Over the past few years I haven't lived in one place for more than a year. In one way, this is a very good thing, as looking for wild food in a new spot is one of the most exciting things about foraging: you never know what you're going to find (even though you often find bugger all). Walks in London, Bristol, Pembrokeshire, and Cornwall have all tempted me with a variety of edible delights, from Sea Beet to half eaten Chicken Cottage remains. As an unaccomplished, relatively clueless forager, I am quite proud of how adventurous I have been in sampling these delights, and quite surprised that I am still alive.
However, I am discovering a disadvantage of this change of scenery: a lack of location-specific seasonal anticipation (what a bullshit phrase I've just come up with): Having been in one spot for over a year, I am now getting very excited about particular things cropping up in particular places (particularly wild garlic). Even though it's January it almost feels like spring (when it briefly stops raining) and I'm half expecting to see familiar shoots poking through the mulch.
Of course, this is all a long winded way of saying: It is winter, there is nothing but mud outside, and tonight, I am getting a take-away.
