I'm often asked why I forage, what brought me to this practice.
There's no short answer, so I'll usually just default to an enthusiastic: "It's fun!"
It's reductionist, but also true. I won't do something, especially for a sustained period, if it's not fun. I won't dye my hair or wear makeup if it isn't fun. I won't cook or paint or read or build with LEGO unless it's fun. I won't ride my bike unless there's a halfway point that involves iced coffee. And on it goes. I'm stubborn in this way.
And I easily bore.
I've never understood people who swear by running. That they live for the runner's high. That they tell themselves stories, listen to podcasts, pacing with music. For most of my life, hiking was torture both physically and mentally, as was just about any other kind of physical activity.
But foraging?
Well, foraging's in a whole other box for me. Yes, I put on athletic clothing, hiking boots, and bug spray. But it's not really about the hiking or the elevation gain or the speed, is it? In fact, I can forage--and have foraged--in just about any kind of clothing. I can forage--and have foraged--just about anywhere: The forest, walking around the block at lunch, in my front yard.
The real exercise is in your mind, and that's probably one of the enormous reasons why foraging has been "sticky" for me. There's no shortage of things to learn, places to explore, recipes to try. There's no shortage of visual challenges, and even if you visit the same place a hundred times, it will look completely different depending on the season, the time of day, if it's just rained or snowed.
Because there's so much to learn or do or get completely sucked into, it's hard to be bored. When you find something unexpected, or maybe even something you were looking for, there's an electricity--a bolt of dopamine--that reminds you why you're out there to begin with.
Why?
Because it's fun.
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