, while newmade officers strove to straighten the crooked ranks.”

“Then suddenly it came; the rhythmic, thudding march of three full companies of British Grenadiers, the jingle of harness, the rattling of equipment. Down the road they flowed: scarlet coats, towering shakos, glittering brass, pipe-clayed belts. Across the common they swept, formed ranks, halted.

“Up to the Patriot line trotted handsome young Major Pitcairn. “Disperse ye rebels,” he shouted, “throw down your arms and disperse.”

“Small wonder if, at this display of British might and authority, there was an uneasy stir among the Minutemen.”

“Then rose the sturdy voice of Captain John Parker. “Stand your ground!” he said. “Don’t fire unless fired upon! But if they want to have a war, let it begin here!” And there it began.”

“None knows who fired first, but there were scattered shots – then from the scarlet-clad ranks a sheet of flame, a roar, and a billowing cloud of black smoke. Almost before the smoke had cleared the stolid British were again in column, clumping down the road to Concord; the Patriots who still lived had melted away behind walls and buildings.

“the rising sun shone redly on eight dead men, nine wounded – and a continent at war.”

Those words stir me.

But did you know that April 1775, was the warmest April on record? True enough. As the fighting progressed, Americans pursued the now-retreating British down the Concord Road, back to Boston. And they did so in record heat. Leaves on deciduous trees had opened. It’s for sure that the Americans had long-since began to harvest fiddleheads and other wild foods.

So that’s Patriot’s Day. A day that other states don’t even bother to note. And a day for people to take a long weekend in Maine and Massachusetts (we were one colony in 1775). But how many of us take time to ponder the true meaning of this day? How many care?

I do. Do you?

Spring Bear

2011-04-17T12:30:00.001-07:00

A lady in my church makes it a point each week to describe all her wildlife sightings. Usually, she contains this to birds and sometimes raccoons or skunks. But today was bear day.

A bear, or more likely, a number of bears, live near her. She has visiting bears each fall, not an unexpected thing for someone far out in the country. But a springtime bear, that’s a different story.

In spring, about this time in Southern and Mid-Coast Maine, black bears break hibernation and awaken to an in-between time where plant food is scarce. Bears are omnivores and relish both meat and vegetable matter.

Anyway, my friend’s visitor made off with a suet feeder. I told her she should be thankful that that was all the bear did. Imagine going six months without anything to eat. That’s what bears do.

It’s only in recent years that wildlife biologists have realized the full extent of bear predation upon newly-born whitetailed deer. A little fawn makes a satisfying meal for a hungry bear.

Also, bears are pretty ugly at this time, quite understandable, given their situation.

When a month or so has passed, the bears should have satiated their ravenous hunger. But make no mistake. Black bears not only eat to live, but also live to eat. There is no time during their above-ground season that they don’t have food on their mind. But in spring, oh, bears will seek anything edible that isn’t tied down…and even things that are tied down are in grave jeapordy.

I’m anxious to attend church next week, so that I can hear the continuing saga of my friend Jean and her nuisance bears. And make no mistake, there will be a next time. Bears are like that.

May Day

2011-04-16T12:36:00.001-07:00

I guess it’s in my blood…or in the genes, anyway. The first day of May carries some significance to me.

In earlier times, residents of the British Isles noted the first day of May with reveling and celebrations. This tradition carried over to the New World and people in Maritime Canada and Maine held their May Day celebrations.

Old-time Maine folks will recall hanging May baskets on doors and then knocking. When the object of their affection saw the basket, that person would pursue the one who hung the basket. The end of this process culminated in a kiss.

Another old-fashioned pastime on May 1 involved hunting for Mayflowers. These are the tubular, sweet-scented blooms of trailing arbutus. Often hidden beneath fallen leaves from the previous fall, Mayflowers are not always easy to find. The hunt, then, carried a certain degree of excitement, anticipation and finally, the eventual reward upon locating blooming arbutus.

People also erected Maypoles. These were wrapped in colorful streamers. Dancing around the Maypole was a traditional part of our May Day celebration.

I am fortunate enough to have in my possession, a record of Music Of The Scottish Court, 1550-1625. The title tune on this classic recording is “O Lusty May.” Here is a stanza from that venerable tune, presented in modern English rather than the original King James style:

“Of all the months of the year
To mirthful May there is no peer
Her glistening garments are so gay
You lovers all make merry cheer”

While I don’t know anyone today who could give two hoots about May Day, I continue to celebrate in my own fashion. To that end, I play my tabor and pipe. This is an ancient instrument, very much present in medieval courts as well as in rural towns and villages throughout England Scotland and also on the Continent. The combination figured prominently into May Day celebrations.

The tabor is a drum, held by slinging a rope over the left wrist. The pipe is a fipple-style flute, played with the left hand. The right hand beats a lively tempo on the drum. It’s like walking, chewing gum and rubbing your head and belly at once. But I can do it. Practice makes perfect, don’t you know?

I wish I had a way of playing my tabor and pipe for you. Perhaps some day, technology will allow me to do so.

Anyway, no matter the weather, I intend, as I always do, to go outside, take in nature and walk about, playing May Day tunes on my tabor and pipe.

Such lovely little traditions as these make life worth living. I find it sad that we drift further and further from such things.

“

A Typical Spring Day In Waldo, Maine

2011-04-15T06:25:00.000-07:00

Driving down my driveway yesterday, I was met with a most impressive sight. A bird, about the size of a small chicken, was strutting its stuff. It was a male ruffed grouse and the ruff, a collar of black feathers around its neck, was puffed out like something royalty would wear in Elizabethan England.

Besides the ruff, its tail was held on a vertical, completely fanned out. Thus attired, the little bird looked for all the world like a strutting turkey, only of a much smaller size.

I watched for a while and finally, the magnificent little critter walked off into the woods. Peace be with you, Mr. Grouse, and may you sire lots of young ones.

But that wasn’t all that happened yesterday. Out by the roadside wetland, I was amazed to hear a chorus of wood frogs in midday. A neighbor said that she heard spring peepers the other night, but I’ll wait and see, or hear, for myself. I think it’s a bit too cold for peepers.

Today, while passing a farm on the upper end of my road, a huge swarm of birds zipped along in front of me, undulating and twisting as one. These were barn swallows and they, too, seem a bit early.

And finally, upon reaching my driveway, a much-anticipated sight met my eyes. The grader has come. Now the worst road in Maine will be, at least for a few weeks (the grader man never digs the potholes completely out and so they quickly re-form), passable to all motor vehicles.

And that is a typical spring day in Waldo, Maine.

Foraging Saves The Day

2011-04-14T06:46:00.003-07:00

For me, foraging is far more than a healthful and interesting hobby. At times, my physical well-being depends upon foraged foods.

I’m a forager and also a fisherman. I forage for food and for fun. I fish for food and fun. In both instances, notice that food comes first. A more fitting label for me might include the term “hunter-gatherer,” or perhaps the title that Euell Gibbons used so frequently, “neo-primitive forager.”

Let me cite an example of why, for me, foraging is much more than just a fun exercise in the outdoors. It looks as though I might need to empty my bank account and perhaps even borrow money to pay my income taxes. That will put me in the red for at lest several weeks. In the meantime, my frozen and canned food from last season is running low.

Fortunately, fish are biting and I can count upon that with some degree of regularity. Sure, the wild fish that I catch and cook myself are great, better than the farm-raised product we might buy in the store. But to tell the truth, I probably couldn’t afford to buy the store-bought kind if I wanted it. I do enjoy the Maine-raised Atlantic salmon, too, but it is so very expensive.

And ditto for vegetables. Fresh vegetables are priced way too high for me. But now, dandelions, evening primrose and several other wild greens are coming into season and they can and shall complement my fresh-caught fish.

I saw some groundnuts (potato substitute) along the riverside the other day, but getting to them was a formidable challenge. So I must wait for the water to recede a bit before harvesting my prize. When that happens, I’ll take photos and post them here, of course.

But back to foraging as a way of life. Simply put, I could not afford not to forage. And yes, my foraged food is of higher quality than commercially produced. In fact, most of what I gather cannot be bought…it must be picked, fresh, from nature.

So being a forager by dint of necessity has its ups and downs. For me, I couldn’t get by without foraged foods. And that, I think, is probably a good thing.

Live And Learn

2011-04-11T13:20:00.001-07:00

So near and yet so far. That’s how I feel about the upcoming foraging season. Here in Mid-Coast Maine, wild plants are still largely too small to harvest or they haven’t yet grown above ground.

Being anxious to go out and pick something, anything, I consulted various guidebooks and noted two wild plants that I had not yet tried. Both are available right now.

First, I tried an infusion (tea) of northern white cedar, Thuja occidentalis. One author described this as “evergreen-tasting.” So I picked a slight handful of leaves, chopped them up, placed them in a teacup and added boiling water. I let the stuff steep for about 10 minutes and then drained off the tea into a fresh cup.

So with a degree of excitement, I took my first swig. YEKKK! It was awful. The guy who said it was evergreen-tasting probably never tried it, or else he, too, would agree with me that northern white cedar tea tastes like what skunk spray smells like…perhaps even worse.

Next, I read that coltsfoot, Tussilago farfara, flowers and stems can be eaten fresh or cooked and are supposed to have a pleasant flavor. So I headed out back to give it a try. It took only a short while before a pronounced flavor manifested itself. Unfortunately, this, too, was a bad, bad flavor, something to avoid. The nasty taste lingered far too long on my unsuspecting palate.

I realize that taste is subjective. But even so, it seems difficult for me to comprehend how anyone could confuse “pleasant” and “terrible.” But people do.

Live and learn, I guess, is my motto for today.

Springtime Leaps Forward

2011-04-10T13:36:00.001-07:00

Nature has gone into high gear now as springtime advances by quantum jumps. It seems that each day brings a new “first of the season” sighting of some plant or animal. And today was, for me, a biggie.

The first thing I saw this morning upon looking out my front door was a mourning cloak butterfly. After hop merchants, these are the earliest butterflies to emerge. Like hop merchants, mourning cloaks (so called because their black wings, trimmed with pale crème, resemble the cloaks worn by mourners of a past era) hibernate in the forest litter, thus are able to resume their adult life in early spring.

Mourning cloak butterflies don’t fly very well and are, in my opinion, somewhat clumsy. It would seem that such a trait would make them easy prey for birds and other predators. But mourning cloaks have a defense, of sorts, that being the element of surprise. When alarmed, a mourning cloak emits a snapping sound, loud enough to startle a would-be predator. Interesting insects, these.

Later on this afternoon, again at my front door, an energetic little, gray bird lit on a tree branch. It immediately began pumping its tail up and down. Without thinking, I immediately said, “phoebe.”

Phoebes are insect eaters, taking their prey on the fly. This tells me that the extreme cold has ended, since flying insects must have fairly mild temperatures. As my friend Ken Allen would say, “Mrs. Phoebe didn’t raise no fool,” meaning that phoebes seldom make life-threatening decisions regarding when to head back north.

Finally, the new shoots of common daylily, Hemerocallis fulva, are big enough to harvest. I couldn’t find much else to mix with them for a wild salad, so I just ate a few as is, in order to get a taste of the new season.

So stay tuned to this blog, because as the season progresses, I will tell, and show you which edible wild plants are in season. We can share in the bounty, as it were. And isn’t that a good thing?

Three Springtime Firsts

2011-04-07T11:55:00.003-07:00

After leaving my eye doctor’s office in Bucksport, I decided to go home to Waldo via the back roads. While driving along an open area in the Town of Prospect, a welcome sight met my eyes…a long swath of brilliant yellow coltsfoot. These were so bright that they almost glowed.

A little later, further on down the same road, a pussy willow shrub caught my attention. The fuzzy, gray catkins had appeared, another sure sign of spring.

Then, while trout fishing on a little freestone stream, I saw something slide into the water as I approached a particularly “trouty” looking pool. It was a common garter snake. This amazed me, first to see a snake at all right now, especially in the bottom of a cold, snow-filled valley. And second, that the snake took to the icy-cold water in order to escape me. It would seem that a cold-blooded animal would immediately become paralyzed upon plunging in to near-freezing water.

I tried to help the little critter out of the stream by probing with the tip of my fishing rod, but it escaped me. Figuring that if it had enough energy to evade my well-intended efforts, it probably had sufficient steam left to crawl back out of the water after I left, which I did immediately.

These three events have one thing in common. They are all “firsts” for the new season. As such, they deserve to be noted down for posterity, either on a calendar or in a notebook or journal.

So spring has really arrived and from now on, things will only get better. Keep your eyes and ears open and prepare to witness nature at its best.

Forcing Birch, Rescued Crocus

2011-04-06T09:03:00.001-07:00

Winter lingers in the little valley where my cottage sits. Snow lies thick in the woods, far too deep for casual walking. My location has the distinction of being one of the last places for snow to melt. I have had remnant patches of the white stuff well into late May.

So how do I find spring? What to do to find some kind of seasonal cheer?

Well, for one thing, forcing white birch branchlets gives me a good foretaste of what’s to come. Two weeks ago, I went out in the morning and walking on the hard-frozen snow crust, cut a handful of epicormic (waterspouts) branchlets from a little birch just off the trail.

These were placed in a small vase, watered and the vase set atop my refrigerator. And now, the branchlets are covered with those delightful, lime-green leaves that birch wear so proudly in spring.

Anyone can force the tender, green leaves of spring. You needn’t just use birch branchlets, either. Alders lend themselves to forcing, as do many others, including willow. This has become an annual ritual for me and the same may well become the case with others who try it.

Next, flower and garden shows do much to make me think spring. In fact, I’ll be speaking and signing books at the Manchester Home And Garden Show slated for this Saturday, April 9, at 11 a.m. at the Augusta Civic Center. This sounds like a fun time for all and I’m certain that at the very least, it will put me in a “spring” frame of mind.

Here’s a funny one. Just before last Friday’s snowstorm, I decided to try and save my just-beginning-to-bloom bed of crocus by placing a blue tarp over it. I mentioned this in a previous blog. Today I removed the tarp and what a wonderful sight greeted me. The crocus were mostly all now in full bloom, a beautiful sight, especially against a background of unwelcome snow. It worked! Sometimes we do win, little victories but victories nonetheless.

In a little over two weeks, I suspect that at least a few wild plants will become available. Meanwhile, patience is paramount.

Opening Day 2011

2011-04-01T10:11:00.001-07:00

My dream just before waking up on April 1 was that the snowstorm had gone out to sea. Reality, of course, was far different. Nonetheless, my pal Tony Wieman and I decided to go out trout fishing anyway, since there was at that time only about one inch or less of snow on the ground.

We first visited the spot where we always go every opening day. This is in a kind of chasm and the only way to reach the water is to climb down a steep, rocky bank. But today, the rocks were slippery and it was probably foolish of us to attempt the descent. We did it anyway and made it to the bottom unscathed.

But the fish didn’t bite and soon, we agreed to go to the next stream on our opening day list. Snow began falling harder and now several inches hung heavy on trees and shrubs. Still, we proceeded down the brook, this one much easier to negotiate.

And fortune smiled on us. The little brook was filled with fish and we caught all we wanted, only stopping when the snow became even more difficult to contend with. It was okay by me, too, since my fingers were so wet and cold that they had lost all flexibility. And our pants legs were soaked on account of walking through snow-covered brush. In other words we were miserable. But happy.

It was strange to be on this stream on April 1 and not have the opportunity to check out what wild plants had sprung up. Usually, false hellebore would have poked its pointy, tightly packed head out of the fertile, streamside ground. Buttercups, too, at least the foliage, would be in evidence. And usually, an early-arriving woodcock would flush from the place where early woodcock always find earthworms to eat.

But not today. The trout were there and so were we. But no woodcock, no plants, just cold, wind and a lot of heavy snow.

So that was opening day 2011. I’ve seen them as bad and also, far better. It makes little difference, though. These are the wayside marks for nature’s calendar and that’s the calendar I pay most attention to.

Poor Butterfly

2011-03-31T12:39:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I watched an insect fluttering close to the ground. It was a hop merchant butterfly, the earliest butterfly to become active in spring. The hop merchant can do this because it hibernates over the winter. This allows it to go about far earlier than other butterflies that do not hibernate but rather, hatch out from eggs laid the previous fall.

Today, the warm weather held and the hop merchant had a fine time. But tonight’s snow and tomorrow’s snow and rain will probably do the little orange-and-black butterfly in. Perhaps it has the ability to find shelter and thus stick out the storm, I just don’t know. I hope it can.

I must sound silly, worrying about a butterfly. But everyone needs someone to care for them…even butterflies.

DIF&W Short-Changes Brook Fishermen

2011-03-30T08:42:00.001-07:00

April 1, the first day of trout fishing in brooks, streams and rivers, a date that I anticipate with a passion. In fact, just the thought of going trout fishing keeps my spirits high during the winter months.

Of course April 1 is an arbitrary date and has no connection to fisheries management. Ideally, streams should open the first of the year and if anyone has the intestinal fortitude to go fishing, then more power to them. If they catch anything, they should get an award.

But while the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife (DIF&W) recently opened lakes (with certain exceptions) to year-round fishing, it has steadfastly refused to allow those of us who enjoy tromping along little wandering brooks and streams, to have an advantage.

The thing is purely on account of tradition. But then again, the opening day was once April 15. So what happened to tradition when, many years ago, DIF&W changed the date to April 1?

Anyway, we have had some perfect conditions over the last week or so. I visit my opening-day stream and literally drool, all the while shaking my head at the needless stubbornness of DIF&W.

And now, after all the anticipation, waiting and hoping, the National Weather Service predicts that a Nor’east snowstorm will slam us on Thursday night and continue during the day…opening day, Friday.

Will I still go out? I haven’t missed a season in over 50 years and hope not to miss one now. If humanly possible, I plan to at least go through the paces of fishing. But why can’t I and every other brook-fishing Mainer, be allowed to go today, when conditions are perfect? It’s just plain mean.

I have included some photos of my yard here in Waldo. Note the lingering snowbanks. I’m in a north-facing valley, where sunlight comes late and departs early. Looking at the photo, does it really seem as though we need any more snow?

Oh, I have also included a photo of some crocus blooming along a woodland path out back. This is my “before” photo. I’ll post another picture of the same flowers (or the same location, at least, depending upon snow depth) as an “after” shot.

All I can say is that this winter stuff is getting old, real fast. I want to go trout fishing. Badly.

Turkey Vultures, Wild Turkeys Seen in Waldo

2011-03-29T12:56:00.000-07:00

Just over the treetops, a huge bird soared, wings held up slightly, at a dihedral, the edges of the primaries fluttering in the breeze. Turkey vulture. The turkey vultures have arrived in Mid-Coast Maine.

In my youth, these birds were unheard of. But now, turkey vultures are regular fixtures of the Maine skies beginning in early spring and continuing until early fall.

While some may be tempted to suggest that global warming has drawn these huge scavengers north, the truth is far more prosaic. The Interstate Highway System, coupled with increased traffic on other primary and secondary highways is the real reason for the turkey vulture invasion.

Turkey vultures follow the retreating snowpack north each spring, seeking road-kill carrion or, as some bird-watchers like to say, “TV dinners.”

Anyway, I watched the vulture for a while and then continued on my way. Later, upon returning home, I heard a familiar sound coming from back on my woodlot. Wild turkeys. The gobbling told me that were I a turkey hunter, it would be easy pickings. But since turkey season falls smack dab in the middle of the year’s best trout and salmon fishing, I don’t bother going out.

But the presence of turkeys also alerts me to expect trouble with my garden. Groups of turkeys often invade my garden beds, scratching and uprooting vegetable seedlings. It’s a full-time job to keep them at bay with lots of hand waving, yelling and sometimes a little cussing.

But that’s the price we pay for living in the woods and going hand-in-hand with nature. It’s worth it, too.

Northern Bay Adds Taste of Summer

2011-03-26T11:14:00.000-07:00

A television ad for a seafood restaurant chain made my mouth water for lobster. So I called my friends Dan and Tony and they, too, were ready for the first lobster feed of the year. So Dan picked up a good-sized lobster for each of us, as well as six pounds of clams. Then the two came to my place, where I had a large kettle on the boil, ready for our seafood.

But we soon encountered a problem. I wasn’t sure if Dan was going to bring clams, so I picked up five pounds. This made a total of 11 pounds of clams, an awful lot for three guys, especially on top of a big old lobster.

So what to do with all those clams? We could in no way eat them. So it was decided to cook them anyway, eat what we wanted and leave the balance at my place. The next day, I would shuck them and make pickled clams, a favorite dish among our little group.

After shucking and rinsing the clams in their own broth, I packed them into Mason jars and added to each jar, two or three dried leaves of northern bay, a slight sprinkle of Old Bay Seasoning and then covered them with white vinegar. Then the jars went into the refrigerator, where the flavors of all the ingredients could properly mingle.

I harvest leaves of northern bay, Myrica species, in late summer, when the sweet, bay scent is powerful and the essential oil is most potent. Dried and stored in an airtight container, these are ready for use any time in not only pickled clams and mussels, but also soups and stews.

In about one week, we will tap into our pickled clams. And I’m sure that the extra flavor imparted by those wild bay leaves will give us a wee taste of summer.

These pickled clams are a delicious snack. I haven’t yet met anyone who could eat just one.

Wild Versus Cultivated

2011-03-25T07:14:00.000-07:00

The switch from hunter-gatherers to the more settled lifestyle of tillers of the ground changed the nature of human civilization. By saving seed and domesticating animals, people were enabled to settle and stay, almost anywhere weather and climate permitted.

So now we raise everything that we need, negating the need to hunt game, catch wild fish and forage for wild plants. But is this really such a good thing?

Most people now fish and hunt for sport and enjoyment, not because they need the food. And wild plants are, for the most part, a novelty. But consider the following.

Nothing that we labor to raise comes easy. Nothing. Want your own apples? Better prepare for a deer invasion. The only thing that keeps the tree-destroying ungulates away is a very tall wire fence.

Want to raise your own fish? I do, simply because I love having trout available when I want them. But each year, a mink visits my ponds and kills whatever trout remain. I try and catch them all out before the mink arrives, but that never works. Other people lose their fish to droughts. The whole thing is costly and fraught with frustration.

Vegetables. I love cabbage, broccoli and in fact, all of the brassicas. But those awful cabbage worms work hard at destroying my crop. The only answer, other than pesticides, is to cover the plants with a special cloth that allows sunlight and moisture to penetrate but (hopefully) keeps the cabbage moth out so that it can’t lay eggs that will later turn into those nasty, green worms. But the cloth is expensive and strong winds often blow it away, giving the moths time to do their dirty work.

I love root crops, too. But my carrots always fall prey to root maggots. The same goes for turnips and rutabagas.

My dreams of being a sheep farmer were dashed when coyotes began killing my prized horned Dorset sheep.

Hopefully, the above examples are sufficient to illustrate the difficulty in raising food. The battle is worth it, of course, since whatever we manage to salvage from insect, avian (wild turkeys often mow down vegetable seedlings) and mammalian interlopers is of far better quality than what we might buy.

But let’s consider a contrasting point of view. Fish, wild freshwater fish, are available in huge quantities. I’m not talking about trout and salmon, either, but rather I mean warmwater verities, ultra-prolific species such as white and yellow perch, black crappie, cusk and hornpout (bullheads). These abundant fish all make fine eating and catching and keeping numbers of them absolutely does not harm the population. In waters where people do not remove sufficient numbers, these species often become stunted…too many fish vying for a finite amont of forage.

How about wild game? The fact is, and this is an important point, wild game cannot be stockpiled. It’s a case of use it or lose it.

Finally we come to wild plants. Every year about this time I ask myself if it’s really worth it to work so hard at planting a garden. After all, I could do as well by concentrating entirely upon wild plants.

Wild plants seldom fail because of pest problems. We don’t need to plant them because they grow on their own. Given this, why do most of us continue to work so hard at raising cultivated vegetables, all the while eschewing the high-quality wild plants that grow all around? I don’t have an answer to that.

At the least, it only makes sense in this time of economic woes, for us to embrace what was always there. The wild plants won’t fail us.

Geese, Robins and Coltsfoot

2011-03-24T10:29:00.001-07:00

It was so cold last night that it killed the lettuce seedlings in my solar-heated greenhouse. Tonight should see temps in the teens, a frightfully disheartening situation at a time when spring should have already spring.

But wait a minute. Just because we humans judge seasons by certain indicators, plants, animals, birds and fish have a totally different set of criteria to mark and guide their movements and actions.

For instance, huge flocks of robins arrived in Waldo a few days ago, just ahead of that big snowstorm. I always feel sorry for them when something like this happens, but on the other hand, songbirds are a tough lot. They’ll make out okay. And besides, birds need to arrive as soon as possible in order to begin the process of claiming territories, choosing a mate and so on. Also, if a nesting goes awry, an early bird often has time to try again.

Likewise Canada geese. This morning, a lone goose flew over my house at exactly 5:26 a.m. Each year one or two geese do their fly-by, telling me that despite cold, snow and ice, the season has begun. I suspect that the poor goose that I heard this morning will have to seek running water for a while, since all the lakes and ponds are still solidly frozen.

While spring is running late this year, it was well ahead of schedule last year. In fact, coltsfoot, Tussilago farfara was in bloom at this time last year. These are those bright yellow flowers that grow along roadsides, especially on gravel banks and along streams. Seeing the mass of yellow coltsfoot flowers, some people erroneously assume that dandelions are in bloom.

While coltsfoot has some medicinal uses, I feel that its true value lies in its simple beauty. The first colorful wildflower of spring does not need to claim any more attributes. Simply being there for us to enjoy is quite enough, thank you.

Later in the season, coltsfoot flowers and flower stalks die back, following which the leaves appear. I’ll try and remember to take some photos of them and post them here.

So keep an eye out for the brilliant-yellow blossoms of coltsfoot, a wild Maine plant that I very much admire.

Lingering Winter Lessens Tick Threat

2011-03-23T06:55:00.000-07:00

The first full day of spring, 2011, brought with it a major snowstorm. Normally, winter-weary Mainers can take such things in stride. But this particular storm was just the leading edge of a long stretch of winter-like weather, including intermittent snow showers and sub-freezing temperatures.

Needless to say, all our springtime outdoor activities are necessarily placed on hold.

Hope deferred makes the heart sad and the return of winter has saddened many hearts. So can we find anything at all good about this? To use another familiar phrase, “every cloud has a silver lining.”

Well, the silver lining here involves the life cycle of ticks, those nasty little critters that cause not only itching and infections, but also Lyme’s disease, a debilitating illness.

Anyway, several years ago I interviewed a wildlife biologist with The Maine Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife. The thrust of my story was how ticks operate and how they impact warm-blooded animals.

I learned that ticks fall from their host animals sometime in late winter or early spring and land on the ground. If, as in last year, snow has melted, ticks are able to successfully reproduce, in large numbers. But…if the ticks fall on snow-covered ground, as in now, most of them die and only a few survive.

Last year, I removed countless ticks from my poor hide. Of these, two had managed to take hold and bite. The sites where the ticks bit are still evident and sometimes, they itch. And yes, I was careful to remove the heads from the bite site. Tick bites are terribly unpleasant.

So at least this unwelcome spate of polar weather isn’t all bad. Perhaps this year we can enjoy the outdoors without undue harassment from ticks.

And eventually, spring must arrive for good. It has to, doesn’t it?

Orpine and Garden Gnomes

2011-03-18T12:00:00.000-07:00

Finally, for much of Southern, Mid-Coast and Central Maine, a few wild edible plants are now available. Today, I found some new shoots of orpine, sedum purpureum. These look vaguely like little cabbages and while small, say fingertip size, the entire plant is edible.

These make a fine trail nibble for hikers and fisherman and also, add an interesting dimension to salads.

Next, Oenothera biennis, wild evening primrose, is ready now as well. The young leaves from the basal rosette (leaves radiating out from the stem and lying flat on the ground) are another salad ingredient. The roots of these are edible too, and are best prepared the same way as parsnips.

And the ground ivy that I so laboriously dug out of the snow only days ago is now exposed to the sun and ready for harvest, no digging required.

With outside temperatures in the low 60’s, I found it difficult to sit inside and do office work. So I took a folding chair and sat in the sun for a bit. The warm sunlight on my face was welcome, as was the opportunity to finally sit outside without coat or jacket.

While sitting and enjoying the day, I glanced down to see that snow had left the weeping willow in front of my house and now I could see the little garden gnome lurking at the shrub’s base. I almost expected to hear a very British voice saying, “spring is here, spring is here.”

Of course we can’t expect today’s warmth to last. It’s not even officially spring…at least not until Sunday. But even so, we can finally and with much certainty, say goodbye to winter. See ya next year, old man.

Snow Shovel Foraging Take Two

2011-03-15T12:15:00.003-07:00

Perhaps a month ago, I wrote a blog about “snow shovel foraging.” I had planned to go out and do just that, too…shovel my way down to bare ground and harvest some ground ivy for a vitamin-filled, bitter tea.

But immediately after posting my blog, it snowed. And snowed. And snowed some more. In the end, I had no idea where anything was. It was so deep that it completely covered a two-wheeled, contractor’s wheelbarrow. So I decided to wait for the snow to recede, at least enough for me to get my bearings and make a rough determination as to the lay of the land.

So today, snow had sunk to the point that I discerned the outline of one of my raised-bed gardens. Knowing that ground ivy grew along the north end of the bed, I grabbed a snow shovel and had at it.

But the snow was granular, all frozen together in great, big clumps, too much for my plastic snow shovel to handle. So I got a long-handled spade and finally managed to dig down to the ground. And there, as suspected, was my ground ivy, as fresh and sprightly as ever.

So snow shovel foraging works…it’s just not the easiest thing in the world. At least its good to know that if necessity dictates, at least a few wild plants are available to us year-round.

2011-03-15T11:10:00.001-07:00

Worst Road In Maine

2011-03-13T13:02:00.001-07:00

This past Saturday I was privileged to be the speaker for the York County Master Gardener Association’s annual meeting at Laudholm Farm in Wells, Maine. I drove from my home in Waldo to Topsham, where I hopped in the car with Just Write Books publisher Nancy Randolph for the trip from Topsham to Wells. Nancy took care of selling books after my presentation, a good thing because I’m, as my Scottish pals would say, “noo sae good” at selling things.

Anyway, on the way down to Nancy’s, I noticed a dead cat in the road. On the way home, I passed the “cat” from the opposite direction and was amazed to see that it wasn’t a cat, but rather a raccoon. Which reminded me of an old man, long gone, who used to live just nearby. Old Russ had a speech problem and substituted “t” for “c” at every opportunity.

So without even thinking about it, I spoke out loud to myself and said, “I thought it was a tat, but now I see it’s a ‘toon.”

All of which goes to show that spring has sprung. Raccoons, skunks, muskrats and all manner of other critters are working their way out of hibernation and going about. So keep a weather eye out for animals crossing roads. They are out in force.

Continuing on with Saturday’s events, I arrived home around dusk. Going from the fine roads in southern Maine to the unpaved, secondary road where I live was a real eye-opener. While the road was badly potholed and very muddy that morning, it had completely deteriorated during the brief time that I was gone. Mud season had arrived, precipitously, to say the least.

In the perhaps 45 years, give or take, that I have driven this road, I have never, ever, seen it in such dire straits. Years of adding low-cost, bargain basement dead sand instead of true gravel have taken their toll. Ruts are everywhere and so deep that upon approaching a truly bad section, a motorist needs to stop and assess the situation before proceeding.

In a number of places, there were absolutely no choices, since the width of the road was churned to a quagmire and left, right or middle made absolutely no difference. So the question of speed presented itself. “Do I back up and try to go fast in hopes that momentum will carry me through? Or do I take it easy and try and seek some kind of high ground?”

After successfully negotiating two particularly troubling sections, I arrived at a point about 50 feet south of my driveway. But that was the worse section of all. One ridge, of sorts, remained. I hoped that keeping two tires on that would provide sufficient purchase to get me through the last major pitfall.

So on I went, all the time keeping my 5-speed manual transmission in first gear. Halfway through the gauntlet, the ridge gave way and my little sedan was engulfed, sucked deep in muck.

“Thooomp,” it went. Anyone who has ever bottomed out on a muddy road will recall not only the sound, but also the total feeling of despair that accompanies the process. However, fortune favored me and by keeping my wheels churning I was able, little by little, to progress forward in small but steady increments.

So I made it home, thankful for small blessings.

The next morning I headed out to church, going up the road instead of down through the scene of my former discontent. That section of road was slightly better and by dint of slow (no more than 5 mph) speed and strict attention to which path of travel offered the best option, managed to reach the far end of the road and on to better climes.

But upon shifting through the gears once upon the paved road, I noticed that my car shimmied, and badly. Getting dragged down in the mud has done something to my car’s front end.

This all makes me much less inclined to pay my property taxes ahead of time, as is my usual practice.

Mud season is one thing and bad roads are part of life in the country. But the East Waldo Road is in a state of criminal neglect. I hereby nominate said cowpath as the worst road in Maine. If anyone thinks they have a viable contender for that ignominious title, just let me know. I’m anxious to hear from you.

Maine Weather

2011-03-10T06:03:00.001-08:00

Every year about this time, I begin taking the long-range weather forecast seriously. I get this online from National Weather Service.

Some years ago I discovered how much fun it is to write down the predicted temperatures for the next 10 days and continue doing that each day. It simply amazes me how much the prediction for any one day can change over a period of 10 days.

For instance, the weather for March 17, St. Patrick’s Day, has gone from cold to warm, sunny to cloudy, rainy to showery. Even so, it is possible to see trends and that seems the key to understanding this data.

Of course April 1 is a big one for me, it being the first day of open water fishing in brooks, streams and rivers. And every day, beginning about now, I either smile or frown, become elated or mildly depressed, depending upon what that 10-day forecast says.

Along with their predictions, the online forecast also gives average high and low temperatures. So for me, it’s comforting to know that the average opening day of fishing season temperature is in the high 40s. That means, of course, that it could turn out much warmer.

On the other hand, I have gone out and tried to fish on April 1 in blinding blizzards, times when it was so cold that my fishing line froze to the rod. I always hope that those days won’t happen again. But they will, of course.

It’s great fun to play around with predictions and averages. But it all just points out one thing. There is nothing more unpredictable than the Maine weather.

Chives Alive

2011-03-07T09:19:00.001-08:00

While deep snow continues to prohibit me doing any “snow shovel foraging,” today’s rain has melted the snow and ice from a small portion of garden in front of my house. And there, pushing up from the still-frozen ground, are fresh, green shoots of chives.

Since the snow over my chives literally withdrew overnight, it is obvious that the plants had already put on new growth while still snow covered. And that is a great wonder of nature.

Later today, I plan on making a simple salad of lettuce, sprinkled with chopped-up chives. That makes chives the first green vegetable of the season, a real big deal for me.

On a similar note, the soil in some raised beds in my unheated greenhouse has thawed to the point that yesterday, I planted several rows of lettuce. The little greenhouse faces south and even on bitter-cold days, the temperature inside reaches a comfortable level as long as the sun shines.

So it has begun. The first garden vegetable, chives, has become available and the season’s first crop of salad greens is now in the ground and hopefully, well on the way toward germinating.

And soon, wild edible plants will come around and the foraging season will commence. It all thrills me to no end.

Promise becomes reality

2011-03-06T10:40:00.001-08:00

Today, Sunday, March 6, the promise of spring became reality. Up until now, Nighttime temperatures around zero and cold, harsh daytime conditions made it seem as though winter would never loose its grip on us.

But last night remained above freezing and today, snow melts so rapidly that the decrease in depth is noticeable from one hour to the next.

As a diehard brook fisherman, with native brook trout as my chief goal, I live for opening day. And every year, it seems, the same thoughts assail me. “Will the snow and ice melt by April 1 so that we can go trout fishing?”

And every year, as if by magic, despite 10-foot snowbanks in early March, spring arrives and trout streams become ice-free. This year, hopefully, will not prove the exception.

Here’s something else to cheer the winter-weary soul. I have a cultivated pussy willow shrub in front of my house. And while much of it remains locked in snow and ice, some branches are now freed from their wintry prison and are sporting those silvery-gray catkins that make that simple plant a beloved symbol of springtime.

So be of good cheer. Spring is on the way. Really.

Roe Your Boat

2011-03-04T09:46:00.001-08:00

Some friends asked me to accompany them last night on their smelt-fishing trip to the Kennebec River. Fish bit moderately well, giving us all enough smelt to satisfy our cravings.

As is their usual practice, my pals cleaned their fish in the ice shack prior to packing it in for the trip home. I followed suit but upon seeing that many of my smelt bulged with roe, it seemed wiser to wait until returning home to finish the chore. I wanted to make sure to save every little bit of roe and the dim light in the ice shack was insufficient for this.

Food prejudices come into play for many people who have not tried fried fish roe. Even calling it “caviar” fails to induce newbies to try a bite. Which is too bad, since roe has such a rich, sweet flavor.

Smelt roe excels not only because of its exquisite taste, but also on account of its fine texture. Other fish roe is certainly good tasting, but not all has such a fine texture, a desirable trait in fresh roe. Flounder roe comes in right along with smelt, but finding a store that offers it for sale seems an impossible task.

A long-ago fish market in Rockland used to sell flounder roe each spring and I bought lots of it. But the store is gone, as is the demand for flounder roe.

Which brings us back to smelt roe. My simple recipe calls for rolling the roes in flour and frying in olive oil or even butter until just browned. This treat tastes best when sprinkled with a bit of sea salt.

Smelt roe, one of those seasonal delicacies that I just can’t get enough of. I highly recommend it to anyone interested in experimenting with a new wild food.

Stranger In The Store

2011-03-02T08:41:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, being known as a wild food addict puts me in an awkward position. For instance, I forgot to thaw out any of my frozen fish or lamb last night, which meant that unless I wanted to dine exclusively on canned goods (oh, yummy), I needed to go grocery shopping.

Even the most Euell-Gibbons-ish among us sometimes gets a craving for less-than-healthful foods. My downfall? Onion rings. I love those frozen onion rings that you heat up in a toaster oven. Healthful? No. Delicious? Yes.

Anyway, there I was strolling down the isle with a package of Italian sausage (also not exactly health food) and a bag of Hannaford’s frozen onion rings sitting in my basket for all the world to see. A man, whom I do not know, passed by, glanced at my basket and said, “I didn’t expect to see you here in a supermarket.”

I backtracked, equivocated and probably turned all kinds of shades of red.

“Ahem. Well,” I said, switching the basket to the other arm in order to obscure the identity of its contents. “I forgot to thaw anything out last night, so I needed to pick up a few things.”

The man smiled and walked off. I’m not sure he believed me.

Another incident sticks out in my memory, too. This happened several years ago. Again, with a basket laden with “forbidden fruit,” I rounded the isle and came face-to-face with a guy who obviously knew me.

Grinning, he said, “I won’t tell anybody if you won’t.”

With that, he walked off. And again, I was totally chagrined.

So there you have it. Yup. I live mostly off the land. But every so often I get a craving for onion rings, sausage and a number of other non-wild foods.

I feel much better having said this.

Seminar Schedule

2011-03-01T05:51:00.000-08:00

It’s March 1, only 19 days to spring. Here’s an old English saying about the third month:
“A peck of March dust is worth a king’s ransom.”

Every so often, someone asks me when and where I will present my next foraging seminar. To that end, I’ll include regular updates here for those who might wish to attend.

As of now, I have the following, firm commitments:

1. March 12, Laudholm Farm, Wells, Maine. The York County Master Gardener’s Association has asked me to speak at their annual meeting. This will be after lunch, probably around 12:45. I’ll present a talk and DVD presentation all about wild edible plants that grow in cultivated soil.
2. April 3, Augusta Civic Center. I’ll put on a talk and DVD presentation at 3 p.m. as part of the Annual State of Maine Sportsman’s Show, hosted by The Maine Sportsman Magazine and Sportsman’s Alliance of Maine.
3. April 9, 11 a.m., Augusta Civic Center. I’ll give a talk, show a DVD and sign books as part of the Manchester Home and Garden show.
4. April 30, Gardiner adult education, exact place to be determined. I’ll present another picture/lecture and question-and-answer segment. For more info, call 582-3774.
5. May 14, Belfast. This also is a continuing part of my Gardiner adult Ed presentation and it will be a plant walk at locations around the Belfast Area. I’ll announce the time, although I suspect that it will begin around 10 a.m. Participants will meet at Reny’s Plaza, intersection of Routes 1 and 3 in Belfast.
6. May 19, 2 p.m., Dirigo Pines, Orono. I’ll put on a plant talk and include specimens and perhaps a DVD presentation.
7. July 7, Islesboro. I will put on a plant walk on the beach and also inland sections. Tentative time, 10 a.m. For more info, call Aaron Mcgquire at 734-6907. This is for Islesboro Land Trust.
8. July 24, 1:30, Holbrook Island State Park and Wildlife Sanctuary, Brooksville, Maine. I’ll present a wild plant walk around the old estate property, a woodland setting with lots of fields and edges, great for wild plants. We’ll conclude down at the shore. For more info, call Tammy, the park supervisor, at 326-4012. Holbrook is an unsung jewel in our park system…few visitors, gorgeous scenery. It even offers saltwater fishing and trout fishing on inland sections.
9. September 17, Greenville, Northern Resource Education Center, 10 a.m. I’ll present a wild plant talk and wild mushroom walk. Success of the mushroom walk depends upon availability, which in turn depends upon next season’s weather. For more info on this and other NREC events, call Sally at 280-0990.

That’s it for now. I’ll update these as the time draws near and add others as they come around.

Tom

Smelt

2011-02-28T09:23:00.000-08:00

What fish-loving Mainer wouldn’t relish a plate of fresh smelt, Osmerus mordax, rolled in fine cornmeal and fried in rendered salt pork? Even health-conscious types, those who would use olive oil instead of pork, must admit that smelt are one of the tastiest fish to swim in Maine waters.

A friend just returned from a night of smelt fishing on the Kennebec River. He gave me a package of smelts, cleaned on the spot inside the ice shack. These supplied enough for two meals.

But ice fishing isn’t the only way to catch smelt. Each spring, smelt, thousands and thousands of them, ascend tidal rivers up and down the Maine coast. They don’t all go back to sea with the tide, either, as evidenced by the huge number taken by dippers in South Brewer on the Penobscot River.

People also fish for smelt with rod and reel, too. In fact, smelt bite 24 hours a day, not just at night. Those hardy souls who dare to go out now with a spinning outfit, some shrimp meat or even a small jig such as Swedish Pimple, stand a chance of taking a good mess of smelts.

While not exactly a game fish in the same league with trout and salmon, smelt fight quite well given their diminutive size. Toothy, aggressive and willing to bite on almost anything, smelt are a real joy to catch on ultralight fishing tackle.

Here’s another thing. Down in coves and tidal rivers in Knox County, smelt make an annual, fall run. People buy telescoping poles, line attached, from outlets in Rockland. The prescribed method here requires going out at night on an incoming tide, baiting the four hooks (attached via a spreader) on the end of the line and holding the spreader and its little knob that serves as a strike indicator, just above the surface.

When a smelt bites (sometimes two or three bite at once), the knob turns, signaling that its time to raise the pole and grab the silvery, wriggling smelt.

Finally, smelt used to run in Belfast Bay when Stinson Cannery was still in business. I used to catch lots of them from the old footbridge and also, from my canoe, which I would tie to the Stinson wharf.

Smelt season is here. Even if you don’t go fish for them yourself, try and buy enough for at least one or two meals. You’ll be keeping alive a wonderful, old-time Maine tradition.

Try Sketching

2011-02-25T09:09:00.001-08:00

Two fields of study become far more enjoyable by the simple addition of sketches of the subject or subjects. These are astronomy and botany.

It took me years to realize that a person need not be an artist in order to make useful sketches. For astronomy, a sketch of whatever we see through a telescope or binoculars at any particular time becomes useful when looking at the same scene on a different night. By sketching stars, planets or whatever, we quite naturally become more familiar with that part of the sky.

The same goes for plants, even more so. Making simple sketches has greatly enhanced my study of wild, useful plants. Since plants differ in style and structure, it pays to become familiar with the idiosyncrasies of each plant. And sketching helps immensely. Here’s one example.

I had just completed a sketch of a mature ostrich fern and then compared it to a professional drawing in one of my field guides. It was only then that I realized that I had depicted the pinna, the primary divisions of the blade, “leaves,” if you will, as being opposite each other on the stipe (stem). In fact, these occur opposite each other on ostrich ferns.

This little technicality made my sketch null and void. And, it etched in my memory the true features of an ostrich fern.

Besides all this, sketching is fun and rewarding. It requires nothing more than paper and pencil and perhaps a ruler.

Surprisingly, for someone with little or no artistic talent or skills, my sketches do manage to impart the flavor and general appearance of the wild plants.

For me, sketching my favorite plants has become an important adjunct to my study and enjoyment of the same. Just don’t ask me to sketch people, fish or animals. That simply isn’t going to happen.

Gray Jay

2011-02-23T09:44:00.000-08:00

Every so often, a Canada jay appears at the plum tree in front of my house. These are also called gray jays and by old-time woodsmen, “gobbeys.”

Since gray jays are birds of the northern conifer forest, it is unusual for me to see one here in Mid-Coast Maine. But when it happens, I’m delighted. Here’s why.

Gray jays are charming, friendly little birds and will quickly warm to humans. In fact, they once followed logging crews in order to secure handouts in the form of table scraps and other treats.

But as social and outgoing as they are, gray jays do not frequent developed areas to any great degree. In fact, they are in my mind, the essence of wilderness.

So when a gray jay appears at my place, it tells me that despite encroachment by new people moving in and new houses going up, I still live in a place that is wild enough to suit a gobbey. And that knowledge tickles the heck out of me.

By the way, Robert wonders if I got lost looking for ground ivy. Well, I must admit that the snow is way deep, so I haven't yet done my "shovel foraging." I will soon, honest. Tom

Looking Ahead

2011-02-22T10:14:00.000-08:00

A freelance writer by trade, I write about nature, plants, insects and so on. I also cover fishing and other outdoor pursuits. As such, I write a number of regular columns for The Maine Sportsman Magazine.

Since assembling, preparing and editing manuscripts for a magazine of this size takes considerable time, MS writers must prepare our columns well ahead of time. This means that now, in February, I’m writing about fishing in April.

Discussing seasonal activities two months ahead requires acquiring a certain mindset. We must immerse ourselves in the topic, drawing upon memory and also, notes from one full year previous.

So now, with nighttime temperatures hovering around 0 Fahrenheit and daytime temperatures slightly below freezing, my thoughts and emotions are set smack-dab in April. That, my friends, is one way to beat cabin fever.

In fact, I just this morning wrote about trout fishing on the Piscataquis River. This rocky, riffly water in the southern reaches of the Moosehead Region flows through woods and fields, farm country and small towns, a true, Currier & Ives setting.

Additionally, I must soon go through my photo collection and select an image to illustrate my column. This, too, helps to bring the wonder of springtime home, even while it is yet winter.

So here I sit in my home office, scrutinizing photos of rivers, trout and scenic countryside. And in doing this, I am able to escape, if only for a short while, the difficulties of winter and transport my soul to a time and place that kindles joy in my heart.

Does cabin fever lurk at your door? If so, then perhaps you can find respite through some quite time, recalling pleasant days of a different season. And before we know it, the real thing will have arrived. It won’t be long now.

By the way, thanks to the readers who commented on my clamming post. It's good to hear from you. Tom

State Parks For Clamming

2011-02-20T10:24:00.000-08:00

For me, foraging means incorporating every wild thing I possibly can into my days afield. This includes clams and clam digging.

I am old enough to remember when Mid-Coast Maine absolutely brimmed with open clam flats. We thought it would never end. It did, though, and not necessarily because the clams went anywhere. They didn’t. It’s just that the rules changed.

Municipalities began selling nonresident clamming licenses back in the 1970’s. I remember, because I had a Tri-Town license (Stockton, Searsport and, I think, Prospect).

That was all well and good, since the licenses were inexpensive and we had oodles of places to dig. But the topic of pollution reared its ugly head. As per the law, a beach is presumed polluted until proven not polluted. And the State of Maine has not money or people (and sometimes it seems to me, inclination) to go around and test the water in order to make a determination. So otherwise fine clam flats remain closed to harvesting.

Still, some areas have long been and remain, clean and open to clamming. Of these, some are open to the public without any strings…no license, no anything. Just go and dig your peck of clams.

Where are these wonderful places, you ask? State parks.

As much as local governments might like to charge a fee for clamming (they are governments, after all. Fees and licenses are, well, you get my drift), they are prohibited from doing so.

Reid State Park, for instance, offers some great opportunities.

Continuing up the coast, many state parks are closed because of real or suspected pollution (refer to statement above). The majority of open areas sit in Down East Maine. Beginning at Holbrook Island State Park in Brooksville and heading way up (or down, as in east) to Cobscook Bay, the public may harvest clams on state property in accordance with state laws.

My point in presenting this? I recently met a gentleman who wasn’t aware of the opportunities available in state parks. In fact, I don’t think he really believed me.

Of course we must always check first before grabbing clam hoe and hod and heading out on the flats. But for those who love nothing better than a mess of fresh-dug clams, our state parks provide that very opportunity.

With March just around the corner and the likelihood of above-freezing temperatures, I can think of nothing finer than to spend a few hours digging clams, listening to gulls and breathing in the fresh, salt air.

So if you enjoy clamming as much as I do, why not look into visiting a state park? You just might find a whole new world of fun and adventure.

New Reserch Highlights Health Benefits of Knotweed

2011-02-12T09:30:00.000-08:00

An old saying went something like this: “If a plant is hard to kill, it is either very good for you or else it is toxic.”

In the case of some of my favorite wild edibles, the former certainly seems true. Consider dandelions and Japanese knotweed. Both, once established, are nearly impossible to eradicate. And both make good eats (as Alton Brown might say) and both provide lots of health benefits.

A recent trip to my doctor’s office revealed much about Japanese knotweed. Doctor Piel is a homeopath and often suggests various plant products for me to use…or to avoid.

Doctor Piel had recently read my book, “Wild Plants of Maine, A Useful Guide” and while he was testing me, our conversation turned to knotweed.

As it turns out, knotweed contains something called resveratrol. According to laboratory tests, resveratrol has anti-cancer properties and also promotes long life in humans. In fact, a well-respected medical herb company offers a product that contains Japanese knotweed root.

This amazed me, although it shouldn’t. I am aware that many of our wild edibles have medicinal virtues. But this new bit of information regarding knotweed came as a complete surprise.

Anyway, Doctor Piel didn’t suggest that I take this commercially produced knotweed product, since he is well aware that I eat knotweed fresh in season and as a frozen product out of season. It stands to reason that I must get a good, steady supply of resveratrol as a result of my knotweed consumption.

Oh, that same herb company also offers a number of dandelion-based products. Again, I eat dandelions several times each week, year-round. So I wouldn’t gain much by buying what is already available to me for free.

Oh, I’m not going to suggest that if everyone eats knotweed and dandelions, they won’t grow old or ever become ill. But still, it is truly comforting to know for a fact that the wild plants that taste so good are also good for us.

Hard Luck Fruit Trees

2011-02-09T10:47:00.000-08:00

Winter brings hard times to fruit trees here in Maine, but not necessarily because of cold weather. Apple trees, plum trees and some pear and cherry trees are very cold hardy. Winter presents other problems for fruit trees.

For me, having a ready source of fresh fruit was always a dream. I began planting 30 years ago and my efforts included different types of apples, pears, plums, cherries and peaches. You would think that I would have a flourishing orchard by now. But that hasn’t happened.

First, during one winter of deep snow, meadow voles found my trees and girdled most of them. When spring came, only a few had enough tissue in the cambium layer to sustain life. The rest died.

I did manage to save a flowering crab, by making several bridge grafts. These tied in life-giving sap from the very base of the tree to good bark above the vole damage. But while flowering crabs are nice to view in spring, they don’t produce edible fruit.

I finally purchased Vinal spirals to wrap around the trunk of my remaining trees. These solved the vole problem.

Then, deer found my pear orchard. I had a half-acre of pears and plums and put lots of time, effort and money into it. The trees responded nicely. Then one spring morning I woke up to find that deer had chewed them all down to nubbins. They have not bounced back. Scratch the pear orchard.

As of last week, I had one apple tree which I purposely situated only feet from my kitchen door. I figure it’s too close to the house for deer to dare approach. So far so good.

Also, two trees in back had somehow managed to survive vole predation. These trees were about 20 years old and deer had eaten them back twice and twice they pushed out new growth. I finally got one apple from one of them last year and had high hopes for continued success.

But after this last blizzard, I looked out the window and saw where a deer had wallowed through the snow and made a virtual road around both trees. There, it browsed to its heart’s content. Both trees have lost all the new growth from last year. Even if one or both manage to survive despite the deer damage, it will be many more years before they produce fruit. And I am not growing any younger, you know.

This leaves the apple tree in front, the crabapple tree with its pretty but inedible fruit and two plum trees on the edge of my lawn.

The snowplow man came by the other day to plow the two-inch snowfall (against my will…I didn’t feel like paying to have such a small amount of snow removed) and decided to “push back.” That is, he wanted to make more room for future snow. My drive is beginning to look like a bobsled run.

In pushing back, my friend drove over my lawn and garden beds…I’ll see how they made out come spring. Hopefully they are okay. But in his zeal to hurl accumulated snow as far from the drive as possible, he plowed down my two little plum trees. These had only just begun to produce and the plums were quite sweet and juicy. I doubt that they will ever bear again, if in fact they are not broken quite in half.

This leaves the crab and the edible apple tree in front. Knock on wood, both look hale and hearty. But only time will tell.

Sometimes I think that it just isn’t in the cards for me to have fruit trees.

Come On Spring

2011-02-08T08:51:00.000-08:00

A few days ago I wrote about my intention to go “snow shovel foraging.” Since then, umpteen feet of snow have intervened and my plans for digging for wintergreen and ground ivy are on hold.

I still intend to do my winter foraging, but it seems like a good idea to wait until the snowpack shrinks just a mite. Call me timid…but wallowing around in waist-deep snow doesn’t thrill me. Were it absolutely necessary, sure, but as long as I don’t absolutely have to, “I ain’t a-gonna,” as my grandpa Tom White used to say.

Anyway, this winter weighs heavily upon my sun-starved soul. Dark days follow each other in painfully slow succession. And when it isn’t dark and cloudy, it is way colder than we might hope.

I find myself asking, wondering if spring will ever arrive. And just when it seems as if the answer is “no,” someone will call me on the phone, wanting to set up a foraging trip for next spring or summer.

So every once in awhile, I’ll take a stroll, so to speak, through my calendar. Doing that cheers me greatly.

Also, working on new writing projects (in addition to my regular columns and magazine assignments) helps me keep my chin up. The latest item on in the works, a forager’s notebook, will feature a monthly write-up of a featured wild plant, weekly household tips and line drawings, by me, of the various plants.

The notebook will come into being through the kind auspices of Nancy Randolph, publisher of Just Write Books, Topsham, Maine. Just Write did my Wild Plants of Maine, A Useful Guide and also, Hidden World Revealed, Musings of a Maine Naturalist.

The notebook, meant for people to write in and keep notes, comes as a companion to Wild Plants of Maine.

Finally, be cheered knowing that we have only 40 days to wait until spring. We Mainer’s can surely handle that.