Bittersweet Abundance

 

Cattails (Typha latifolia) gone to seed 

Autumn is mixed bag. I always struggle with letting go of the green, growing season, when the meadows are lush with wildflowers, the woodland trails are a tunnel of leafy foliage, and although I may need to dab on insect repellant, I need never pull on long sleeves. Spring is full of hope and when we slide into summer, it seems omnipresent, as if snow had never fallen on this landscape. Come autumn, I'm smacked with the reality that in order for all this life to carry on it must, for a period of time, go dormant. It is a time of gratitude and mourning alike. It's no wonder that it is during this time that we celebrate Halloween or as the pagans call it, Samhain, a time of death yet a marker of new life to come. 

Trail in Bruce Lake Natural Area in Delaware State Forest

Mother Nature eases the transition with a show of colors so beautiful, that I wish I could encapsulate them in a diorama that I might step into when in the depths of winter do come. And I am reminded that all the green life I have been frolicking through the last so many months served a purpose - to produce.

Chinese chestnuts (Castenea mollisima) in spikey hull 

Nuts rain down from the treetops with a gust of wind - the spikey hulls of chestnut and the smooth-skinned hickory alike, and beneath my tires shatter the hard encasements of black walnuts. Mushrooms blossom from earth - hen of the woods in her bounty and black trumpets arising from beneath the gathering leaf litter. Fruits ripen - spicebush berries speckle the woods in red, autumn olive boughs droop with speckled juicy goodness, and apples swell. 

The abundance of autumn - cultivated apples (Malus) gone wild, hen of the woods (Grifola frondosa), Chinese chestnuts (Castenea mollisima), and paw paws (Asimina triloba)

I do my best to gather, to take in this sustenance for which I am so thankful. But the offerings are so abundant that it is impossible to gather up all the bounty and so I let it roll underfoot, wither back into the earth, and bury its seed and spores in the soil for next year's growth. Mother Nature persistently reminds me that each and every day is to be appreciated, her bounty a gift, and so I have been busy making good with her offerings.

Spicebush (Lindera benzoin)

Spicebush, Lindera benzoin, is a shrubby tree that relishes damp soil and the shade of a forest canopy. It seems I always meet spicebush while trail running. I'll be zipping through the forest, my coonhound Amos in the lead, and suddenly spicebush's smooth-edged leaves will call out to me. I'll no sooner taken note, when its red berries will come into focus, speckling the leaves of only a periodic shrub (only female shrubs produce fruit). Still I'll think to run on, but I know my tunnel of spicebush won't persist once I climb out of the damp low woods. I halt in my progress, as does Amos rather reluctantly, and double back to a plentiful shrub, crush a leaf, breathing deep its lemony-spicy fragrance and crack a fruit between my teeth. Plucking several palmfuls, I deposit them in my pocket and hope that they don't bounce out as I dash on down the trail. 

Spicebush berries - immature and mature - diced

Wild apples tossed with spicebush syrup (a decoction of twigs blended with sugar), crushed spicebush berries, and whole partridgeberries (Mitchella repens)

Wild apple spicebush muffins (spicebush berries finally diced and added to muffin batter)

Spicebush berries pair beautifully with apples, especially those cultivated apples gone wild that you might stumble upon. Of course, wild apples require a taste-test, as some will be astringent, fibrous, or sour, but it's not a bad task, and goodness, when you find a tasty tree! I guarantee those apples will taste better than any you purchase at the grocery. These apples were harvested from a tree on our property that we never noticed produced years past. However, strangely enough, just as our oldest apple tree stopped producing, this one has taken up the task, producing more apples than our resident horse can even eat. Lucky gal, that tree stands in her pasture.

Paw paws ripened (Asimina triloba) 

Paw paw torn open to reveal ripe inner flesh

Now these were a serious gift! Paw paws, Asimina triloba, North America's largest native edible fruit. Yes, these do grow in our region, but they are not easy to spot given their green foliage, green fruits, and the fact that they grow in the understory of our green woods. But they are out there. These were harvested by Uncle Jim from his wild acreage in Tewksbury, New Jersey. He is no stranger to his forests, managing and appreciating them for the last several decades, and never before had he found these fruits that now littered a patch of his woods and dangled from branches. He knew we would appreciate them. Paw paws taste tropical, reminiscent of bananas and mangos, and are in fact related to papaya. However, once ripe - tender like a ripe avocado - they don't last long and I sure wasn't going to let them go to waste. So into muffins they went. 

Paw paw chestnut muffins 

A simple google search yielded a stellar recipe: Appalachian Pawpaw Muffins – Palatable Pastime Palatable Pastime. However, from what I could gather, any banana muffin recipe would also suffice, simply substituting the paw paw for the banana. It is important to note that paw paw skins, seeds, and under ripe fruit are toxic and can cause some serious gastric upset. So, use caution to scoop the soft custard-like flesh from the skin and separate the large black seeds (roughly 4-6 seeds in each fruit). And by all means plant those lil' gems. Just today, I sunk them into the earth in a patch of pine-oak forest on our property. Scott and I are crossing our fingers for saplings next year and, in five to eight years, edible fruits!

Roasted Chinese chestnuts (Castenea mollisima)

Chinese chestnuts, roasted and ground, made a nice addition to the paw paw recipe. These, too, grow near to the horse pasture, having been planted there many years ago. However, Cracker has no interest in these morsels. The trick is to harvest them as soon as the hulls split open. If you've got low-hanging branches or a good step stool, give the branches a gentle shake to release the nuts and then get to gathering. However, I would still don tough gloves and close-toed shoes - those hulls are sharp! Once you've brought your bounty home, be sure to roast them up in about a week's time. Anymore than that and the weevil larvae (inherent in most chestnuts) will have matured and no boiling or roasting is going to kill those suckers - trust me, I've learned the hard way. Reportedly they too are edible, although I haven't the stomach to go there. To separate the good nuts from the bad, immerse them in a bowl of water and discard those that float. To roast, slice an "x" in each and toss in the oven at 425 for roughly 20 minutes or until fragrant and blossomed, then cool and crack off shells.

Hen of the woods aka maitake (Grifola frondosa)

This year, in particular, has provided an amazing mushroom yield and I've had many an ambitious hike stymied by the array of colorful fungi not only at my feet amidst the stumps and mosses, but blooming from tree trunks beside me and overhead. But, a hike spent discovering mushrooms is just as good as any sweat-inducing mile-counting hike in my book. I've stumbled upon more hen of the woods than I could even put to use. However, allegedly ethical as it is to harvest as many mushrooms as one pleases, I still like to follow the same rule of thumb that I do with plants - take a smaller portion than you leave behind. I found this particular beauty growing at the base of, wouldn't you know it, a rather delicious wild apple tree. I regularly visit this tree for lunch - it provides just the right amount of shade in a sweeping meadow I like to frequent - and on one special day I found this hen roosting beside me.

Hen of the woods undersides

You may know hen of the woods, scientifically named Grifola frondosa, as maitake - they are one in the same. It is a perennial mushroom, blooming annually in the fall at the base of old hardwoods, most typically oaks. However, don't look for a tall stipe (a mushroom stalk) and round cap, but rather a layering of fan-like, firm, structures (we still could call these caps) that taper towards the base. Hen of the woods is a polypore, meaning that it does not bear gills, but rather tiny pin-sized holes. These pores are where its spores are produced. 

Hen of the woods cleaned and separated

Roasted hen of the woods

To prepare hen of the woods, slice tender fans from the tough base and then peel apart in sections. Hens are easily portioned this way into smaller pieces for cooking. Then clean of debris by rinsing in water or patting clean with a damp cloth. I harvested this hen when I had little time for prep, therefore into the fridge it went, where it kept nicely in a loose plastic bag (paper is fine too, but too many days in paper and it will begin to dehydrate). Then I cleaned and cooked up the whole lady, sauteing half and roasting the rest. This was my first go-round at roasting and I have found, side-by-side, I much prefer the roasted. I tossed with olive oil, salt and pepper, and fresh sliced garlic, roasting at 400 degrees until it was fragrant, shimmery, and charred on the edges. Deelish! Scott and I enjoyed hen of the woods in about every dish imaginable for nearly a week. Then it was time to portion the rest and freeze for use throughout the winter. Hen of the woods is not only yummy with a strong earthy taste but is rich in minerals and antioxidants, and medicinally speaking, is supportive to immunity, anti-cancer, and adaptogenic, meaning that it can tame the negative effects of stress on the body.

Egypt Lake in Delaware State Forest - I suspect all that red is highbush blueberry (Vaccinium corymbosum)

There is no denying that autumn is here. I would be a fool to expend any energy on wishing otherwise, for thankfully, there are still many aspects of nature, we humans, cannot control. Winter will come and the landscape will be white and brown and slate gray, but I will bundle up and be grateful for the heat my body produces as I stomp down the trail in boots and burdensome clothing. And just as summer once did, winter will feel as if it might never end, the green growth of that opposing season but a fond memory. But then, without my willing a thing, the sap will run and a green shoot will appear, first one, then two, then three, then too many to count and the trees will flower, and the smell of spring will be in the air. So today and everyday forward, I'm just going to revel, revel in this heart-aching gratitude for the change of seasons and the beauty of autumn.