Foraging has taught me to have profound trust in life. To know that, usually, all will be well.
It’s a hard thing to do. We live in a static culture, where once, a mere 15,000 years ago, we wandered. No nation-state borders to pen you in like a farm animal.
The commercial world puts us on the hurry-up the whole time. The trick, if we catch it in time, is to say no. To drop down. To become quiet. To sense that there will always be other opportunities.
Life offers gifts constantly, but we need to stay alert to the signals that flow through us like invisible radio waves in order to receive them.
I was chatting with my sweetheart the other day about friends who have come and gone in our lives.
Most of our friends stick around, but sometimes life takes us down different paths. A close friendship can grow distant and may even fade away. And that is okay.
Nature always fills a void. Clear a patch of ground in your flower bed and within a few days, those unruly weeds you tried to remove will start to push back, returning slowly, resisting your control.
It’s a dance, not a war, and we need to learn to wiggle a bit more.
As I learned more and added new plants to my palette, I realised that when one plant goes beyond its best-to-pick date, five others show up to share their gifts. Natural abundance and flourishing, everywhere.
When you go to visit the wild ones, I encourage you to go with an open hand and an open heart.
Some days you’ll have a full belly; other days might be sparse. That’s okay. As the alms-seeking Buddhist monk knows, choosing the right spot to hold the bowl is half the game.
Stand at the end of a deserted alley and the bowl will not be full. Stand on a busy pavement, and you might be surprised by how much plenty flows your way.
The choice of where you go to glean is yours. It’s a simple act of attention. Nature is not a supermarket; you cannot simply show up and expect to be fed. Life doesn’t work like that.
Once upon a time I was down on an estuary, one of the most beautiful spots in Devon. I heard a couple walking along the footpath.
Suddenly they stopped, just behind a hedge above me. They couldn’t see me, and I overheard the man say, ‘There’s absolutely nothing here. Let’s go.’ To which they turned on their heels and retreated to their car.
I stood there, completely stunned, and nearly popped out from behind the hedge to offer them a different perspective. I didn’t.
So often we go foraging with eyes not yet tuned and senses dulled, and try to find a plant.
We earnestly push and hunt and stalk and do all the usual things humans do, living in the cage of empire.
When we return frustrated because we have not ‘got’ what we wanted, often the very plant we sought was just around the corner.
Our attention had been elsewhere, and so we missed it.
Tik-tok, by which I mean not the social platform but the ordinary, mundane world and the rigid societal structures that govern it, tries to coerce us.
Fear-mongering and scarcity thinking get pushed down our light boxes at an ever-increasing velocity.
Dopamine floods our brains and we lose awareness of our surroundings, shunted into the tyranny of the cranium, retreating from our sensory animal body.
The very body we need to feel where natural flourishing and abundance occur within the landscape.
Today I encourage you to turn off your light box, remove the headphones, and walk quietly through the place where you actually live.
Each time the walk will be different. Even if you have taken it a thousand times before.
Present with your surroundings, you will start to notice the slow, shifting rhythm of the natural world as you move through it.
Like a living Monet painting, ever-changing, always beautiful, with a liminal shimmer. That is true magic. Enjoy your day.
P.S. If you want to put what you’ve just read into practice, The Green Path offers a way. Seven short lessons. No facts to memorise. Just a different way of being with plants. The Green Path.