Ilsa J. Bick's Blog, page 37

The Four YA Flavors of Summer

Fun posts, great giveaways, outstanding authors talking about the books you love: what's not to like?

Check out The Four Flavors of Summer, and watch for my guest post on July 16.

Southeast Wisconsin Festival of Books: June 17 & 18

This will be the first time I'm participating–both days!–but the festival looks to be great fun AND co-sponsored by the Mystery Writers of America!  William Kent Krueger!  Julie Hyzy!  And scads of other great mystery writers–and, oh yeah, YA authors, too  

And jazz.

I mean, how can you pass up an opportunity like this? 

http://www.sewibookfest.com/

Your Brain Off Computers

About a year ago, The New York Times did an interesting article on the effects of unplugging on the brain.  Not surprisingly, the researchers found that too much tech is bad.  Attention suffers (no shocker there; just watch kids doing homework, texting, watching videos and listening to music–at the same time–and try telling them that there really is no such thing as multitasking: there's only many things done in a half-assed way).  So do creativity, memory, and mood.   Read the article and watch the video. Well worth the time.

The reason I bring all this up is I had a chance to test this, up close and personal.  This past week, I visited Glacier National Park and effectively went unplugged and offline for about four days.  I was pretty sure I'd told people I'd be unreachable, but I forgot to set up a vacation message.  I didn't tell anyone where I was going.  Now, I'm old enough to have lived in an era without cell phones; there were "mobile" phones, but they were clunky and expensive.  Further, they defeated the purpose of going on a hike; I didn't want to be found.

This time around, I felt . . . a little ambivalent.  For one thing, I'd brought work: the final pass for ASHES and another book I wanted to finish up (and which I finally did and shot out of here yesterday).  Things have been so hectic regarding ASHES–in a good way, mind you–that I think part of me just didn't want to be out of touch.  Who knew what might happen?  This is even knowing that my editor was out of the country!  Still, on my way into Glacier, I just had to stop for one last internet fix at this little café.  It was closed, but I hung out in the parking lot, found a signal and then logged on long enough to send off my last pass even though I knew my editor wouldn't be around to read my comments until that Friday.  Why?  I didn't want the thing hanging over me; this trip was to unwind, unplug, do a little research, do a little hiking, turn off my brain.  Even though I'd brought that book to work on, I figured it would be a miracle if I turned on the computer or even remembered the date.

Wrong-o.

What surprised me about this trip?  How uncomfortable I was for the first 48 hours or so.  Mind you, I've hiked my entire adult life.  Hiking is, for me, the ultimate in getting away from it all.  When I'm on a trail–and truly disconnected from my life–I lose track of the date and, sometimes, time.  I almost never look at my watch.  I chatter for the first day or so and then I just go mum.  Nothing to say.  Plenty to look at.  Mosquitoes to swat.  A couple times, I brought an iPod along so I could listen to books on the trail, but I ditched that, too, years back.  For one thing, you can't hear the animals–and some of them are big and, well, surprises aren't necessarily fun for them or you.  

This time was weird.  I was anxious, antsy, angst-ful.  The lodge where we stayed had no televisions or radios much less internet, but one night I saw this woman with a cell–and she clearly had the right carrier because she was yakking up a storm–and I felt like . . . gimme that.  Like damn, wish I had her carrier . . . 

I did notice, though, that my creative juices started flowing again.  I'd been having trouble wrapping up this latest book because I was still trying to see what I'd do for the sequel.  That all came clear one afternoon on a backcountry trail. By then, I'd sung Mozart's REQUIEM all the way through–twice, and doing all the parts because we were in this wash where the grizzlies liked to roam and we knew they were out there, had seen a mom and two cubs just the other day.  But grizzlies shy away from people talking or singing. (News flash: bear bells?  Useless.  Cubs are super-interested in the noise and so they'll head right for you.  Since mom-grizzly is sure to be right behind, you might as well ring the dinner bell.)  The hubby and I were silent, not talking much after having hiked 15+ miles.  We were still a mile or so from the trailhead when the answer just popped into my head.  A nice little light-bulb moment.  I was so excited by the time we got back to the lodge that I kept reviewing it in my mind, turning the idea over this way and that, nursing it like a glass of very good red wine.  Letting it breathe.  By morning, it still had a great bouquet, and so I pulled out the computer and wrote it down. Worked on it during the car ride out of the park and all the way to Missoula, and then put the finishing touches on it yesterday.

So getting away was definitely good.  Going unplugged was better.  What was fascinating was to find that when I did go online–just as soon as I got a signal–I got a bazillion messages and texts: from the daughters; from folks who'd been trying to find me.  Only two messages were REALLY important, and one was so SUPER IMPORTANT, I just called instead of playing email-tag.

In the end, only two emails out of more than two hundred (and, wuh, four days offline) demanded my attention.  That's one-percent.  Now, that was a really important one-percent, and–as it turned out–it was a damned good thing I'm pretty compulsive when it comes to things like work and deadlines.

Still, I'm kind of conflicted here because the rest could wait.  Some–a lot–was outright garbage of the kind we all get.  Would things have worked out for that super-important one-percent if I hadn't happened to be in a position to check my email last Friday?  I bet they would have; some people might have been peeved but not bled out or anything fatal.

So I'm left with the feeling that we manufacture urgency, and being constantly and always available only fosters the illusion.  Worse, I now completely understand what the scientists were talking about when they described the kind of anxiety that grips people when they're suddenly unplugged–and that troubles me.  From personal experience, I know that my brain works better when I unplug and get away.  I'm uneasy when I'm out of the natural world for too long–and now, I'm uneasy when I leave the manufactured one behind, too.

The way out of the box?  It's pretty simple, actually.  Importance is relative; when people say they don't have enough time, they're really saying that some things are worth their attention and others aren't or are low priority.  Getting out into the sun, going for a hike, unplugging . . . those should all be priorities for me just as writing is, for me, number one.  (Yes, I know: family should be number one and they are . . . most of the time.  If we're talking arterial blood, or active flames.  When I'm deep in a book, I lose perspective. The book has me by the throat and everything else is secondary.) 

More to the point, unplugging is good for my writing.  If I hadn't hit the trails, I'm sure I would've bumbled to my ah-ha moment eventually–but perhaps not as quickly.  I'm absolutely positive that getting there wouldn't have been as much fun as doing the same while hoping that grizzlies have no taste for Mozart.

Post-BEA Maunderings

Okay, it's true.  I'm late.  I haven't posted in almost two weeks–well, not counting this longish guest post I did for a really fun blog-event centered on dystopian and apocalyptic YA novels.  If you haven't read it, you can drop by , leave your thoughts–and enter a giveaway for ASHES (woot!)–until June 23. 

I mean, honestly, I think that post counts.  I just forgot to talk about it here.

Anyway, as you've noticed by now, I haven't posted my May recommendations either.  That's not because I don't have any but with everything going on–BEA, putting the finishing touches on ASHES (which is now launching in AUGUST, folks!!!), wrapping up my wip (FINALLY), watching my kid graduate from college on Memorial Day (she definitely rocks), getting ready for a research trip that I'm leaving for, like, tomorrow (ulp!), AND thinking ahead to my presentation for the Southeast Wisconsin Festival of Books   (for anyone so inclined to head to Waukesha, I'll be there both Friday and Saturday, June 17 & 18; doing a presentation on apocalyptic books and then a couple panels AND signings . . .) AND the ALA the week after (which is in New Orleans and, yes, they ARE monitoring the Mississippi; so far, the conference is a go) AND . . .

Well, you get the picture.  It's been really, really busy.  And I'm good at time management.  My husband still tells the kids about how I used to plan my life down to fifteen-minute blocks, writing out a schedule every morning and then sticking to it. 

In light of all that, here's what I'm gonna do in terms of my May recommendations.  They'll be bundled into my June recs; makes more sense to me than playing catch-up now.  Honestly, I got a garden to get into the ground–oh, my baby tomatoes are calling–before I drive down to Chicago this evening to catch my flight tomorrow.

So, in lieu of all that, I'll only say that I had a blast at the BEA, even though I saw very little of it.  I was in and out pretty fast and really busy while I was there, but I'm not complaining.  First off, I got to meet the ENTIRE ASHES team (whose pictures I posted already) and that was worth the trip right there.   I've been so fortunate to have such great talent behind my books, both at Carolrhoda and now Egmont, that I can't tell you what a treat it was/is to schmooze with people who are hard-working, enthusiastic, and indefatigable.  Okay, okay, they do tire; by Wednesday, I saw more than my share of glazed expressions–and one was mine–but it was worth it.  They warned me that I'd hit the ground running, and I did, pretty much.  I made it to my hotel on Monday, very late afternoon, and just in enough time to have dinner with an old friend–and then I segued almost immediately to an indie press party that evening.  The next day was a whirlwind of signings, booth appearances, a podcast, an Egmont family dinner. 

The best part?  I loved signing books.  I loved meeting fans.  I ADORED putting faces to screen names.  The length of my signing lines just slayed me.  Like . . . holy cow, where'd you all come from?  Honestly, by Tuesday evening, when I was the very last person to finish up with signings because the line was just so LONG–my hand was completely cramped into this claw.  I have this stack of business cards; I saw so many nice people!  Like . . . wow.

So, yeah.  That was fun.  It was, in fact, fabulous and I want to send a HUGE THANK-YOU to everyone who stood in line(s) so patiently for so long.  I love that some people like Hannah Gardner managed to capture moments like this and preserve them for me.  (I don't know about you guys, but either I was, like, mega-astonished or yapping . . . or catching flies.  I vote for all three.)

Wednesday was just as jammed, although I spent virtually no time at the show.  First off was a lovely booksellers breakfast, where I met some fabulously passionate people and got to talk about ASHES, my background and–most of all–find out from people who'd both read the book or were going to read it what they thought of it, me, why dystopians and apocalytpic novels are so big right now . . . In short, we talked books, and it just doesn't get any better than that.

After the breakfast, I went to the show for a very brief turn around the floor.  This thing is so huge and there were so many people, I felt the same way I did when I visited New York for the very first time.  Like . . . wow.  Look at all these people.  Look at all these publishers and authors and READERS [humans, not machines ].  Yes, I ran into a couple folks who'd hung out in my signing lines the day before (thank you, Kat, for noticing my dress; you don't know how long I agonized over what to wear for my trip to the BIG CITY).  I heard Michael Moore being Michael Moore.  I even caught a glimpse of Christopher Paolini and Tyra Banks–and I met Walter Dean MYERS (boing-boing-boing).  But I also missed folks I'd wanted to see and say hi to (like James Dashner, who's just the nicest guy, and Maggie Stiefvater, who is also a hoot, has more fans and friends than G-d, and is unfailingly gracious).  But I didn't have time, and–to tell the truth–I was a little glazed by then, having also stayed up way late to put the finishing touches on my guest post for the Dystopian Domination thing.

After an hour of stumbling in a fog–and scoring, exactly, one book :Crimes of the Heart–which, unfortunately, tanked (as in, never made it to peformance) for reasons I don't recall at this point.  But I do remember all my stage time and all those forensics competitions, and I think they came in handy for this video work.  Or maybe I'm just a ham   Which, if you know me, probably wouldn't surprise you but sure as hell surprises me because I am, really, very shy.  Really.  I know; you're rolling your eyes because you've heard this before.  But I am.  Put me in a room and give me a purpose, I'm fine.  Put me in a room with a bunch of people and suggest that I, like, party or something, and I'm looking for the nearest corner.

Anyway–did the video stuff for three hours or so.  It was a blast, and I loved the director, who was this very thoughtful guy.  What was most interesting, though?  I had forgotten how much 9/11 still resonates with people who actually LIVE in New York.  Who were there.  This is a big country, and when you're far removed and time has passed, it's easy to forget how horrified people must've been.  Sure, you can watch the videos of that day (I always cry), but then you move on with your life.  In New York and environs, that day has become the sore thumb that just won't go away–an event that hangs around in an enduring way that I don't think most of us appreciate.  I know, I know; that's a bald generalization.  But I also don't want to minimize the impact and importance of that day.  In a way, I wonder if the aftermath is similar to what military families go through when their loved ones deploy.  We all know there are wars going on, but if they don't touch you in a personal way–if you're not hanging a blue star in your window when a member of your family's been deployed–it's easy to go on without thinking much about it.  9/11 hangs around, I think, and it was really interesting to hear from this director about how that day's changed him.  He thinks about apocalypse; he's planned for it (and in a way that some of the younger guys in the studio–people who were kids when it happened–haven't).  For this director, it was all about survival afterward–and inevitability.  

You can say that's kind of morbid.  But I say: that's reality.  Cities are shells; civilization is fragile.  If you know history at all, you understand how quickly things fall apart.

Anyway–that was the end of my time there.  After the studio, it was off to the airport and then home.  Twenty-four hours later, I was in the car, heading for my eldest's college graduation.  Met up with parental units, in-law and otherwise.  Hung out with the kid and got her packed up in heat that made my eyeballs melt.  The graduation fell on Memorial Day and by the end, I was feeling pretty okay.  Not weepy or nostalgic at all, but excited for my kid who's off on the next adventure in her life–and good for her.

 As for the rest . . . well, you know what I've been up to.  So I'll leave you with this choice bit that I just happened to catch this morning on my way to Starbucks for my one in-house coffee of the week.  You know, when this kind of thing happens–when I hear a bit on the radio that's directly related to either a work-in-progress or a book I'm researching–it's enough to make you believe in karma.  So enjoy this segment of On Being (which used to be Speaking of Faith) featuring cosmologist Lord Martin Rees.  Now before you do an eye-roll . . . no, I'm not trying to get you all into a god or religion or anything.  I do think, though, that spirituality is hard-wired into our brains; we've always sought the transcendent, whether that's the awe of peering through a microscope or teasing apart the genome, or wondering at one's place in a very big universe.  I forget who said it first, but cosmology and the spiritual share much in common because both seek to understand the universal in their own special ways.  I was fortunate to catch this re-broadcast this morning and you can listen to the podcast here or read bits and pieces of Rees's interview as a Twitterscript.  Personally?  Do yourself a favor.  Spend an hour and just listen to the guy.  Then go read one of his books.  (Start with Just Six Numbers: The Deep Forces that Shape the Universe.) 

Beyond all the great stuff Lord Rees says in this interview about multiverses, cosmic origami and alternative realities, three other things really stand out.  The first is when he says that the human brain is, by far, the most complicated system we've ever tried to fathom and still haven't.  The second is that an understanding of the universe may have to wait for some species most advanced than us to evolve here.

And the third?  Great quote: "It's better to read good science fiction than second-rate science."

Right on.

A Few BEA 2011 Pics

Well, I am tuckered out but very humbled by all the enthusiasm people showed for ASHES.  I will post more on my BEA experiences a tad later–after a gallon of coffee, maybe, and some housekeeping that just HAS to be done before I leave tomorrow (again!) for the older kid's college graduation–but I thought to share some great pictures. 

To everyone who showed for all or any one of my three signings: THANK YOU!  I was so overwhelmed by your response to ASHES and DRAW THE DARK that I completely forgot to take pictures!!  Enter the fabulous Elizabeth Law, from whose BEA album I've shamelessly pilfered a few pics to share with you: thank you, Elizabeth; you da' woman.

Enjoy, everyone!  And huzzah to TEAM ASHES! You guys completely rock.

Some of the fabulous folks on TEAM ASHES (bottom, left to right): Doug Pocock, Greg Ferguson (my lovely editor); (top, left to right): Katie Halata, moi, Mary Albi, Deb Shapiro

The incomparable Elizabeth Law, with ASHES Before and After:

The line for my first ASHES signing (300+ books for that signing alone!) and some fan pics (and, yes, that fab bling-blouse everyone loved):

YAY!

Now . . . coffee . . . and lots of it.

ASHES gets a cover!

Been a long haul, folks, and I've seen this cover in various incarnations.  This has to be the creepiest one yet–and I love it.

Oh, and check out the ad in PW. 

And drop by Egmont USA while you're at it.

ASHES on Fuse #8

So it seems that Egmont rolled out their fall preview for a whole bunch of librarians; Elizabeth Bird was there and so she got a first look at the ASHES cover.  When I saw that cover, I thought, whoa, there is nothing like this out there.  And that's the G-d's truth, guys.

So why haven't I thrown the cover up here for all to see?  Well, as far as I know, the cover isn't completely set in stone.  It's close, though, and I promise that as soon as I get the go-ahead (and a nice, high-res image), I will put it up on the site.

In the meantime, though, Do bop over to Fuse#8 and take a peek!  (Then, by all means, let those hard-working folks on TEAM ASHES know what you think:

http://twitter.com/#!/EgmontUSA

Foraging in the Woods for Nuts and Berries–and Knotweed

It's been a long winter, not necessarily so VERY cold and snowy, although we had plenty of both, but one that seemed to go on and on. Despite one very bizarre day when we topped 80 (!), spring is still inching toward being. If we hit 60, we're lucky and night-time temps remain in the 30s and low 40s. The plants are behind. The birds are completely kerfuffled. Ah, the joys of global warming in action . . .  Mind you, I'm not complaining about the continued cool. The weather will turn quickly enough and everyone will be moaning about WHY is it so HOT and WHEN will it coold DOWN and on and on. People are never satisfied.

But that doesn't mean I haven't had just a few moments of going a tad stir-crazy in my little glass box, my fond nickname for the office in which I do most of my work. It's not completely glassed-in, but I've got a couple nice windows that look out on the front yard where I can keep an eye on the finches, the hawks, the turkeys as they dive-bomb the driveway on their way to the backyard. Is it the BEST view? No. That would be the back, but my husband's claimed that. Every now and again, I sneak up when he's not around, but pretty much I stick to my downstairs work-room because . . . it's where I work.

Recently, I've been feeling crazed with the local grocery store, too.  If that makes sense.  I mean, I'm just so BORED with all the usual suspects.  Maybe that's because I like gardening and, right now, how my garden grows is . . .  not so well.

Now, there is NOTHING like freshly grown vegetables.  Guys, the broccoli you buy in the store?  So bland.  REAL broccoli and broccolini out of the garden has SO MUCH flavor.  Same with turnips, beets, green beans . . . well, I could go on and on.

So I had cabin fever.  I had food fatigue.  Hell, call it I-gotta-get-away-from-the-computer-and-recharge.  (Not an easy task: I like my work and when I'm in a frothing lather over a book–when I'm not looking for an excuse to run and hide from the mess I MUST be making of a story–I can't tear myself away. Well, let me rephrase: I don't want to.)  But everyone needs time to recharge, and I'm no exception. So I made sure I would HAVE to leave by signing up for a class, which is the real point of this entry.

So, yesterday, I broke out.  I wandered into the woods for nuts and berries, so to speak.  See, there's this wonderful woman nearby, Linda Conroy, who–along with her partner, John–holds all kinds of classes and seminars and workshops in Wise Woman skills: medicinal plants, edible plants, simple living skills, the works.  I've taken classes with Linda before (autumn foraging, book-binding) and, honestly, tramping through the woods and foraging for my evening salad seemed like a chance to have fun with a purpose.  (Thank you, Highlights.)

Some shrink-researcher once taught me that you retain 30% of what you see, 30% of what you hear, and about 66% of what you see and hear.  I'd add that you retain about 90% of what you see, touch and taste.   This, I know, is true.  From my fall foraging expeditions and classes, the plants I saw, gathered and ate are the ones I remember the best: nanny berries, wild grapes, autumn olives, Japanese lanterns, burdock being my faves (there is NOTHING LIKE a good burdock pickle–and for those of you heading out to Japanese specialty markets, that's gobo to you).  Drove my husband a little batty when I went out to the front yard and peeled back Japanese lanterns (a decorative perennial) for those slightly sour, very juicy orange fruits which are fabulous in salads. Or when we'd be tramping along and I'd spotted a nanny berry bush and start stripping off handfuls . . . )

So, yesterday, I spent the whole day with John and Linda and five other students traipsing through the woods.  The weather cooperated; the day was gorgeous; the company was fabulous, and I added a bunch of new plants to my repertoire. In fact, I made a list (stupidly, I did not take pictures, but Linda made the point that it's better to become familiar with one plant, in all its stages, at a time).  But here's a list of the plants I learned about:

wild carrot

motherwort

cleaver

stinging nettle

multiflora rose

wild raisin

wild currant

curly dock

wild parsnip

wild plantain

wild raspberry

wild bergamot (no, not the citrus in Earl Gray tea; this is Monarda fistulosa, or wild bee balm)

fireweed

dandelion (Okay, okay, I knew this one already, but I never really appreciated that little sucker and the fall leaves are just way too bitter for good eating.)

wild ginger

downy wood mint

blue and black cohosh

blood root

hepatica

water marigold

wild watercress

Japanese knotweed

garlic mustard

wild leek

wild ginger

violet (Knew these, too, and from my childhood.  They're featured in My Side of the Mountain, the book that was my introduction to survivalism and one I read I don't know how many times. Still one of those YA classics of that ilk, right up there with Hatchet.)

wild horsetail

Virginia water leaf

What is that?  Nearly thirty plants?  Sure, I knew some of them and not all of the ones listed are edible in terms of something you'd want to saute, throw in a salad or bake, but medicinal–and some of those plants have multiple functions.  Some, like the wild raisin, current, rose, etc., won't produce anything edible until fall.  But most are edible right now, which means that you're talking one helluva salad.  Plus, these greens are so GOOD for you.  Some, like garlic mustard, are the most nutritious leafy greens around, not only in terms of dietary fiber but vitamins C & E, beta-carotene, zinc, calcium, iron, manganese and omega-3 fatty acids.  A cup of cooked nettles has 2900 mg of calcium.  A cup of spinach has . . . wait for it . . .  102 mg.  Your RDA is about 1200 (if you're a woman).

I mean, guys . . . do the math.

If nothing else, two of those plants–the knotweed and garlic mustard–are invasives. So learning about those serves a twofold purpose: I can add the garlic mustard to a nice salad or frittata; I can make a lovely crisp, pie or cake out of the knotweed (which is similar in taste to rhubarb–which is also a perennial weed, by the way), and I'm also doing the native species in the area a favor.

I mean, guys, how can you beat that?

So we had quite a haul, which we then took back and cooked up for dinner.  Just about everything on my plate last night, with the exception of the curly dock seed biscuits and homemade feta cheese (oh, and a great dandelion beer), was something we/I found, scrounged, grubbed, picked and gathered.  The menu:  cooked nettles; raw wild salad (made entirely of dandelion, wild carrot leaves, water marigold flowers, curly dock, wild leek, wild bergamot, fireweed, watercress, violets, a little catnip and cleaver); a fab saute of wild rice (which Linda already had put up) and wild leek; parsnips slathered in homemade cultured butter; pickled burdock; water marigold leaves (boiled up like the nettles; with both, you can save the broth for soups); and knotweed crisp flavored with a lovely smoky maple syrup that, of course, Linda and John made from scratch, tapping the sap themselves.

Quite a meal.  A great recharge.  I got a chance to tramp around in the woods–one of my most favorite things in the whole wide world–and I walked out feeling that, yeah, I got to find me some knotweed and try a pie.  I'm thinking . . . hmmm . . . dandelion fritters, maybe some dandelion leaves and wild carrot thrown into my salad this evening.

In fact, I just went outside, back to my yet-to-be cultivated garden and wandered up for a closer look.  And . . . hmm . . .

Right in that one little corner, alongside those strawberries, I see a nice dinner salad for two: dandelion leaves, curly dock, a little catnip.  In front . . . now what is this?

 

Hmmm .. . some more dandelions and . . . ooohhh . . . violets!

And dandelion fritters with those flowers.  The recipe?  So easy, it's a crime and I've shamelessly stolen this from Linda:

A bunch of flowers (gathered on a sunny day.  If you're into bitter, leave the sepals–the green portion of the flower that cover the petals in the bud stage–intact.

An egg.

A cup of milk.

A cup of flour.

Mix the flour, egg and milk for batter.  Add a little maple syrup or honey to the batter, if you want sweet.

Warm a skillet with coconut or safflower oil.  Dip your flowers (washed) in the batter.  Drop them into the skillet, flower side DOWN.  Dip and drop.  Once they're browned, flip and brown the other side.

Remove.  Drain oil.

EAT!!!  Drizzle them with honey.  Or confectioner's sugar.  If you want savory, forgo the maple syrup to the batter and serve with a dipping sauce (tamari, mustard).  Or add savory herbs to the batter.

So, guys: You do realize that people have always known about some of these plants, yes?  During the Depression, people came to depend on these wild edibles, which were abundant and free.  One woman mentioned that her mother once said if she saw another water marigold on her dinner plate, she'd probably throw it across the room.

But here is what gives you a great feeling.  Being competent and confident.  Knowing that these are foods already here for the taking.  (Well, within reason: if you DO happen on a patch of something you know, Linda suggests the 20% rule–which is about the amount you can take at any one time and be sure of coming back later on for more.   Which makes sense.  There's no need to decimate a food source.  Take what you need for that day and move on.  Well, other than the invasives–take your fill and come back the very next day and keep on going.)

Oh, and I brought home a few little guys to plant in the woods fringing our yard.  Right now, I'm babying them–hoping they'll perk up and survive.  We'll see.  Here they are: five wild leeks and two wild gingers, communing with their wild neighbors (mayapples and another (poisonous) plant that I KNOW I know but which eludes me right now . . . where's my key?).

If you're inspired to learn about this yourself, do so.  Some plants you'll already spot and very easily–dandelion wine, anyone?–but I urge you to find someone in your area who knows what he or she is doing.  You really, really don't want to pick what you think is wild spinach only to discover that you've just served yourself and your family wild hemlock (a deadly lookalike).  So, spend the time to learn the same way you would any other skill and do it live, not Memorex.  Books are good; don't get me wrong.  But pictures are not the same as seeing a plant up close and personal and the best guide can't teach you what a plant looks like in all its various stages.  In fact, if you don't go out with a real-live human being, you will become easily frustrated and overwhelmed because there are a LOT of plants out there.

Having said that, though, there are several fabulous books out there and botany is a science; you got to learn some basics just to point you in the right direction.  My personal go-tos are (although why I couldn't get my computer to cooperate and give me that nice orange color for ALL these books, I'll never know . . .):

Thomas J. Elpel: Botany in a Day: The Patterns Method of Plant Identification (Hops Press; 2004).  Will you really learn all of a botany in a day?  No, of course not, but you really could plow through this book and learn some very important lessons in plant identification–because plants, like people, belong to various families, and the families will help you begin to understand what plants are okay and which are not.  Botany is a science; keying out plants is . . . well, key. The book isn't practical for a leisurely walk because it's simply too big and cumbersome for use on the trail.  But the book concentrates on very common plants, meaning that you can walk outside and around your yard and start your education that way.

John Kallas; Edible Wild Plants: Wild Foods from Dirt to Plate (Gibbs Smith Books, 2010).  Brand spankin' new as of last year, Kallas's book offers not only plant identification but nice recipes because, honestly, you'll get sick of only salad and not all wild greens can be eaten and enjoyed raw.  Now, Kallas doesn't do TONS of plants, but this isn't a race.  You won't be getting a grade at the end of your foraging day.  The idea is to become familiar with what's in your area and how to safely harvest and use it.  Kallas's book is very good in that department and he includes poisonous lookalikes, too.  The book is also just a little larger than Peterson's, but I don't find that much of a problem.  Peterson's guide is good for identifying plants once you understand botany basics.  Kallas's is nice in terms of giving you a mission: finding the right habitat and the edible plants in that habitat.  In addition, he divides plants into flavor basics.  So, if you want something pungent, you look for this kind of plant; you want something sour, you go find another.  Nice little book.

Lee Ann and Roger Tory Peterson; A Field Guide to Edible Wild Plants: Eastern and Central North America (Houghton, Mifflin, Harcourt; 1999).  This is a very practical little guide for the trail, just the right size.  On the other hand, because they cram in so much information (including stuff on poisonous lookalikes), the material's not always presented in a easy to follow fashion and some plants are given short shrift.  Still, very handy.

Samuel Thayer; Nature's Garden: A Guide to Identifying, Preparing and Harvesting Edible Wild Plants (Forager's Harvest Press; 2010)  Along with Elpel, I think of Thayer as kind of the god of foraging.  His first book, The Forager's Harvest, is a classic field guide (right up there with Euell Gibbons's, Stalking the Wild Asparagus).  This book is, IMHO, much better: chockfull of in-depth information on about 40 edible plants as well as personal stories of how Thayer became acquainted with the plants to begin with.  His writing is very accessible; the photos are, I think, even better than Kallas's (which are already very good); and what I really loved were his thoughts on living off the land, one's relationship with wild plants and the like.  In the first part of the book, he provides a fabulously thought-out section on poison plant myths which includes a discussion of the by-now very infamous/famous story of Chris McCandless and his ill-fated hike into the wild.   Check out what Thayer has to say about this, if you don't believe me.

And if you live in the city and just can't fathom finding wild edibles?  Guess again.  Sam Thayer and John Kallas are featured in a great story about urban foraging that aired on NPR just this past week.

Mark Twain once wrote that golf was a good walk ruined.  (I have to agree with that.)  But foraging for wild edibles?

That is a good walk made better.

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