Is foraging really feasible to feed myself?

Engaging in foraging as a primary food source can be demanding and is not suitable for everyone. It necessitates significant planning and adaptability.

When I reached out to Robin Greenfield, an environmental activist and author, I was greeted by his assistant. “We’re just a bit busy right now,” Marielle informed me, “He is harvesting a large quantity of wild onions at the moment. He’ll be with you shortly.”

As I awaited the call, I found myself intrigued by his commitment to foraging, even postponing an interview for the sake of collecting wild produce. I had contacted Greenfield, who authored Food Freedom, to discuss the feasibility of relying entirely on foraged foods, drawing from his experience of living off foraged items for a year.

Foraging is not entirely unfamiliar to me, as I have practiced it for approximately ten years. During this time, I have identified local areas that yield ramps in April and the fleeting harvest of delicate mulberries in June. Observing the rise in food prices and an increasing number of grocery store recalls, I have been compelled to consider the sustainability of my current food sourcing. Could I genuinely detach from the conventional food system? Not merely as a supplementary source, but as my exclusive means of sustenance?

Greenfield has been actively exploring this lifestyle since October. Equipped with seven years of experience and without a garden, he has traveled through various regions, including Maine in the fall, Florida in the winter, and Georgia in early spring — foraging along the way.

In preparation for his endeavor, Greenfield spent three months strategizing. He returned to his home in northern Wisconsin, established a base he refers to as the Hermitage, and calculated the necessary quantities of food for each season. His harvests included 75 pounds of wild rice, 200 pounds of mushrooms, and 42 quarts of applesauce. However, his preparations revealed gaps, such as a lack of fish, fewer stored vegetables than anticipated, and a disappointing yield of berries.

During our video call, Greenfield revealed a transport of mason jars nestled among his belongings, showcasing a mobile pantry consisting of wild rice, venison, wild yams, and ocean salt while traversing a Georgia highway. “To truly thrive on a foraged diet,” he articulated, “one must seize the abundant yields when available and preserve them effectively.”

Time is crucial in this pursuit. The timing of harvests, the perishability of gathered items, and the hours dedicated to preservation all play a pivotal role.

“I would estimate that it parallels the responsibility of a full-time job to gather all my food and medicinal resources,” Greenfield noted. Some weeks, he invests around 20 hours, including meal preparation, while others may demand between 60 to 80 hours. Currently, he lacks fruit and won't replenish his supply until he returns to Wisconsin in April. He collaborates with individuals who assist him in processing and preserving his harvests, including participants from his workshops and dedicated volunteers involved in his educational initiatives. The operational system works effectively, yet it is not entirely self-sufficient.

Most individuals do not possess a similar support structure and may find it challenging to initiate such an undertaking. Personally, I remain integrated within the mainstream food system, supplementing locally-sourced ground beef with an assortment of seasonal greens, mushrooms, and wild alliums. I often rely on preserves, infusions, and pickles to extend the lifespan of my finds. Even sustaining a single person’s dietary needs requires a careful balance of acquisition, preparation, and preservation. A single oversight can turn a promising harvest to waste.

It is currently “false spring” in New York, characterized by occasional warm days that coax green shoots through the still-cold ground. These promising sprouts hold the potential to transform into identifiable and edible plants, contingent on proper identification. It has taken nearly a decade for me to develop the skills required to discern the specific hue of crow garlic or adeptly harvest stinging nettles without injury.

I also conversed with Linda Black Elk and her husband, Luke, shortly after their visit to the Hmongtown community food market in Minneapolis. Linda is an ethnobotanist and advocate for food sovereignty, currently serving as the education director at the North American Traditional Indigenous Food Systems (Natifs) non-profit. Luke, a Lakota chef and food sovereignty advocate, shares the responsibility of sustaining their family who heavily relies on food obtained through hunting, fishing, gathering, and trade.

Linda expressed, "I do not subscribe to the notion of rugged individualism and homesteading isolated from community support. I believe it is achievable, yet it demands community engagement, particularly in contemporary times, when access to land and knowledge must be expanded."

One year, when the family was unable to participate in wild rice harvesting, they turned to Jack, an elder from the Red Lake Reservation, who harvests annually. They bartered prairie turnips in exchange for some of his wild rice while purchasing additional supplies as well. “He also required financial support,” Linda reflected. “In today’s world, one must be adaptable to such arrangements, as others have financial commitments.”

Linda’s perspective has evolved over time. Initially, while building her career in public health, she held a more rigid and critical approach towards processed foods, labeling them as detrimental. Her past mindset could be summarized as: “Reject all processed foods categorically; such foods are oppressive, and we should purge them from our diets.”

With age and the addition of motherhood to her life, she has moderated her stance. “I have developed a fondness for cheese and brownies,” she admitted. “Occasionally, while enjoying tacos at a restaurant, I find myself yearning for a Coke in a glass bottle. To assert that others cannot indulge in such pleasures stems from a place of privilege.” She has come to understand that the emphasis should be on enhancing their diets, rather than imposing strict prohibitions. It is essential to practice self-compassion and extend that grace to others as well.

Despite her gentler approach, the work involved remains perpetual. Each harvest possesses a designated timeframe, and for the Black Elks, capturing these moments means utilizing any available free time. “This becomes our vacation and PTO,” Luke explained. “However, it is essential for our family's food system, and thus, we prioritize it.” During June, they harvest prairie turnips (also known as timpsila) in South Dakota, followed by chokecherries in North Dakota in July, wild plums in August, and wapato (wild potatoes) in southern Minnesota in October. The family dedicates an hour each day, collectively working toward food sovereignty within their community, even if that sometimes involves assisting others in their own efforts.

According to Linda, the essence of foraging lies in cultivating a relationship with the land that many individuals have not been guided to develop. “One cannot continually extract from the land without...