New locations call for new routines. Since our move to Western North Carolina in July, my girlfriend Abigail and I now have our food shopping dialed in; we get our meat and bulk grains from the co-op, our packaged food from Ingles, our bread from the neighborhood bakery, and our mushrooms we forage from the park. WNC, it turns out, is a hotspot for wild mushrooms, in both diversity and quantity. We find chanterelles and old man of the woods on every hike, and various species of edible boletes pop up as the weeks go on and the weather changes. A few weeks ago we found our first cauliflower mushroom, a prized wild edible that tastes like buttery, al dente egg noodles with a nutty finish. Ours was a three-pound honker that we cooked up in a scrumptious beef soup. 

We love foraging and the relationship it strengthens with our local land, but with the majority of our food we’re still unaware of exactly where it comes from. Sure, it’s from an organic farm in California or a hog farm in North Carolina, but our connection with store bought food is always weaker than it could be if we were a part of the process. There’s something magical about finding your next meal (or snack—let’s be honest) out in the woods, where nobody grew it or coaxed it into being. There’s beauty in the abundance of a grocery store, too, but the magic, it turns out, is harder to see when it’s wrapped in cellophane and stamped with a barcode.

Growing up, foraging was second nature. Wild onions grew plentifully in our backyard, and blackberries and raspberries dotted the edges of the woods nearby. As I biked the neighborhood near my house I learned to locate the mulberry trees, staining my fingers purple whenever ripe berries were in reach. In high school I borrowed my science teacher’s maple syrup spout and tapped a big sugar maple, collecting just enough sap to boil down to a few pancakes-worth of syrup. I collected needles from spruce and white pine to make tea, and scoured the woods for morels in the spring. 

The more I learned about one wild edible, the more I came to comprehend how much I didn’t know. There was always another plant to look for, another mushroom species to find, and the possibilities of foraging were endless. 

We are all foragers at heart. We are all here today because our ancestors were excellent hunters and had vast knowledge of medicinal, edible, and remedial plants and fungi. When we strengthen our muscles of identification, we not only create connections with our food but also with our past. 

Fall is fast approaching in WNC, and this season brings with it cool temperatures and rainy weather—ideal conditions for mushroom growth. 

I’m hoping this year to try something new, a wild-foraged edible I haven’t had before, like the hedgehog mushroom or an indigo milk cap. There’s no telling what I’ll come across; and that unpredictability, that mystery, is part of the magic of foraging. In fact, the reliance on the earth to provide might be the source of the magic itself, and the gratitude that comes from finding, not buying, your next meal… snack… bit of food. 

Jon Gorter

Jon Gorter (‘17) graduated from Calvin with degrees in English and environmental studies and holds an MS in natural resources from the University of Michigan. He enjoys fly fishing, mushroom foraging, and waterfall scrambling near his home in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina.