When I was little, my grandmother took us each morning to inspect her gardens for any unwanted critters looking for a free meal. Carefully lifting the leaves and searching for slugs, she would explain to us which insects were beneficial and which were not. She pointed out the vole tunnels that seem to magically appear after the lettuce shoots pushed through the black loam and the resident groundhog who hungrily eyed her tomato plants.
But my favorite time was walking the woods with her in early spring. Nimbly stepping over rocks, and entangled grape vines, she would forage for a “mess of greens”, looking for the tender first shoots of pokeweed, dandelions, watercress, fiddleheads, wild violets, red nettle, chickweed, or ramps. She gathered yarrow, slipping it into her apron to be dried for my grandfather’s shaving cuts, and pointed out the pawpaw trees that would bear yellow fruit in the fall, perfect for desserts. I learned where the butternut trees grew, the best blackberry patches, how to use the bright red spotted mushrooms to kill flies, and the distinct musk of a copperhead.
If she spotted a low-hanging nest, she would inspect it carefully avoiding the hatchlings. We learned that the delicate blue eggs belonged to robins, the brown speckled eggs to cardinals, and the emerald green ones were future catbirds. She listened to the bluejays warn…
