Here on Turtle Island, from the dawn of time until about a hundred years ago, Chestnuts were a staple food crop for all life, including human life. A nutritious and carbohydrate-rich nut, Chestnut trees produce a bumper crop of nuts every 1-3 years (mast years), are very easy to harvest, can be eaten fresh off the tree, and are easy to process into a wide range of versatile dishes. You can eat them fresh, roast or boil them, add them to soups or stews, dry them and grind them up to make flour which can be turned into bread, crepes, cookies, and more. In fact, as far as foods go, I would argue they are one of the very best for long-term sustainability, ecological support, and filling hungry bellies. As a perennial treecrop, Chestnuts can be a staple part of a regenerative and ecologically-focused food forest (for an example of them being used as part of a larger regenerative agriculture system, you can read Mark Sheppard’s Restoration Agriculture). They have such great promise for transitioning away from fossil-fuel-based agriculture and embracing regenerative approaches to life.
Mace is a wonderfully unique spice. It derives from the Myristica fragrans tree and is native to Indonesia’s Banda Islands—the legendary “Spice Islands”—though it is now also cultivated in Grenada and other tropical regions. You can’t talk about mace without mentioning its twin, nutmeg, because, even though they are different spices, they grow together hidden inside the fruit of the Myristica tree. When the fruit is ripe, it splits open to reveal the seed (nutmeg), which is covered in a delicate, lacy, red membrane, called the aril, otherwise known as mace.
Elderberry (Sambucus canadensis) is an herb of many faces. In spring, its white, lacy blossoms brighten woodlands and hedgerows, attracting bees and butterflies with their sweet fragrance. By autumn, those delicate blooms transform into heavy clusters of deep purple berries — a feast for birds, wildlife, and humans alike. Every part of the elder — flowers, berries, leaves, and even wood — has long been treasured for food, craft, and healing.
A Storied Past
The story of elderberry stretches back to the Ice Age, between 12,000 and 9,000 BCE, when glaciers carried its seeds across North America, Europe, and Asia. By 2000 BCE, early peoples were already cultivating the plant for its medicinal and culinary gifts.
“The scent of rosemary, the smoke of sage, the whisper of bay — the old language of the earth still speaks if we pause long enough to listen.”
— Beth Schreibman Gehring, from Forage & Gather
Before Halloween, there was Samhain, the ancient Celtic turning of the year when the harvest ended and winter began to breathe at the edges of the fields. It was the time when fires were lit high on the hills to call the sun back, when families gathered to share what they’d grown, and to honor what they’d lost. They believed that on this night, the veil between worlds grew thin so that those who came before might wander close for just a moment, drawn by the scent of wood smoke and the warmth of the hearth.
The herbs of this season are the same ones that have long carried us through the threshold times, the in-between spaces when the light fades and the earth exhales. I think of them as old friends who know how to steady us when the days grow short.
The autumnal equinox, which falls on September the 22nd, is a spoke in the wheel of the year — the brief pause when day and night are perfectly balanced, before the tipping into the darker half of the seasons. In the old calendars, it was a time of harvest and gratitude, a season of preparing pantries and hearts for the coming winter.
Across cultures, this threshold was marked with festivals. The Celts observed Mabon, a harvest rite of thanksgiving where fruits, nuts, squashes, and grains were gathered in and shared with kin and community. Herbs such as sage and thyme flavored the loaves and stews, while rosemary was woven into wreaths to bless the home. It was a season of pausing, giving thanks, and carrying the abundance of the fields inward. Continue Reading …
If you’d like to join us on August 30 or August 31 for an exciting day of ecology and geology, you can register here. These outings are great opportunities to explore beautiful ecosystems while learning tree identification, mushroom identification, forest history, geologic influences on plant communities, and much more.
I’d love to see you there!
And now on to the new video…
Are pawpaws neurotoxic?
It sounds like an absurd question to ask. After all, many people eat these wild fruits every year without experiencing any apparent negative effects.
But let’s consider the following pieces of information:
Studies have linked the consumption of fruits in the Annonaceae family to neurodegeneration in humans. Pawpaw, it turns out, is in the Annonaceae family.
A compound isolated from pawpaws is neurotoxic in laboratory studies.
And a case report from 2020 describes a man who developed a possible variant of a neurodegenerative disorder called progressive supranuclear palsy. The man was known to eat lots of pawpaws.
Of course, none of this information is conclusive, but it does make some people wonder. Are pawpaws neurotoxic? Should we avoid eating them? Or is this issue overhyped?
I’m sharing this recipe for Rose Sugar Navettes (little boats) in honor of the Feast of St. Mary Magdalene on July 22nd. Today these were eaten across Provence, as they have been for several centuries, to commemorate the arrival of the “Three Marys” at Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer (after the crucifixion) in a divinely guided, rudderless boat. While they are traditionally scented with orange blossom water, I’ve substituted rose water in homage to the Magdalene’s secret flower, not to mention the crunchy sugar topping made with fresh rose petals! Positively redolent with a fragrance so divine, it’s no wonder the rose was the sacred flower of goddesses around the world. That’s the beauty of these simple, rustic cakes; they are suitable for any celebration honoring the divine feminine, whether Christian or pagan.
Paths I Walk 
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