Feature

Forager, for Poorer

© Lucia Foster-Found 2022 www.luciafosterfound.com

“Now, this one is an Amethyst Deceiver. And it’s edible!” announced the expert with glee. “Oooh!” Lots of interest from the group who’d come on the ‘Fungi Foray’. “Or… it could be a Lilac Fibrecap… in which case it’s poisonous.” The expert assumed a funereal tone. “Aaah..” Lots of disappointment from the crowd, except Himself who said “really? There’s not ‘mush-room’ for error, then…” turning away and stifling a snigger. “But I think it is actually a deceiver, which means that you can safely eat it.” The expert was again upbeat. ‘Thank goodness’, she thought. Earlier, when she’d handed Himself his waterproofs, he’d looked up at her with sad, Labrador eyes; “are you really dragging me out on a wet October afternoon to grub about looking at toadstools?” “Yes.” She’d said sternly “We might learn something. Nature can provide a delicious smorgasbord. For freeee!” Costs were more upwardly mobile than a yuppie in the eighties - and she was on an economy drive. “And at least we won’t be at home with the lights and heating on,” she reasoned. Back in the present, the expert was speaking again. “Of course, these fungi can absorb quite a lot of arsenic from the soil.” She saw Himself was trying to appear interested. “Are they safe for human consumption?” “Oh yes,” said the expert earnestly. “But they don’t make very good eating…” On the way home, Himself giggled. “Not once did the word ‘magic’ pass that man’s lips and he wasn’t the ‘fun guy’ I anticipated. Let’s stick to buying mushrooms from a shop – it all seems a bit dodgy if you don’t know what you’re doing. And we don’t.“ She had to agree; dim memories had resurfaced of a famous author, she couldn’t recollect who, but he’d inadvertently poisoned his family with what he’d thought were ceps. The words ‘’dialysis’ and ‘kidney transplants’ had been mentioned. Horrific. She shuddered. “Perhaps we should stick to foraging for nuts.” She stopped the car next to a promising walnut tree. Picking up the remains of the crop, time and the weather having helpfully liberated the wrinkled brown shells from their hand-staining jackets, they stuffed them into dog poo bags. “Wonderful!” Himself enthused. “Look, if you put two in your hand and squeeze them together, you can crack them.” He demonstrated, happily popping a sweet English walnut into his mouth. “Ow!” she yelped as she tried to emulate the ease with which his massive hands crushed the walnuts into submission. “I think I’ve sprained something,” she complained, rubbing her painful right wrist. Distracted by the sight of some hazel bushes, she pointed with her good hand, “look – we can get some of those too. I’ve got a recipe for fried chicken in crushed hazel nuts and cheese.” Himself enthusiastically set about gathering up the small nuts. “Say no more - you had me at ‘fried chicken’.” Pausing, he said, “better check there’s actually something in them,” and popped one in his mouth, biting down hard on the shell. “Ow!” Rubbing his jaw, he said “I think I’ve cracked a tooth.” “Oh dear. Well, before we both completely fall apart, let’s gather some of these late blackberries. I haven’t picked any this year and at least they’re idiot proof.” A week or so later she was dishing up a meal of chicken coated with crushed nuts and parmesan. Himself hovered and pushed a spoon into the crumble destined for pudding; blackberry and apple. “We’ve had blackberry sorbet, pork with blackberry sauce, blackberry pancakes and quite a lot of blackberry and beetroot smoothie. I’m not complaining, but I’m a bit blackberried-out. The pips get stuck in my bad tooth. Um… darling, please tell me this is the last of them?” “Yes it is.” “Oh good.” He sounded relieved. “What I mean is that it’s the last of last year’s blackberries that I discovered in the freezer when I went to freeze this year’s blackberries.” She smiled sheepishly and passed his plate. Carefully eating on one side of his mouth, Himself said conversationally, “Dentist said I’ll need a crown.” Cutting up her chicken with her left hand, she nodded and commented, “Chiropractor’s going to realign my wrist.” They looked at each other and said in unison, “expensive month.” “So much for the free food,” Himself concluded. “You know,” he smiled across the table at her “how you’ve been talking about renewing our vows?” “WE’ve been talking about..” she gave him a look. “Yes. We. Anyway, before the ‘in sickness and in health bit’ perhaps we should substitute the ‘for richer, for poorer’ with, wait for it… ‘FORAGER, for Poorer’.. Gettit?” Himself winked and chortled. She chuckled with him; his hilarity was infectious - and she reflected that laughter, like love, really was free.