"Food access used to happen in lots of places in our lives, not just at grocery stores and restaurants." Gordon Smith
Speaking of alleys, on my morning walk I realized that I've not walked through any alleys this summer. I always do so two or three times to capture images of vines growing on garages that haven't been painted in twenty years. I love getting a back alley view of America--a glimpse of the side of ourselves we don't show the world. I also hold out hope that I'll find something really interesting growing back there. Quite purposefully, I keep my nails long enough to have them serve as sheers. This morning, I pinched off a sweet pea in full bloom. It was growing on a beautiful old stone wall that bordered what I suspect may be a carriage house. This morning, I noticed that the neighborhoods in the general vicinity of our house have many properties with carriage houses. This fascinates me. I long to know what life was like in South Bend 100 plus years ago when people still had horses and carriages. And I am amazed that these structures are still standing. There are some pretty "ancient" ones at the back of some Victorian houses along Lincolnway East. This is not a highly sought-after neighborhood. Actually, no neighborhood in South Bend benefits from the rule location, location, location. But, the neighborhoods along Lincolnway are even more ignored, which is fine by me because it means that maybe one day, if I'm lucky, I may for a song own one of these gems.
Perhaps what makes the area even more unappealing to most is that it backs up to a very active railroad. I walked along it this morning as well, picking some weeds, aka wildflowers--some yellow ones I'd not noticed before but which were growing abundantly and the purplish blue ones that grow in every Rust Belt city I've ever had the pleasure of visiting. These foot-high beauties have taken over huge fields in my hometown of Detroit. As I plucked these two varieties up by the root--intent upon planting them in my already wild backyard--I prayed that I wouldn't break out in a rash or, worse, die upon contact. I slightly exaggerate my fears. In fact, I should be more fearful. Most people would agree that walking highways and byways, not to mention urban alleyways, is not smart. Maybe so, but my rebellious spirit against all things others consider smart and not smart naturally makes me go against the grain. I also am curious and growing more so with the passing of each day about the historic functions of all of the weeds that populate cities. If I had another lifetime to investigate, I sure would like to become an herbalist. How wasteful are we to ignore daily plants that for all we know could be tremendously pleasing to our palates or, even better, a panacea for much of what ails us? I'd like this city in which I currently reside much better if on my walks I ran into other wild children out foraging (another word I love). We could share recipes. I could invite such persons to my kitchen, and they'd invite me to theirs. We'd sit on our front or back porches surrounded by trumpet vine and have a lunch of dandelion greens, nasturtium flowers, and marigold heads.
I actually met such a person just a few weeks ago. She lives on a corner on a questionable street with at least one vacant house with a large lot next to it which she plans to buy for a full-fledged garden. Her home is inspired. You can hardly see her front porch what for the growth, and on the facade of the second floor is a huge metal, painted dragonfly. I spotted this urban gardener when I'd gotten done checking out the abandoned house, which, since for rent, may serve as my writer's cottage next summer. As I approached the slender lady, she was bent over, snipping off something with her own fingers. I said something. I forget what, and she told me that she was collecting radish pods, which are great on salads. Right then, I could see that she was going to talk to me and that she had a lot to teach. I view her home, replete with chickens and a shed turned into a coop, as an urban farm. This woman of the house--whom I will call Laura though that is not her real name--can get most of her meals from her yard, and she let me know, after she'd given me a couple dozen basil leaves, that I could stop by with a basket anytime. According to her, many of the plants I saw growing, even the tomato plants, had volunteered, so even though giving one's city lot over to a garden can require a full-day's work, diminishing one's food anxiety--increasing one's food security--may allow one partner of a two-adult household to quit her day job. I dream of this possibility when I walk throughout the city. I wonder what all besides eating I can do with the lush vegetation of South Bend--dried floral arrangements, pretty water colors to be sold at the local farmer's market in winter? I have sold there before. I am not above it even though my Ph.D. suggests I should want more or other for myself and family.
My new friend is just the type who would keep me in this city though I swear every year I will not endure another. She scavenges, and she has told me there is a whole group of urban foragers here who make it their job to know every apple, pear, plum, and peach tree within the city limits and also a few fruit varieties long forgotten or, like mulberry, underappreciated. Laura had completely won my heart when she shared that she traipses onto abandoned lots looking for food. I am similarly drawn, as much for the beauty of decay, a good picture that I might paint to share on Facebook, or to just dream about restoring as I am drawn to potential foodstuff, but I am not closed to the latter. Laura told me to try one of the most plentiful edible greens--lambs quarters. I have Googled it, and she is right. It can be eaten raw or cooked. It's good on salads, and when cooked some say it tastes like chard. The weed is quite plentiful. God's provision I think. There is a warning, however. When it is found in abundance, the ground is likely contaminated, for it is there to restore the soil. This it seems is its other purpose. I have not yet consumed any lambs quarters, but I'm definitely gearing up. Would that the whole world would step outside of the box and live a little on the wild side. Life would be so much more interesting, but then, such radical change should it ever become the norm might lead me to search for the old order.
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