Spring Shadow

I have decided to expand the focus of this blog from wild foods of Block Island in the physical sense to wild food for the soul. With that, having just completed another wonderful, nurturing and stimulating weekend at The Block Island Poetry Project, www.bipoetryproject.com, I feel moved to share the poem I read at the reading in the sanctuary (literal and metaphorical) of the Harbor Baptist Church last night.

It's actually the first poem I've finished in two years, not for lack of trying, and I consider it a breakthrough poem in other ways as well. For those who know my previous work, you'll see it's much simpler. I feel simpler, in a good way, more connected to my body.  Most of my past poems were coming from a traumatized consciousness that was located outside my body, floating above the earth, instead of connecting to it in a direct way through my senses and breath. Writing poetry and being in community with other poets has provided me with so much grace and healing I can barely remember who I used to be. Thank you. And thank you for reading this new. Take it into your bodies and breathe. Don't be afraid to lay on the earth. Believe your desires are beautiful, especially the ones you believe can never be satisfied. 

 

Spring Shadow

When the deer lowered her head to drink

she was so lean I could see

water ripple under her fur

as muscles let go

of all the times she had frozen.

I wanted so much to stroke

the bridge of her nose, the bones of her face

under soft fur. I wanted to lie with her

in the goldenrod, for her to teach me

how to touch the earth with my whole body,

belly down, as if I belonged to it.

But she leaped into the brush, and I

sank into the goldenrod

under the shadow of a dream

I didn’t want, knowing thorns

would tear my skin if I followed.

I wanted so much—

the source of tears,

to know if dreams began or ended

with thirst. 

Seaweed mania sweeps the island!

These young people visiting from Newark, NJ tried my seaweed salad and roasted seaweed at the Farmer's Market last Wednesday. It was the first time for all of them. Some of them were fans, some were not, and some couldn't quite make up their mind, but they were all brave enough to try!

In other seaweed news, I am thrilled and so grateful to The Block Island Times for featuring me in the August summer issues. The photos by Robin Langsdorf are stunning and 15 year old Brooke Ortel wrote an incredible article. Both Robin and Brooke trailed me to Black Rock to forage in the tidepools and Brooke donned mask and snorkel to dive for sea lettuce and laver off the Ballard's jetty. The issue is not available on-line, but if you're on the island it's available all over town.

Seaweed, or sea vegetables, are growing in popularity, as is the desire for locally grown food. I have noticed a huge shift in interest since I first began at the Market four years ago. The Atlantic Inn continues to serve my roasted rockweed, and Glen Pence, aka Mr. Sister, of Three Sisters serves the rockweed and my locally foraged seaweed salad at his fish grill. Thanks to all my supporters! See you around The Block!

Unafraid to be Known

I am learning to speak the secret language. I can't tell you what it is, because then it wouldn't be a secret. But I can give you some hints about it's vocabulary, a bit of the way it feels under the tongue, whirling around the mouth. For example, this:

When you speak the secret language, she doesn't run away when you meet head-on, she walks toward you. You put your camera down when she does this, when you speak the secret language. It's not that she's afraid of it, it's just that both of you know in that moment as she steps toward you over a patch of snow that there may be some truth in the old fear of indigenous people that photographs steal the soul. When you speak the secret language, you don't need to steal what is freely given. When you speak the secret language your heart slows. You see with the eyes of the other. You are unafraid to be known.

The secret language isn't exactly silent, but it's close. It's the only language I know of that has a smell. Wet earth, decaying leaves, lost feathers, salt spray from the far off ocean. It is a language of gifts. A language of the chosen. I have waited years for the gift of these antlers. I found them on the greenway behind my current home on one of the coldest days of the winter. Something told me to go outside and take a walk even though I wanted to stay inside and be warm. I listened to the voice. Climbed over the stonewall and slip-slided my way downhill along a very old footpath, maybe even ancient. This part of the island was rumored to be where the slaves all lived back when there were slaves on Block Island in the 17th century. Africans and Indians forced to work for the white settlers. I hear them all over the island.

As I walked back up their path, returning home, I glanced to the right and there it was in the underbrush. Not just another branch, but the antlers I'd been waiting for a buck to drop just for me to find when I was ready. I won't presume to speculate on the significance of their size, but they are without a doubt the largest antlers I have ever seen on a deer. Or antler, I should say. The buck that dropped this one could still be walking around with the other. I scan the brush from the corners of my eyes on my morning commute now, but I know it won't be my eyes that find the other antler. If it's meant to be, my ears will guide me. The voice, if it comes, will be as self-contained as the sound of the sea inside a moonsnail. I trust this voice. And I think it might trust me, too. What an honor. I will keep your secrets. You need have no fear of me as our hearts become known.

Under the Ice

Winter is extraordinarily beautiful this year on the island. It always is, but this year I am feeling it more, probably because--well, because I am able to feel more! For many years I was as numb as the frozen ground, although I had an incredible experience this past week where I was shown that there is life below the ice!

Paul and I were burning brush at the edge of a pond on the West Side. I walked out on to the ice, mesmerized by the swirling white waves sweeping over its surface, wondering why some parts of the ice were opaque, some transparent. In other words, I was lost in my head instead of noticing what was right beneath my feet, when what to my astonished eyes did appear--right beneath my feet a bass with its mouth wide open looking up at me through one of the clear patches! Our eyes met for a couple of seconds before it swirled away down into the deeper water where I couldn't see it any more. It was such a thrill I am still high from it a few days later.

As for foraging, there is still plenty to be gathered, although I have not been gathering it. There is seaweed on the rocks of course, bark from various branches that can be used for medicine. Paul saved some spruce needles from a tree we cut this week for tea which he says is good for the joints, and there is even some chickweed still around, insulated by the snow. I ate a couple of  sprigs the other day and was instantly invigorated by its wild green. Here's a picture. It often grows in cracks between buildings and sidewalks or up against stonewalls.

 

One of the things I've realized is how much pressure I put on myself to do. This may seem funny to those of you who lead much more active mainland lives than I do, but I'm not so good at relaxing. When I try, I feel guilty. I feel like I should be out there on the ice-covered rocks collecting seaweed. Maybe this week. Maybe not. We'll see where my dreams lead me. 

This week they led me deep into The Maze after the snowstorm where I was the first human to enter. The deer, many birds, mice, and some cats which I assumed were feral, although you never know with cats, left tracks for me to follow. And that's what it's all about for me this winter: tracking my thoughts and feelings back to their source in order to unravel the webs in which I am tangled now so that I can weave new ones in a conscious state. Of course, I consciously leave space for magic and mystery. I wonder where the spiders are for the winter? I haven't noticed any in the corners of basements. I wonder what they dream? My mind leaps. I can't help it. It's one of the things I like about myself. So, this winter is about tracking: inside and out, following shapes and lines, making sense of patterns, but not too much sense, allowing them to disappear and reappear as they want to, like the fish who swam away from me into the deep.

Fall Fruit

If you've been wandering the roads of Block Island, you've probably noticed the apple trees are full of fruit, much of it fallen on the ground. Most people just drive over the apples or leave them to rot on the ground, but I was encouraged to hear that some friends of mine foraged bucketloads and pressed their own cider, and are in the process of brewing some hard cider as well.

This is a good time to gather and preserve herbs like mullein and goldenrod to use as medicinal plants over the winter. You can look up various ways of preserving them on-line. I just like to dry them and brew them as tea when needed. I love the soft leaves of mullein. There is a wonderful poem by H.D. that mentions mullein:

THE MOON IN YOUR HANDS

If you take the moon in your hands

and turn it round

(heavy, slightly tarnished platter)

you're there;


if you pull dry sea-weed from the sand

and turn it round

and wonder at the underside's bright amber,

your eyes


look out as they did here,

(you don't remember)

when my soul turned round,

perceiving the other-side of everything,

mullein-leaf, dogwood-leaf, moth-wing

and dandelion-seed under the ground.



How can you not stop and caress them when you pass them blooming out of a stonewall?

 

And last, in honor of tonight's full moon, this photo taken at the Hodge Property a couple of weeks ago.

 



A Pear or Two

Just when I think no one is reading this blog, someone tells me they were moved to tears by reading this blog this past weekend. Not that it should matter, but I do have a strong desire to connect with others on so many levels. It's not just about sharing information about foraging for me, it's about sharing my heart--my love for Block Island and for the bounty which the island provides--and the role foraging has played in opening my heart to my own personal wounds and the wounds of the earth we have inflicted on her as we have grown disconnected from the simple desires of our bodies to feel loved and safe.

Those of you who know the island know how blown out most of us are by the end of the summer. Granted, I don't work as hard as other people out here, but I am still sensitive to the energy. I don't see it as chance that a hurricane threatened us Labor Day weekend, causing most of the tourists to leave. Though the hurricane did not arrive on the island's shores in full force, the surf was intense and huge making it impossible for me to gather seaweed. I have some great pictures of my normally placid tidepools down at Black Rock covered in whitewater, but can't publish them due to all sorts of technical difficulties with every form of technology I come in contact with these days. Even the chain on my bike broke, so I had to walk for a day until my friend fixed it for me. I heard the ocean's message--take a break, let the seaweed rejuvenate. I struggle with this a lot--making money off something the earth is giving me. Ideally I would like to live without  money, simply, bartering with other like-minded folks for our needs. I feel trapped between the world of money and the world of my dreams. It is a very uncomfortable place, but one that is leading me to take a deep look inside myself at the unconscious patterns and beliefs that stop me from living this life that I long for, and this time this is not an intellectual process, I am actually feeling the pain of separation and loss, and though this is a dark place to be in, it doesn't feel desperate like it has in the past. Maybe because someone came up to me last weekend and said my words made them cry. Maybe because a friend and I filled our scarves with so many fallen pears we couldn't even think of all the things we could do with them. Pear tarts, jelly, juice, cake. I'll keep  you updated.

There's a deer who forages right outside my window most evenings. She always seems to know when I am looking at her. She never runs away like some deer do. She twitches her ears, somewhat nervous, lets me look at her for as long as I wish. I am always the first to turn away. Maybe I will leave her a pear or two just over the stonewall today.

The Revolution is On!

Two years ago I had to convince people at the Farmers Market that they weren't going to keel over if they ate my seaweed. Now I can't keep up with the demand!

I am so excited that the consciousness around wild foods and foraging has shifted so quickly. People are really getting it. I am even more excited that I am inspiring others to forage for themselves. I just got an email from a woman who bought me seaweed last weekend who foraged her own rockweed when she got home, and another woman told me she began foraging seaweed back home in California after tasting mine two summers ago.

Also, Pippa Jack at Rhode Island Monthly blo. gged about me on the RI Monthly website. Thanks Pippa!

The other exciting news in my foraging world (besides the bounty of blackberries--ahhhh!) is that the Atlantic Inn has my roasted rockweed on their menu as a garnish on their salmon dish. They just upped their order to 20 bags a week from five, so I am quite busy! Thanks to chef Aaron,,  who thinks I could get picked up by Newport Specialty Foods and distributed on the mainland. Not sure if I am going to follow this as I would need a much bigger bike, but it's nice to have the support and enthusiasm of the chef at one of the best restaurants on the island. Thanks also to Glen Pence at Three Sisters for being open to wild foods. Glen bought some glasswort from me that he served as a garnish on his grilled tuna. Dinner at Three Sisters is amazing! Stop by Wednesday, Thursday, or Saturday when I am working.

Sorry, no photos today. I had to move out of my house for eleven days and my technological capabilities are a little constrained. Not a bad thing--more time to clamber down the bluffs and wade into tidepools. I am heading out now to pick sea lettuce. This time of the year the stuff on the surface is pretty bleached out, so I have to dive below the surface, head first into little caves in the jetty where it is still deep, emerald green. I keep fearing I am going to come face to face with a conger eel, but so far they have let me be. Sweet dreams conger eels! I promise I won't stick my hands in your holes after dark when you slip out to see what's happening in the wider ocean.

Oh wait, I do have a photo on my computer to share. This is laver, the seaweed that is processed into nori, for all you sushi lovers. It is very mild tasting. I roast it with a little sesame oil and sell it at Farmers' Market. It's season is almost past, so if you want some, show up soon!

Happy foraging everyone!! Thanks for sharing your stories with me.     ~~~Whitewave