Yesterday we got the bug to clean up our room and get rid of some of the piles of papers and such that had collected over the last few months. I am pretty big on creating piles of crap – receipts, fliers, magazines, various notes, paystubs, etc. – but I am not so big on cleaning them up. The rain outside facilitated our cleaning rampage, and I even had time to roll up a few dollars in loose change.

In the afternoon the weather turned, and we decided to “blow off some stink” and take a walk to the train bridge. The rain had been pretty intense so the massively polluted Burnt Mill Creek was pretty high.

On the walk to the bridge, Kristin grabbed some honeysuckle and started eating the nectar. It is really good, but you don’t get a lot out of it.

You basically just pick the flower off the branch and pull out the filaments.

When the filament comes out of the flower, a drop of nectar will form at the base.

Among other uses, honeysuckle vines make strong cordage.

Along the walk to the bridge there are a huge number of mulberry trees, all hybridized into various shades and tastes. We found red, black, pink and white, some tasty and some not so tasty and others that we pretty gross. I thought the white mulberry had the best taste, but a few of the trees we sampled had no flavor at all.

Here is a white mulberry ready to pick -

Me picking black mulberries, sporting a well-worn AK Press t-shirt -

You can see all the various shades and sizes of the ripe berries in the sum total of our picking -

Unripe mulberries are hallucinogenic. With the hallucinations come severe nausea and cramps, so it might not be the best idea to run out and get some unripe fruit. Also, large amounts of ripe fruit can act as a laxative so take it easy unless you need that sort of thing.

Our walk brought us into contact with a bunch of creatures, most notable a huge amount of young frogs. The frogs were no bigger than a fingernail, and they were everywhere under our feet.

We also ran into a family of geese near the flooded creek.

While I was taking pictures of the geese, a man came down from this house to ask if we had seen the alligator that had come out with the flood. We hadn’t. He said it was about six feet long and traveling slow.

The next creatures we had to dodge were the fiddler crabs hanging out in the grass near the creek. Since the creek is inter-tidal and brackish, there are usually thousands of these crabs hanging out in the mud. With the flooding there were plenty in the grass and puddles as well.

And of course the flooding also brings out the record of human progress. Plastic bottles, Styrofoam to-go food containers and plenty of basketballs rush towards the ocean at low tide and back into the neighborhoods at high tide. The trash never really makes it anywhere as it builds up into floating rafts of debris or settles into the mud on the sides of the creek.

This is our legacy. If you contributed (and we all have at some point), thank you for helping build this pile of shit. If you need a reminder of why you should use refillable containers, why you should use the recycle bin or simply use a garbage can, then just come back and look at this picture…

One of my favorite places in Wilmington is a train trestle that bridges a tidal creek, specifically Burnt Mill Creek, near my house. My profile picture is of me and Kristin throwing rocks off the bridge. The trestle is only a short walk or bike ride from my house, so I end up there fairly often. It is a great foraging area most times of the year, and I went out today expecting to find something good. However, I got sidetracked and ended up exploring instead of foraging.

Under and around the train trestle are a series of above ground waste water pipes, pushing storm water and human “waste” from downtown and the surrounding area out to the Northside water treatment plant. I have walked on several of the pipes over the years, ending up in all kinds of interesting places. One of the pipes ends up behind the back lot of Screen Gems studios where you can see the prop buildings and various other crap from the movie and television industries. Another pipe weaves around the backyards of homes and businesses. Another goes to a small, but fairly often used homeless camp.

Today, since the tide was low, I was able to hop on one of the pipes that I had not followed very far in previous explorations.

My intent on these walks is to not have an intent. Walk the pipe and see what happens. I basically walked until the vegetation growing around the pipe grew too thick and I couldn’t get by. Again, since the tide was low I jumped to the side and got to some dry high ground.

The edge of an estuary is the perfect habitat for the cottonmouth, the high grass able to hide those venomous little pricks of misery. I saw one about six years ago near the train trestle, but that was the first and last time I had seen any type of snake out there. This trip was no exception; just a few birds and the widely scattered remains of a deer.

Also scattered all over the place were various plastic flowers and ribbons, scattered into the grass never to decompose, only fade in the bleaching sun. They joined the hundreds of plastic soda bottles and aluminum cans, deflated basketballs and Frisbees floating in the estuary and piled on the ground.

I came to a gravel trail that seemed pretty well traveled by vehicle and feet. With the brightly colored potato chip bags scattered about, barely touched by the sun, and the fresh boot tracks in a somewhat dried mud puddle, I figured folks came back here all the time.

Back here, everything is kudzu heaped over dying trees, the vines themselves browning after the first frost. In the summer the kudzu piles become mountains, climbing and killing everything. The vines’ march is stopped only by the estuary. If kudzu could grow on water it would.

The kudzu opened up and I stumbled upon a discarded pile of those grave side stands that hold funeral flower wreaths. After finding a few more pieces of evidence and getting my bearings, I figured out that I had ended up behind Oakdale Cemetery.

I followed the path more, passed a dozen piles of chopped up trees, pallets and freshly dug dirt. I guess it makes sense that the unused dirt from a grave has to go somewhere. Might as well be in a pile that will eventually be colonized by kudzu. The path finally ended behind a chain link fence. The loosely locked gate had my favorite sign attached…

The view through the fence wasn’t that inviting, so I decided not to jump it. The cemetery is several hundred acres, a place I could easily explore using the front gate. The one time I actually went in, the guy at the gate gave me a map since it is pretty easy to get lost in the labyrinth. I didn’t make it far that time, but if they allowed bicycles I might consider another try.

At the gate I turned around and headed back home. Well, headed back home after throwing a couple hundred rocks from the train trestle. The other things of note for the exploration were a rope swing near a waste water pipe…

a thick stand of river cane…

and a plant in the mint family that I haven’t figured out yet.

It smelled like mint, but a bit “gamey”. It wasn’t catmint, and it wasn’t wild mint. I did find wild mint (Mentha arvensis) nearby. The closest picture I can find online is for apple mint. I couldn’t smell any apple. Anyone know what this plant is?

A strong wind began blowing late last night and throughout this morning. From looking at the pecan trees over the past few weeks, I knew that there would be a good chance that the nut casings were dry enough that the trees would start raining down seeds. As the wind kept blowing I hopped on my bicycle to hit the usual spots.

The first few trees I looked under were hit and miss, but I started to find a few good spots. I noticed other folks out with the same intentions of foraging, and chocked up the dearth of nuts in some areas to them beating me there. In the well traveled areas I saw a father with his two little girls going after the nuts under some trees at the elementary school. Some older women were hitting the trees at a church. I went behind them and managed to pick up a few pounds anyway.

I brought home what I had, ate some lunch, then headed out to my old neighborhood where I was sure to find more people picking up nuts but also more trees – plenty for everyone. When I rolled up to a tree near an old gas station, things started getting weird.

An old woman came up to the tree with a cardboard box. We exchanged quick greetings, discussed the weather and then began racing to see who could gather the pecans before the other. In the middle of all our bending down, the woman yelled my way then starting walking towards me. She insisted on telling me that she left her teeth in the car and showed me her toothless mouth. Sensing that this was her way of letting me know that she needed the nuts more than I did, I packed what I had gathered in my backpack and thought about where to go next. While I was getting ready to go she told me about all the old trees she used to pick under and how they were mostly off limits now, either because they were now fenced in or cut down because of disease or development.

At that point a guy on a bike stopped quickly in the parking lot beside me. I jokingly told him that it seemed like everybody had the same idea about this gas station tree. He said he had another idea, a “bad idea” and kept saying that he wished he didn’t have to do it. He reached into his pocket and I immediately knew what he meant. My stomach sank and my heart began to beat with some ferocity. He wanted my wallet and my bike. Before I knew what was happening I was pedaling across the parking lot making like I hadn’t heard what he said. He didn’t follow me, instead turning the other direction and pedaling quickly out of sight. The old woman was gone as well.

I chilled out for a minute in order to make sure he wasn’t coming back. I continued to pick up nuts across the street from the parking lot, scanning the streets in all directions. When I was satisfied he was no longer interested in me, I headed the opposite direction.

It gets weirder… While in an alley I was squirted with a squirt gun by a middle aged woman. She was laughing while she did it, and never asked me to leave or stop picking up nuts. She just thought it would be funny to spray this guy who was bent over in the alleyway. Time to move on.

I went into another alley. A couple of women were sitting on their back porch smoking cigarettes. They invited me to come into the yard and pick up as many pecans as I wanted. The yard was loaded, the most pecans I had seen in a long time. They were small but there were more than I could pick up in a full day of work. They engaged me in conversation the entire time, asking me where I worked and such. They asked that I bring some veggies in exchange for the pecans, and I let them know that I would bring them a jar of apple sauce after I left their yard. At that point they both got up and insisted on singing me a song. They locked arms and started a small routine to an old jazz or blues tune.

They sang pretty well, but it was unnerving. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be saying or even if I was supposed to be paying attention. As they continued, gunshots from a few blocks away crackled in the air. Their song and my foraging continued without pause. The gunshots were too familiar to all of us I guess, and that is what made it all so incredibly weird; we didn’t stop and ponder what was going on. Around the time the sixth police car flew by I figured it was time to go.

When I had two full bags of pecans I told them again that I would bring them a jar of applesauce. I biked home, grabbed the sauce and went back. Their back door was wide open, the television muted and flickering near the window. I yelled inside. They quickly came and accepted the jar of cooked apples. One of them grabbed my arm and insisted that I play dice with them. I nervously sat in a stool overlooking an overturned painting that served as the dice board. They taught me some sort of casino dice game that made very little sense. I played, lost and got up to leave. One of them gave me a hug, said it was nice to meet me, enjoy the pecans, bring us some peppers or tomatoes “when you have a chance”.

I was relieved to finally get home and take stock of what I was able to pick up. It seemed to be about twenty or twenty five pounds, a pretty good haul for one day.

One very very weird day, but well worth it, if not for the pecans but for the stories that are now attached to them. The sun was setting after I dumped the bags, red clouds against the leaves of our humble backyard pecan tree. Hopefully the vortex is done spinning its weirdness for the time being, and I can get to work on shelling the bags of nuts.

It’s officially fall…

It is that time of year. Plants are starting to die out in my flower beds. I pulled out the calendula carcasses; the irises and sunflowers are long gone, the mint is disappearing and the potted fig trees are starting to go dormant.

This is a great time of year to be a forager. Spring is awesome for fresh greens, and there are still some greens to be had, but fall is time for stocking up on winter protein sources. The area around where I live is full of pecan, hickory and black walnut trees. The trick is to get to some of the nuts before the other creatures clean house.

The squirrels managed to completely remove every pecan from our backyard tree, picking and eating the nuts before they were even ready to drop. This isn’t bad news necessarily as the tree is pretty small compared to all the other neighborhood trees. In looking around at the giant trees, it looks like this will be a good year for pecans, which is great since there has been a drought of the nuts over the last three years. Last year there weren’t any at all.

I am pretty sure that I can pick up at least twenty five pounds of pecans this year. I have plenty of plans for them including trying to make some cooking oil and also lots of baking ideas. Supposedly it takes four pounds of nuts to make one pound of oil.

There are also signs that the hickory nuts are starting to drop right now. Last night I took a walk to the closest tree and saw plenty of the nuts smashed in the street. I will start checking the area every day from now on in hopes of netting a few pounds of the hickory meat. These nuts are great for baking, but it is too much of a pain in getting everything out of the shell to make good out-of-hand eating. A hammer and pliers are needed for hickory and black walnut whereas the thin walled pecan can be shelled pretty much intact.

Another thing to look for are ground nuts, also known as chufa or yellow nutgrass. These are not really nuts, but rather a grass-spreading tuber. These small tubers are used to make traditional horchata and can also be roasted or even eaten raw. There are plenty growing in my front yard. Most folks try to rip out nutgrass, but I have been encouraging their growth ever since Noel pointed out the abundance. The tubers will get bigger with some management, but right now they are pretty small.

If anyone is interested in foraging in the city, let me know. I am always looking to learn to identify new wild edibles in an urban environment.