This flower that is a sun becomes a milky way, a world of stars, after it flowers.
~Elisee Reclus
Last night in a series of dreams, one after the other, I was moving through fields of dandelions with people from my past, dead and alive, engaging in conversations and conflicts that felt dangerous, but ripe with possibility.
In all of these fields I was pregnant, internally castigating myself for not having gone in for prenatal care, ashamed to call a doctor about a pregnancy, at my age. I surmised I was about 37 weeks in, so there wasn’t much time left to choose a birthing place. But in none of these dream fields did I pull out my cell phone to call a doctor.
It felt risky, but I thought maybe this time, I would do it on my own. This time, I would give birth in my own backyard, amongst the dandelions. I would give birth to what wants to emerge without the intrusion of society or it’s expectations.
When I woke up I realized, of course, that what wanted to be birthed was me.
I’ll segue here to say, as a young woman, I gave birth to four children, in a different hospital each time, as my husband and I were moving frequently, trying to secure careers and create a stabile home. I seldom write publicly about my children. Not because they aren’t the best thing I’ve done with my life (they are), and not because they aren’t front and center to what’s important to me now (they are), but because I respect each of their unique choices, their partners and careers and growing families and their ability to tell their own stories in their own ways. I raised them to radiate confidence, resiliency and agency, and their stories are not mine to tell.
But there are, of course, other ways to give birth, and equally valid ways to create a family.
The body contains emotional truths that words can too easily gloss over. Consciously, or unconsciously, the ability to go anywhere in our imagination is an expression of individual freedom. Our life-force, or eros, can help us transcend the confines of our subjective reality by making choices outside our prescribed box.
In our industrial society, where processed food is abundantly available on nearly every street corner, foraging is an act of imagination. It requires looking at the world differently than it’s presented to us. It requires looking at what’s not being possessed, manufactured and distributed, at the life-forces growing around us unattended. Choosing to have a relationship with these living things, by taking their wildness into your body, is a type of alchemy.
“Never eat, or let your kids eat, something you cannot identify with one hundred percent certainty.”
~Golden Rule #1
Most people in this country will never spend a day living off foods they have foraged in the wild, but anyone can learn to forage for something near by and consume it with confidence. I believe doing so will bring a little more color to your existence and help you feel more connected and alive.
It will take some practice, but eating wild foods, especially those you have picked yourself, can help you develop a stronger life-force, an eros drawn from the fecundity of the earth.
And why not start with the ordinary?
Common Dandelion
The dandelion has leaves with jagged edges like lion’s teeth, which is how it got its name, derived from the French, dent de lion. Its yellow flowers bloom most of the year, at any elevation.
Its young leaves can be enjoyed raw, providing vitamins A and C, potassium, and calcium. The 1-inch section between the lower leaves and the upper roots can be eaten as a vegetable. If you cook dandelion leaves, they taste similar to spinach. If you grind, roast, and boil the roots, they taste like coffee.
Dandelions grow in almost any damp place and have saved many people from starvation. The biggest risk when eating raw dandelions is the array of pesticides used to kill them. When you forage for dandelions, remember that poisoned fields are your greatest threat.
~Forager: Field Notes for Surviving a Family Cult
To make a dandelion salad, try this recipe. You’ll need
½ pound young dandelion greens, washed and torn
½ red onion, chopped
2 ripe tomatoes, chopped
½ teaspoon dried basil
salt and pepper to taste
Or, to make a decoction, boil 1-2 ounces of fresh roots and leaves per quart of water for 30 minutes, and leave to infuse for 4 hours. Drink two glasses a day between meals.
What can you forage from your own neighborhood?
Thank you for being on this journey with me. I am grateful for the gift of your presence. Walking this path, knowing so many of you are walking it too, gives me hope. May we continue in our recovery, in relationship with one another and with the anima mundi, supporting each other in our growth, like a mycelial network.
If you’d like to continue this conversation in person, consider enrolling in my small group writing workshop at the Maloof this October, or engage in the weekly comments section below.
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Purslane is also a good foraging food - very nutritious and found between cement - but dandilions are a good one!
Reading about dandelions in this post took me back to the unique foraging info structure of your memoir, which I think was brilliant. I'm curious enough about dandelion coffee to give that a try sometime. Question: can dandelion leaves be frozen until I've gathered enough? Thanks so much, Michelle!