Nothing like a good forage

You may have noticed that foraging in the wild has become popular of late. The pace at which we've become foodies, folkies and (garden) forkies in recent years has led to a plethora of niche trends from cup cake baking to bunting stitching. So my instinctive reaction to sounds from the countryside, rustling in the bramble bushes if you will, was one of caution. Is this just another London media crowd driven trend?

Now that the country appears to all be growing its own, are we also not seeing another classic case of British one-upmanship? My fruit is wilder than your fruit? Who needs an allotment when you have it all down the lane? 

But slowly I’m being persuaded by River Cottage, seduced by Alys and coming round to the sound of the foraging chefs. And half a bottle of home made Exmoor sloe gin once numbed the pain of an ex-girlfriend taking un-nerving pleasure in removing 35 sea urchin spikes from my foot one by torturous one with a scalpel and tweezers. It was amazing stuff.

As I've mentioned before on these pages, gardening has done a funny thing to me. It genuinely has made me take a little step back and look at food in a different light. Indeed, look at nature as a conscious, complex thing, which has led to a humble appreciation of just what it takes for fruit and veg to come to life.

Nature has developed a careful balance of water, light, heat and minerals to provide us with fruit and veg that keeps us well oiled. Only we go and manipulate them, pass chemicals off in their place (artificial blueberry bits anyone?), or just leave them to rot.

This appreciation is important. And once you’ve taken that step, the next logical one is away from the ordered, control-freak world of allotments and towards a naturally created treasure trove. Sometimes the bounty gets devoured on site, other times it becomes the highlight of the plate or glass. You know what you're looking for, but unsure if you'll find it, and the thrill when you do... (note of caution, stealing carrots from Farmer Giles' field does not count as foraging).

However, I'm yet to go out there and get my hands pricked since moving to the south-west, and I bet all the good sloes have gone already. I need to get my rear in gear as, yes, I'm conscious that there’s more to foraging than being in with the latest trend. 


Indeed, one could say foraging goes to the heart of our very existence, being at one with the complexity of nature.  Just take care with the mushrooms. Get it wrong and they can go to the existence of your heart.

Woah Black Berry (bam ba lam)

Like youth with instant mobile messaging, birds have managed to upset the order of things and deposit seeds where they don't belong.

Most of the time this can be a pain, with weeds popping up where they really shouldn't and trees taking root whilst your back is turned.

However, every now and again you can get lucky ( although I think the chances probably increase the closer you live to hedgerows and rural lanes).  The other day I was admiring my lovely apples when I something caught my eye, partially hidden out of reach on the top of the wall. If you look just to the right of centre in this photo you should spot a blurry patch of black and red up against the wall at the back.

It was like a glistening jewel and I was like a naughty magpie. Fruit that I did not plant but which I would be more than happy to plunder!  And I bet these weren't deposited by a bloody pigeon. More like a giving robin I reckon. And further along the wall are more! But there is a problem...

I can't actually reach them.

Maybe I should give up my gardening and just turn it in to a rock venue like these guys