Exactly Where I Should Be

Sun, rain, wind, tent, squirrels, possums, raccoons, 5 incredible landmates, chiggers, fish, ducks, scratches, cuts, bruises, aches, welts, wood, fire, smoke, bark, knives, axes, chainsaws, bows, arrows, hides, skinning, tanning, butchering, clay, flies and their larva, ticks, mirrors to check for ticks, fresh air, trees, birds and their beautiful sounds, soil, poop and pee outside, wigwam build, planting, grafting, harvesting, picking greens immediately before a meal, once-a-week dumpsters, new friends of all species and connecting with old ones, farmer’s market, deep sleep, waking up early with excitement for the day, day’s activities determined by the weather, time for reflection, self-care, growth, peace, and clarity. These have been just some of the many parts of my life for the past few months, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. I am positively thriving, and I feel better than I ever have before. I am truly healing and connecting to the sources of my life. I am living out what my mind, body, and soul have known for several years but that I didn’t know how to do. Though I miss my friends and family in faraway places, I have no questions that I am exactly where I should be. I am grateful to everyone who has helped me to grow and get to where I am, and I wish that those who want to live similarly were here with me. You see, I left Washington DC at the end of March after leaving the ol’ EPA in early March. Leaving the Environmental Protection Agency was simple (and was made all the simpler when I was instructed to literally walk throughout several buildings to have people sign a piece of paper that I didn’t have library fines, etc., like a third grader), but leaving DC was quite challenging, choking back tears while saying goodbye to close friends. I certainly do not miss the city itself or what it stands for, but the earth-minded community that I was a part of there was nothing short of incredible. Where was I going? Well, I was going to go on a wigwam build, and then to visit family in New Jersey, and then...to my current location in Western North Carolina.

The beautiful pond.

It all happened seamlessly fast. When I had some downtime after eye surgery, I was listening to podcasts and heard a fellow speaking about his and his partner’s homestead. He was talking about healing traumatized land, ecology, rewilding, the virtues of going feral. I commented on the podcast, as I try to connect with people who are trying to un-domesticate themselves, and we ended up connecting over the ether. He posted an opportunity to come live, work, and be with him, his partner, and their newborn on their homestead, and I knew immediately that this was what I should do. I wrote them a letter, we talked on the phone, and they invited me to come. I'm now a firm believer that life can work out in amazing ways if I expand my comfort zone and find people that support me in doing so.
I've been on the land here for almost 3 months, but it feels like an eternity, in the best of possible ways. My old way of life melted away very quickly when I got here. I feel as if I've connected directly with my ancestors, who lived in a more village-like setting, close to the land. I believe that this connection is why everything feels so right: I am finally doing what I'm supposed to be doing after 31 years. I am forever grateful. Sometimes I have to remind myself, especially when something about living this way feels hard, that I have been welcomed with open arms to an absolutely magical place by amazing people.

I live primarily outside. I have access to electricity and modern appliances and have a car, but I sleep in a tent, I cook with wood, I'm building a wigwam to live in, and I work to directly support myself and my landmates. There is no boss, no schedule, no TPS reports, no bullshit. There are the complex human relationships that exist anywhere, but we are open in our communication and all love where we live and want to see the ecology of the place thrive. Our common goal guides decision making and makes living here so wonderful. A common goal certainly does not make life easy, but, in a real way, makes it clear and simple. Every action affects the land. There is no “away” and no hiding ecologically irresponsible behavior.

Wigwam inner frame - a big kid jungle gym!

I’ve had some friends ask me what a typical day is like. There is no typical day, and that is part of the joy of this life. I might plug mushroom logs, take part in stripping the bark off of a huge tulip poplar tree for building a wigwam, weed garden beds, plant, collect firewood, fish in the pond, skin and eat a squirrel, write, read, learn about plants, let my curiosity drive me when necessity does not. One day, I sat and meditated and watched asparagus grow. I saw a change in the length of the asparagus spear in 45 minutes. I checked back 8 hours later, and it had grown over an inch! I felt calm, peaceful, connected. I understand that this could be viewed by a certain culture as a waste of time and some hippie bullshit. Well, I don’t really know about that, but it felt right. Sitting still in that spot made sense that day, just like somehow, sometimes it seems to make sense to stare at a screen, work for a paycheck, call a friend, dance, or watch sports.

My stove.

It has been difficult for me to write a post on this blog because I have simply been enjoying living far too much. I’ve been “busy.” Not the hustle-and-bustle type, just in that I see and notice so many things and I want to know more and connect. Life is full. My list of want-to-do’s is unending and I just have to prioritize and take opportunities as they come. I’ve had several realizations, which I hope to continue to share over time. First, I’ve realized that I do not want to be a lone mountain/country/homesteading man. I’ve known this intellectually for some time now, but now I get it for real. There is so much to do, and it can be lonely when done alone: collecting firewood, killing other beings, cooking food, taking care of ailments, getting clean water, maintaining a shelter. There would be no time for anything else if I had to do these things all the time for myself. There would be no time for writing, taking up interesting projects, connecting with people, lounging for a little bit, sleeping, taking it all in, reflecting. I have no doubt we are meant to work together as a species. I learned this in a real way when one of my landmates felled a tree and we stripped the bark from it. We used a chainsaw, but it was still hard work! I tried to do some of the bark stripping myself, and just eventually gave up in exhaustion and due to an ache in my arm from a past injury. I got back together with my landmate and we finished the job. I can only imagine what the effort would have been like if the two of us tried to do the work without a chainsaw. It truly takes a village! However, in this day and age, humans can bypass the village with a lot of machines. Machines support the individualistic culture that exists: MY car, MY computer, MY cell phone, MY money. These things do connect me to the wider world, and sharing some of them is a catch-22 that I’m still sorting through.

Flattening 7 foot long pieces of tulip poplar bark for the wigwam.

Second, I must take care of my body at all times. I’ve had so many bites and scrapes and cuts and I work with sharp things often. I’ve had a few infections. Luckily, I live with herbalists and they have helped me with different remedies. I’ve been really empowered by exploring what, for me, is a new avenue. When I had a swollen eyelid, I immediately thought that meant I needed to see a doctor and get antibiotics. But, I tried a compress of usnea and calendula instead. I religiously compressed that eye and the swelling and itching eventually subsided. I read an interesting passage in an herbal book about how I should support my body during the infection, because it has the tools to fight it. What a different approach than trying to knock everything out with an antibiotic all of the time (though there are some herbs that will do that too)! I look myself down from head to toe a couple times every day and check out what’s going on. If I don’t take care of my body, I cannot be what I want to be and do what I need to do. Plain and simple.

Teaching fire making. Local newspaper picked it up at
http://www.shelbystar.com/news/20180617/getting-back-to-mother-nature.

And so I am looking forward to continuing the construction of my wigwam, which will be my primary residence, continuing to better connect and integrate with my community, and to learn and teach my ancestor’s skills as they become my own skills. I want to see ecosystems as my ancestors did. I want to develop relationships with everything around me to keep me alive. It is no easy task, but there are a determined few of us trying, even as the inertia of the dominant human culture on this planet is encouraging disconnection, order, and profit. Onward and upward, live, thrive, and be!

Imagination and Liberation

In Grandpa’s Walking Stick, Chad K. Slagle sings that his Grandpa taught him to close his eyes when he really wanted to see. Two weeks ago, I had the great fortune of having (seemingly) successful laser eye surgery to correct my vision, and realized during recovery what he meant in a deeper way. I’ve known for quite some time now that a key to "modern" life, or at least to peace and joy in it, is to be intentional and consciously cultivate peace, stillness, and clarity. I encounter so many distractions on a daily basis, and it is an act of great strength to sit quietly with myself and others, perhaps with eyes closed, or to walk out in a peaceful landscape. I see most clearly in the times when I’m being intentional with my action and inaction.

There was nothing like stinging, itchy, teary eyes to convince me to keep my eyes closed. My family and friends were so generous with their time and energy during my healing, and I would not have healed as well without their care. What struck me was that they came to see me even though I couldn’t really do anything, just to check on me, be with me, and take care of me. I’ve reflected on how my own focus is often on doing something with someone, rather than just being with them. Of course, both can happen simultaneously, but I could definitely place more emphasis on just being with someone, fully present.

In the times when I was alone, eyes closed, my other senses came alive. I used touch to feel around for eye drops and eye shields. I unfortunately tasted the nasty eye drops that made their way through the channels of my eye down the back of my throat. I had queued a few podcasts up in anticipation of my recovery, and so I also used my hearing to an uncommon degree. I’d been meaning to listen to these particular podcasts for some time, and only then, when I absolutely could not do anything else, took the time. This is how life often goes for me; circumstances force certain situations which often yield benefits that I could be getting every day, if I only made the time. I know that I won’t always make the time, and so I cherish these reminders and times of realization, where I’m grateful for warmth and a warm bed, friends and family, the time to reflect on and assess where I am and where I want to be going.

Imagination, creativity

In one particular podcast I listened to, A New and Ancient Story, Charles Eisenstein and Satish Kumar discuss how many of us have lost our imaginations in industrial society. This statement really hit home for me. The lack of imagination and creativity is a huge reason why I have been so dissatisfied with my societal academic and income-earning pursuits. While they have earned me praise and money, they have been almost entirely devoid of imagination. My employers tolerated just a small amount of “outside of the box” thinking, but, in the end, they called on me to produce quality-assured, uniform-grade “products” acceptable to the institutional gatekeepers. Society gives license for imagination to children and inventors of fanciful profitable technologies, and perhaps also to starving artists, though, by the name, one can tell that this is a license with a huge caveat. As a starving artist, one can gain respect in name, but that respect is not met with the rewards of society, such as the ability to afford the best or any health care, and the luxury to spend freely on things like laser eye surgery. It is the fear of not having the seeming certainty that an employer provides, once I’ve had it, that has kept me going so long down a dull and uncreative path. To be fair, it also took me many years to gain the confidence to live an unconventional life (by East Coast U.S. societal standards), and I have so many to thank for helping me on that journey. In talking with many of my friends and acquaintances, this fear of leaving behind what appears to be certainty and comfort is common and has kept many stuck in bad places.

No imagination, no creativity

What a shame. What is the point of having our brain capability if we are not able to exercise our imaginations, express our emotions, live out our desires in a way that meets our needs? And I mean truly meets our needs in a meaningful, imaginative, way, without pre-designed boxes within which imagination must fit? Every day that I wake up, the ecological integrity of the planet continues to be ransacked, despite the efforts of many to make things less bad. This fact assures me that imagination and new relationships with all of the beings on this planet are needed. The way the dominant culture operates does not work. What excuse do I have for not participating in helping to create a different way?

Over the past couple of weeks, partly as a result of my limited vision and having to slow down, partly as a result of the inspiring conversations I’ve listened to, I’ve been repeating to myself that I must not allow myself to be broken. No, I must not allow myself to be broken by the societal machine, the talking heads on repeat saying that society is the way it is for good reason, that things will get better in the future (they just have to!), that “someone’s working on a solution for x,” and so on and so on.

I’ve realized how close I have come to being broken. I’ve nearly crashed on several occasions: bad relationships, questionable mentors and advice, denial, escapism, workaholism. I educated my mind for 26 years and sadly neglected my soul and mistrusted my feelings and experience. I was nearly broken into a drone repeating the tired, cliche phrases, like, “that’s just the way the world is.” I was almost broken into embodying the belief that everything can be explained scientifically and broken down into reason and logic. Though I actually have come to accept the world (read: industrial society) as it is, there is a critical, damaging message underneath “that’s just the way the world is.” The purveyors of this phrase mean that you should step in line. They are telling you to play the game, because the structure of society is the way it is for good reason, and it can be made better, and even great, with small tweaks. They are trying to make you feel powerless and complacent. 

This way of thinking and being is wrong and very damaging to those who see that a new, sane way is possible, those who see clearly that the dominant system is not serving most people and is most certainly not serving the majority of beings on this Earth. I have been profoundly liberated by accepting that the world is really messed up (more specifically, that the human collective has messed it up) and that I want to participate as little as possible in the parts of society that continue messing it up. It is naive to think that those of us able to write and read on the world wide web will be able to escape the throws of global civilization completely, but there are several ways to move toward that end. There are many people doing so, and I am so excited to join their ranks in the coming months and years.

Bad imagination, no creativity, delusion

Last week, after half a day spent staring at a blurry screen at my job (subjecting myself to such torture for blurry reasons altogether), I ran home from the train stop in my work costume. I was exhilarated. The world was blurry, as my eyes are still healing, but liberation felt, and still feels, so near. I’m thankful for the time in which I needed to heal, in that it allowed me to close my eyes and see at a time in my life when my eyes are constantly being taken by many distractions. In my recovery and rest, I’ve been given a taste of what life will be like when I am more free, when I have more of a say in my own daily activities. That time, in fact, is not even a month away! My needs will remain the same: shelter, water, food, nature connection, close relationships. Each day I will wake up with a mission to meet those needs in the best way possible, in a way that can go on for thousands of years. I will lose many of the societal advantages I have been given, like all the things and services I need to stay alive and (at least physically) well always at an arm's reach. However, nothing brings me more joy than using my skill and imagination, and all of my senses (not the least of which my vision!) to live justly on this Earth, and to be my best for myself and everyone I encounter. I will not allow myself to be broken, because, in the end, it is really only me standing in my own way.

In This Moment

For over a year now, before this blog began, I’ve been thinking about making a radical break from my current way of life. I have set deadlines to leave my job and done things that I and people surrounding me, say, 5 years ago, would frown upon. I don’t mean bad things. I’m talking about eating hit-by-car animals, diving into dumpsters, spending significant time on manual labor activities like processing acorns, showering far less frequently than I used to, not using anything but water to wash my hair, and hunting with a longbow. As I ponder, “what’s next?,” I recognize how hard it is for me to live the life I ultimately want in the city. Restrictions and rules and the cost of living and the lack of access to healthy ecosystems prevent it. By the same token, I realize that my dear friends and my means of survival are here for the time being. Regardless of what happens in the future, I am profoundly satisfied with who I am in this moment and with the drastic changes I have made over the past couple of years in how I spend my time and who I spend it with.

When I came back to my current job from a 6-month assignment elsewhere, a kind co-worker decorated my cubicle with “Welcome Back Matt” written in vegetable font. After about a month, I was sufficiently welcomed back and thinking about what to do with the letters. My cube neighbor suggested writing “Become Matt,” and there it still sits. To me, this reminder symbolizes what’s going on: I’m becoming who I am, not who I’ve always thought I should be. I’m fairly certain that striving to be who I thought I should be has caused most of the misery throughout my life, and I’d guess the same happens for a great number of people.

I know that I’m becoming myself because I'm seeing substantial change in the things I do and am capable of doing with other people and with my ecosystem. The mental, emotional, and physical preparation in various areas of my life is starting to coalesce. I feel better than I ever have. One symbol of this coalescence was my first shot on a deer in Seneca Creek State Park a couple weeks ago. Nearly 2 years of training, having previously never picked up a bow or thought about getting near wild animals, has brought me to the point where time of day, geography, wind direction, entry into a hunting area, knowledge of deer behavior, archery skill, trying and failing, mentoring from others, and personal research are all syncing up. I now feel confident that I can hunt successfully, at close range, with simple tools. Of course, I still need to do it. In this particular case, my arrow sailed an inch or so above the buck’s back, but it was exactly where it needed to be in the horizontal direction. I saw him again this weekend, along with several other deer.

Bow, arrow, plants, lichen, shooting lane

Perhaps the most important change I've seen is in the level of comfort and ease with which I approach myself and others. As cliche as it sounds, as I’ve let my truest self shine, new opportunities have opened up. New people have come into my life, as I have been nothing but genuine. To be sure, people have also left. On the mornings when I wake up and don’t have to go to my job, I am simply ready for the day. I’m excited to change the water in my acorn buckets, try a new recipe with some wild food I gathered, take a walk with my arrows, meet a new friend. I’ve changed the story I tell myself and others; gone are the days where I’d refer to the things I think and do as “crazy.” I used to dismiss many of the thoughts I had out of hand, and now I’m doing the things I was only then thinking about! I attribute much of this change to how I tell my story, to myself and others. I certainly could not have done this without the support of close friends and family. Just recently, I visited a couple of intentional communities in Loiusa, Virginia. They were wonderful places where people are trying to live in more grounded, authentic, sane ways. There is an ever-quieting voice in my head that says, “You did what? You’re not seriously considering joining one of those!” I’m getting pretty good at shutting that voice up. In my story, it’s perfectly reasonable and healthy to explore all ecologically responsible ways of living.

After years of learning and hesitating, wild foods are becoming a substantial portion of my diet. Acorn, deer meat, and nettles are now featured prominently. I’m seeing berries, hickory nuts, black walnuts, and large quantities of mushroom on the horizon as important foods. I’ve moved past the realm of identification and novelty, and am now starting to develop a relationship with these beings. This is where true connection develops, when food nourishes not only my body but everything else that makes me a whole person. There are many relationships that I need to cultivate, as I’ve ignored too many for too long. A lifetime's worth of work!

Acorn chili

I’m confronting old dreams and patterns that no longer serve me. I’m getting rid of material things that might have some sentimental or potential future value but are weighing me down. The shedding of stuff is a wonderful and freeing process. I've had a beautiful drum set for about 12 years that has seen several stages with various bands. It is a serious load to carry around, and I’ve played maybe 4 times in the past 2 years. When I was younger, I had dreams that the drums would be a major part of my life, that I might achieve some level of fame. The decision to sell my drum set is just the manifestation of a choice that I made years ago to put my time into other things. I’ve grieved the loss of this hobby, and I acknowledge that it is sometimes just fun to play, but keeping this large set is not enriching my life right now. Once these pieces of wood and metal go, most other things will go easily and I’ll be able to live lighter.

And so, I am happy with who I am in this moment. To be in such a state is a beautiful thing. However, the moment will pass and I will continue to explore, learn and grow. My goal is clear: to live in a community of people integrated as much as possible within an ecosystem. Though I don’t yet know exactly what is possible, I wake up every day starting with that end in mind, and that brings me peace. I get discouraged when I feel my progress is not fast enough, when I lament the life I have spent not learning the skills to keep me alive outside of civilization. These alternating cycles of peace and unrest are essential in my life. Both have value in their time and place, contributing acceptance and action respectively.

The sun behind the fog

Will I make a clean break from a civilized way of life, go off and see where I end up? Maybe I will, or maybe my next move will be less drastic. I will stay open to taking risks, consider my relationships and what I might be taking for granted, and follow my intuition. My intuition has not failed me since I’ve started down this path, and my confidence in living without many of the trappings of modern civilization has greatly increased. There are many ways to get to where I want to be. The ride is likely to be anything but smooth, and I’m just restless enough to keep pushing my limits!

Living with the Seasons

As I continue to un-domesticate myself, I’ve been embracing living with the seasons. They are especially in my mind as the dropping temperatures signal the arrival of Fall here in Washington DC. The seasons have much to offer: the growth of Spring, the heat and freedom of Summer, the rest, quiet and chill of Winter, the colors and harvest of the Fall. As I spend more time outside, I notice the changing seasons more; I gain a different conception of time, and tap into what our ancestors may have felt, before alarm clocks, before a day was a unit of time over which there was some prefabricated expectation about what should be done.

The past two nights I’ve been sleeping with the windows open as the temperatures dropped to the low 40’s Fahrenheit. I have a comfortable bed with plenty of blankets and I like to feel the outside, rather than try to keep it out. This Fall, I am dreaming about what’s falling. Little rain has come from the skies, but the trees are dropping food all around.

Chestnut Oak acorns

For the past couple of years, I’ve been very into acorns: they are abundant and very easy to find. If you know me as more than an acquaintance, you know that I engage in balanophagy (acorn eating). I am extremely grateful for a group of friends that is also into acorns: without them I may have never started. The idea of using acorns as a real food source became more real for me when I met Lincoln Smith at Forested in Bowie, Maryland, United States, who was processing acorns and making baked goods with them. It was at this point that I dove in, with my primary goal to make acorns into something that resembled a meal. I wanted them to be the main event.

Drying the processed acorn meal

Processing acorns is simple: get the shell off, get any skin off, throw the acorns into water and boil in several changes of water until the bitter taste is gone. Or, get the shell off, get any skin off, grind the acorns finely, add cool water, and change the water a couple times a day until the bitterness is gone. There are tips here and there to speed up the process, but these are the basics. In an instant gratification society, most dismiss this all as a poor use of time. I take pleasure in and respect things that take time, knowing that by choosing to take the long route I am working with nature instead of against it. It is the speeding up of everything that allows humans to increase their destructive power.

I echo the sentiments of Sam Thayer in his book, Nature’s Garden: that acorns make him see a beautiful view of the forest not just as a beautiful view, but as a comfortable place with millions of pounds of food there for the eating. I’ve made acorn patties, acorn chili, acorn flatbread pizza, acorn grits, and acorn brown bread. Most have been well received, and none have been perfected! I have even started to delve into pressing acorns for oil. I’ll give it all another shot this year and try out some new experiments.

That's an acorn crust pizza pie!

Eating acorns is not only a great conversation starter, but a way of bringing people together. I’ve sat in my backyard and shelled acorns with friends and family and taught a class on acorn processing. I proudly tell people that I eat acorns. I’m mostly met with laughter and disbelief, but sometimes with genuine interest and acceptance. Sometimes people think it’s cool, and even if they wouldn’t do it themselves, they get why I do it. More are willing to try it when the acorns are made into, say, a pizza. I was recently at a dinner where a renowned chef made acorn falafel, so the acorn is getting at least some air time in the mainstream.

There are other nuts out there this fall, as in nuts like me and nuts like the acorns. In the late summer, I started to notice some very green hickory nuts on the ground with husks still tightly bound. I cracked a few open to find that most had a collection of seeds where I expected to see nutmeat. The seeds tasted pretty good, but not nearly as sustaining as the ripe nuts that are rolling in now. They taste great, and, surprise, no soaking in water! They can be enjoyed straight after shelling. I’m excited to tap into this food source that seems to be largely ignored (at least by people I know/meet and people who write on the internet).

Along with the hickories, I’ve developed a strong affinity for black walnuts. They are bigger than hickories and have a unique taste that I quite enjoy. I've warily sat under a black walnut tree while it was windy - watch out! They land with a thud rather than the gentle dismount of an acorn. Two small challenges with shoveling hickories and walnuts into my mouth: first, the husks of black walnuts die one’s hands brown, so, I usually like to have gloves on hand. Second, the meat of both nuts is difficult to extract using the blow of a stone. This is especially the case with the smaller hickory nuts. Anyone know of any do-it-yourself approaches with simple tools?

Black walnuts in various stages of cracking

I’m starting to see Fall as a time of abundance. If I had to “survive” this Fall, I could probably make a pretty good living on nuts. Maybe some mushrooms, greens, berries, and meat mixed in there if I’m lucky. It wouldn’t be easy with my level of skill or knowledge, but I think it would be possible. I hope to be reflecting on this post in a couple of years with a greater understanding of how to live with the seasons. It will be a lifelong process for a guy that has lived indoors for his whole life, treating the outside as a look-but-don’t-touch museum until very recently. I’m becoming more of myself as I’ve started to interact with and participate in the outside. It feels good.

Three Plants for Tea

Over a year ago, I was in Peru, struck by the beauty of many parts of the country and the closeness of non-city dwellers to the land. As my traveling companion and I hiked deep into Colca Canyon, we walked through small villages that were inaccessible by automobile. By necessity, the people there had know-how; there was no pizza delivery-like instant gratification available. The most memorable part of the trip for me was an all-too-short stay with the Quispe family on the Capachica Peninsula, in the small village of Paramis.

Traveling is always an experience in vulnerability. I don’t always acknowledge it, but I’m completely at the mercy of others. There is no home to retreat to. I know no one and sometimes do not speak the language. I often don't know how the "justice system" works, if there is one. In exchange for some money (usually), I am whisked away here and there, and in the case of Paramis, out to a remote place indeed. A remote place, of course, is exactly where I wanted to be, and where my soul often yearns to be. It’s a good thing that people are generally good and honest! I’ve been humbled by the incredible hospitality I’ve received on every one of my trips abroad.

Paramis and beyond from partway up the hill

After taking a rough ride down a rocky, dusty road, we were met with an absolutely stunning view. The setting was bucolic, the mountains of Bolivia were across the massive Lake Titicaca, and a sense of peace was in the atmosphere. I’ll never forget the full moon over the lake, casting a bright shimmering beam across the water. Our hosts showed us to our room - a small hut with a straw-dirt floor and no electricity. No electricity, despite the power lines that ran to the 25 or so homes in the village. The families typically purchased electricity from the power company as a cooperative, with each family paying a share. One family was not willing or able to pay, so the electricity had been out for a couple of weeks. Our host told us that it did not bother him in the slightest, gave us a candle for our room, and urged us to use caution given the abundant dry tinder that was our floor.

I instantly admired his nonchalant attitude of being totally fine without electricity in his home. It’s a comfort zone that I hope to get to eventually. Electricity makes life easier, and I've developed certain associations with it, but it is not necessary. Humans lived for all but the smallest sliver of their existence without it. Here, in Paramis, I saw living proof that people can be happy and go about their daily lives without it!

I wasn’t sure whether the two brothers and sister lived their lives as they did out of necessity or by choice. I know that they did live in the city for a time and that they eventually came back to the land where they grew up. Regardless of how they came to be where they were, they were very humble and incredibly proud of their lives. They shared stories of how they lived and of their heritage. Dinner and lunch were full of fresh, home grown/cooked ingredients and stories. We also walked and talked. As we trekked up the hill behind the house, we were treated to wonderful views, and, to my delight, a description of the uses of many plants on the land. We picked the three plants that had been at the table for tea with every meal. I can’t remember all of them, but one of the plants had an anise-like flavor. I thought this tea blend was so cool, as I had only previously made tea from a packet with a string already attached to it. This was quite a different experience, bringing the plants from the "back yard" to the table.

Our host showing us plants and talking about their uses

As we continued to walk, we stopped at an aloe-like plant. Our host used this plant as a detergent to clean clothes. In Spanish, he said, “In the city, people use chemical detergent and it causes pollution. Here, we use this plant and we return it to the earth. We can pour the used water anywhere because it came from here.” I noticed the ease with which he walked up the rocks, in sandals, his footsteps soft and deliberate, while we made lots of noise with our heavy steps and hiking shoes. Every once in awhile, we would pass a structure that reverberated with the sound of rushing water. Our host described that their water came from the top of the hill, down the aqueduct. Very cool. Water from the land, without high tech treatment. Like it should be.

I often think of the Quispes. They are role models, even heroes to me. They are the truest "environmentalists" I have met, without the title, walking the walk without the slightest air of trying to be cool. I thought of them in particular a couple weekends ago. I’ve started a small group in and around Washington, D.C. that meets to share and expand our knowledge of the land. We are focusing on our own surrounding ecosystem, establishing a relationship with the other beings here. During our walk last weekend, the thought of three plants for tea came to mind: spicebush (Lindera benzoin), creeping charlie (Glechoma hederacea), and Japanese barberry (Berberis thunbergii).

Barberry (left), creeping charlie (upper right), spicebush (lower right)

I nearly left the park without them, but I felt determined to try to make something, even though I wasn’t aware of what the right ratios would be and what the method of preparation was. I do say, I was pleased with the flavor. A bit overpowered by mint, perhaps, so I can tweak the ratios a bit next time. All three plants are available in abundance, so there is tea around any time I want to make it! In these moments, I feel the most connected and centered, that life is good and that the path to making it better is clear. When I connect to my ecosystem, rather than walk through it as one does through a museum, I create a better life for myself and do less harm to others. I have a lot to learn, and I look forward to sharing with others who are interested as I learn!

A Second Chance for Chanterelles

A severe drought in DC raised hell with the wild edibles this summer. For example, the wineberries near me- which typically arrive on cue around July 4^th - failed to fruit. They started to flower, produced a handful of unripe berries, and then just quit. Flowers, fruit, and leaves shriveled up and fell to the ground. In my almost five years in DC, I have never known so many consecutive weeks without rain. I’m sure the tourists didn’t mind the drought, as it was sunny, cloudless, and warm for almost two straight months. But I’m no tourist. I’m not interested in looking at marble statues of long-dead, strange-looking, over-privileged white men.

In previous years, the ripening wineberries also signaled that it was time to start looking for chanterelle mushrooms. I figured it was pointless to check out my chanterelle patches given the drought. However, if I didn’t check, I knew I would regret it. So I set out in the forest, which generally reminded me of how my mouth feels when I wake up in the morning after a night of heavy mouth breathing. As expected, I didn’t find a single chanterelle. I would have to wait until next year. I was gutted.

I love all wild edibles (philosophically if not for taste). However, mushrooms will always hold a special place in my heart. They were my first deep dive into the world of wild foods and taxonomic classification. They taught me that with careful observation, patience, hours logged, and rigorous study, I could make sense of a universe that initially seemed too massive and complex to comprehend (Scientists estimate 5-10 million species of fungus!) Mushrooms challenged me, and frankly scared me. I don’t mind indigestion. I shrug off nausea. I find vomiting more annoying than concerning. However, it’s hard to shake off renal and hepatic failure- the most severe symptoms of mushroom poisoning. Yet, the more I learned, the more confident I became, which ultimately led to something that can only be classified as obsession.

There are those times of the year when a particular mushroom is all I can think about. I’ve considered taking vacation the entire month of May to look for morels. In autumn, I think so much about hen of the woods that I probably appear distracted and withdrawn to close friends. Around Independence Day, it’s chanterelles. Normally I like to root for the underdog, but not in the case of chanterelles. They are one of the top dogs in the mushroom world and their position at the front of the pack is justified in every respect. Their flavor blows me away- a perfectly composed and executed symphony of sweetness, earthiness, nuttiness, and apricotiness (if that’s a word). I sometimes consider putting dried chanterelles under my pillow so their aroma can permeate my dreams. So you can imagine my disappointment when that bastard drought took them away from me.

About three weeks ago, the rain started to fall again. It fell hard and often. It fell to the point where I was getting flash flood alerts on my cell phone. While others were complaining, I was thankful. Rain is life, and the best friend of mushroom hunters.  

Katya and I went camping last weekend in West Virginia. It was supposed to be a standard trip- hiking and relaxation by the river. We had chosen our destination for two reasons. First, in the Spring, we had accidentally left some critical tent components at our campsite there, and we hoped to retrieve them. Second, timber rattlesnakes are purported to be abundant in the area, and despite my general preferences for longevity, a maladapted, counter-evolution-oriented slice of my brain makes me terribly intrigued by venomous snakes.

We arrived at the trailhead around 3:30 pm, packed our bags, and headed down the trail. The early stretches of the trail meandered through spruce and white pine forest. We made it about five feet before realizing that the forest floor was absolutely carpeted in mushrooms. There were russulas, suillus, and boletes in every direction. I was examining what I thought to be a Red Capped Scaber Stalk when Katya yelled “I think these might be King Boletes!” Indeed, they were boletes- two beautiful specimens with elegant brown caps and perfect white gills. However, King Boletes (Boletus edulis), or porcini, have white reticulation, or webbing, that runs down the length of the stalk. These boletes had white webbing, however it only covered the uppermost third of the stalk. We ultimately decided the specimens were Noble Boletes (Boletus nobilis), an interesting edible variety which I have never personally found. We dashed around the woods looking for more. We saw hundreds of Bitter Boletes (Tylopilus felleus), which as the name implies are wholly unpalatable, though not toxic.

Katya and I knew it was going to be a different kind of weekend. The forest was alive in a way I rarely see. Despite being August in West Virginia, the temperature was cool, holding in the high 60s. The soil was visibly moist, and droplets of water hung from every tree and shrub. It was exactly what two mushroom-starved people hope to encounter. We walked further down the trail, though our progress was slow. Every five seconds, we stopped to examine and photograph another specimen that we had never seen, such as the Scaly Vase Chanterelle (Turbinellus floccosus) and American Caesar mushroom (Amanita Jacksonii).

Hail Caesar. Purported to be edible though I'm years away from eating an Amanita.

We meandered through the coniferous forest before skirting the edge of a massive wetland area. After walking a half mile or so, we spotted a lonely, beautiful Golden Chanterelle (Cantharellus cibarius) right next to the trail. I was somewhat stunned, as I have never found chanterelles this late into August in the mid-Atlantic. That lonely chanterelle would be anything but lonely by the end of our trip.

As we continued down the trail, we started to see more and more chanterelles. There were stretches on the trail where we spotted clusters every few yards. We spotted more yet when we moved out of the spruce-wetland area and entered the mixed hardwood-rhododendron forest that lined the river’s edge. Katya and I would sometimes go off trail to look around.  However, the vast majority of chanterelles were either smack-dab in the middle of the overgrown foot trial, or speckling the steep hillsides abutting it. There were so many mushrooms that we had to be careful when moving through taller grasses so not to step on hidden chanterelles. Remember, we were both carrying large, heavy packs, with an original goal to camp and relax, not spend hours harvesting mushrooms. It was getting later in the day and we wanted to get to camp before nightfall. However, we certainly weren’t going to leave any chanterelles behind. So we bent down time and time again, under the weight of our heavy loads, using our knives to liberate every good-sized, golden flavor bomb we spied.

This is what we saw every two feet or so.

After a few hours of bending down, standing up, traversing rough terrain, and fording the river, we finally arrived at our campsite just before dark. We immediately found the missing pieces to our tent- right where we left them all those months ago. After setting up the tent, we gathered wood and started a campfire. We cooked instant mashed potatoes before taking an evening dip in the river and calling it a night.

The next morning, we lounged around the campsite, cooked some oatmeal, and took another swim. We wanted to head out relatively early, as we had to hike out about eight miles, and we knew it would be slow going if we found as many chanterelles on the way out as we had on the way in. We took down our camp and headed down the trail around 10 am. We walked just a few feet before spotting a chanterelle. It was an absolute bonanza for the next few miles. Unlike our experience on the hike into camp, on the hike out, it proved very fruitful to get off-trail and explore the hardwoods at the base of the steep hills framing the valley. There were chanterelles everywhere- not in small, diffuse patches, but literally everywhere. The entire forest was a chanterelle patch!

We were starting to feel more like agricultural field hands than weekend foragers. Katya and I darted around in a frenzy, climbing hills, weaving our way through trees and brushes, gathering giant chanterelles in a methodical, job-like fashion. Our sacks were starting to overflow with mushrooms- extra weight on top of our already heavy loads. When you really want to find a mushroom and can’t, it’s heartbreaking. You would give anything to find just one. We on the other hand, were having a once-in-a-lifetime day for mushroom foragers, a day when you find such great numbers of choice edibles that awe and excitement are replaced with “Oh shit, another one. Now I have to bend down and pick it up”. This went on for hours, during which time we barely covered a few miles.

Just look at that golden flavor bomb. Katya's loving it.

As we moved uphill away from the river, things quieted down some. We moved through a rocky stretch of maple-dominated forest where we encountered few mushrooms. It was a nice break. It was getting later in the day, we still had hours of hiking ahead of us, and it would be a 3.5-hour drive back to the District. We took advantage of the lack of fungus, hastening our pace to cover four miles quickly. My shoulders and legs were on fire from the weight and constant bending down. We just had a few more miles to go. Despite our love for chanterelles, a part of us hoped we would make it to the car without spotting another mushroom. That proved not be the case. One particular forest road doubling as a foot trail was completely littered with chanterelles. The steep hillsides below and above the road were littered as well. Katya and I looked at each other, quietly accepted our duty, and gathered every last one of them. There were times on those hills when I was deeply envious of hooved mammals that walk on all four.

It was 6:30 pm by the time we finally reached the car. We immediately dropped our packs and reveled in the sensation of no longer feeling like beasts of burden. Our burden had been chanterelles – 10 lbs. when all was said and done. Despite my previous levity about not wanting to find any more, too many chanterelles are really no burden at all.

Those bags looked much better on the car than slung over our shoulders.

The following evening, we invited our dear friend Matt over and made a completely over-the-top meal made with our bounty- bucatini with chanterelle cream sauce. We used an absurd amount of chanterelles, which would have cost $100 had we bought them in a store. Our only costs were time, effort, and taxonomic nerd-out sessions that allow us to recognize and safely enjoy Nature’s gifts. We dried the remainder of the mushrooms, ultimately giving away or bartering most of what we found. We set aside a large bag for Katya’s mother. I traded some with coworkers- chanterelles for a hand-me-down rain jacket and recently caught Alaskan seafood (halibut and shrimp). 

When I share Nature’s gifts with others, I experience far more joy than I ever could from hoarding. Every time I am able to share what I have gathered, I am reminded that despite propaganda and institutions that aim to convince people it’s a dog-eat-dog world, human beings are social creatures who grow stronger in their cooperation with and dependency on others. I cannot possibly find or produce all that I need and want by myself, and even if I could, I wouldn’t want to live in such a lonely world. Like so many mushrooming experiences, this one connected me more deeply to the Earth and my fellow humans. Those chanterelles may not have showed up on Independence Day like I was used to, but like all hip, cool organisms, they are cooler still for showing up fashionably late. Now I just need to figure out how to take the entire month of August off from work.

This article was written in loving memory of all the wineberries that never got the rain they needed.

More Than I Imagined

My journey to develop a close relationship with the beings that surround me is pleasantly never-ending. The barrier between me and them has only started to come down in the past couple of years. I am at an interesting transition time now, with the sun setting on my old way of life, while one that aligns with my values is coming to light. The new way will surely lead to less money, less comfort (at least for a time), and more physical and emotional exertion, but it is the only way to a life worth living. Right now, I have amazing experiences with different ecosystems for bits of time, and then walk back into a sterile office environment. This pattern is unsustainable, unsatisfying, and jarring to my being. I want to live in a community that relies on and contributes to the healthy ecosystem around it. Right now, I am learning about and meeting the beings that surround me. I made important progress toward that end during a mushroom walk with Matt Cohen of Matt’s Habitats (Silver Spring, MD).

I’ve been eating some select wild mushrooms for a couple of years, due to becoming best friends with the seasoned mushroom hunter, Joseph Ziobro. But, I’ve never asked him the right questions or tried to come up with a way to conceptualize learning new mushrooms. I fell prey to the belief that most mushrooms would kill me and that there are only a handful that are edible. As I’ve now finally come around to using Tom Elpel’s Botany in a Day for placing plants that I know into families, I am happy to have found a way to start categorizing mushrooms and understanding them more.

I seem to always be surprised when I come to find that something is not as complex and scary as I thought it was. Learning mycologist’s names for mushrooms is a matter of careful observation, patience, making the time, and asking questions. When I learn a mushroom’s name and some of its history, I am let into a space where I’m able to develop a relationship, to begin understanding what this fungus is and does. Matt taught us to ask questions like: is the mushroom growing out of the ground or wood? Does it have gills, pores, neither? What color is it? Does it stain when bruised or cut? Then, we can categorize: boletes, russulas, amanitas, polypores, cup fungus, etc. I’ve been whipped into a frenzy - a good kind of frenzy. I find myself laying down on the forest floor and crawling around on my hands and knees to meet new friends.

Treeful of oyster mushrooms

Aside from the identification aspect, Matt’s class was incredibly important to my perception. As I mentioned above, I had pretty much decided that many mushrooms were killers, and that I should just stick to the few I knew. In the area that I live, Amanita bisporigera, or destroying angel, and Amanita phalloides, or death cap, can kill me in very unpleasant ways. Of course, other mushrooms are also very harmful in significant quantities. But, I came to learn that that there are many edible, good tasting mushrooms - many more than I imagined. My unfounded fear dissolved quickly as I started picking up mushrooms, observing their properties, and nibbling on some of the boletes that passed an initial screening test.

When I eat wild food, I feed my body and soul. I am reminded that there is a whole world out there that does its thing independent of what I do. I realize the importance of connection to the rest of life and the reciprocal relationship I must practice to keep up my end of the bargain. Hunting and gathering is not just about taking, but also giving, and I must do more giving. From a young age, I learned that, in human relationships, I should give as well as take, that I should share. Here, I must apply this in a different context. To truly give, I must live amongst the beings that give me life. Right now, I am still an alien invader. My food comes from way over there, my water from over there, and my shelter and heat from long supply chains. I don’t eat much near my house due to pollution, lack of availability, and the law. I want this to end; it doesn’t feel right.

As someone who has trained for and lived a life largely in his head, I am learning to listen to and yield to the way things feel. When I meet another being, when I eat wild food, I am overcome with joy. I relish the great unknown that is becoming known, wondering what is out there and what else I’ve been missing my whole life. As I sit here, I imagine the mushrooms popping up and the deer moving about. I imagine, not out of intellectual curiosity, but because my soul yearns for connection. I long to get back to biodiverse places.

I tried a russula and a bolete for the first time this past weekend. I cooked up a few pounds of oyster mushroom that I found. I made a delicious sweet and sour drink from staghorn sumac. When I was out setting up hunting blinds the other day, I noticed that the autumn olives were starting to ripen. As I keep track of the plants I know in Botany in a Day, I realize that I’m actually making a dent in learning plants. When I go out to biodiverse places, I feel more and more at home. While in Pennsylvania last week, it seemed that every dead tree was covered in oyster mushrooms and silently shouting to me. As I open myself up to all that’s out there, a whole new world is being revealed to me. One that was always there, but that I ignored.

Staghorn sumac fruit

Sumac tea, the taste of summer - steep in cold water for 20 min

Though I experience the world in its wonder and sometimes think that things are speaking to me, I know that the universe does not care about me and my fate, because I am just one among many. Beings live and die every day. In some ways, that knowing is comforting and liberating, and in other ways it is deeply frightening. I say liberating because this knowing frees me from my old notions that I am really something, that I’m meant to be something amazing, that I’m important enough to warrant some special attention, that some god is watching over me to make sure that I’m taken care of. Knowing that those notions are false, I can let go of the great, impossible expectations that I’ve had for myself. On the other hand, I say frightening because the Earth’s ecosystems, in all of their beauty and wonder, contain real dangers: ticks, hypothermia, snake and spider bites, trips and falls, allergic reactions. The list of dangers goes on long enough that my head implores me to consider staying inside, or at least not venturing far. But, there is no unfeeling the feeling of tasting the wild, literally and figuratively, of making something with material that another being provided. And so, I continue to march on, toward a more wild life.