Foraging helped me discover a world of free fruits and veggies

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Original Article: Foraging helped me discover a world of free fruits and veggies

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As a child I made yearly sojourns to my grandparents' home in Oakland, Calif. Next door, in the middle of chest-high weeds, sat a lush grapefruit tree. The property was vacant; ivy climbed the walls, the windows gathered dust and grime. But the grapefruit tree sat in the midst of the neglect and despite it all continued to simply be fruitful.

As the youngest and smallest, I would be hoisted over the fence by an uncle or cousin to retrieve giant softball-sized fruits for our morning juice. The novelty of this made an impression on me. Here was fresh fruit that nobody wanted. And it was free. Free! And maybe just a little illicit. All you had to do was jump a fence (and we know that some of the best memories involve fence jumping).

This set me on a long journey toward urban foraging.

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Of course, there are foragers out there who put me to shame. They mean business. They forage rare mushrooms and laboriously process pokeweed into long-forgotten delicacies. I guess we're even foraging seaweed now.

But for me, it's about simple, tasty fruit. Urban and suburban fruit that someone planted but long ago decided was a hassle. Peaches, to me, are the real crown jewel of urban foraging. They're around, but rarely get quite enough water while developing. Plums? Easy to find around me. Sour cherries? Delightful and surprisingly common, if you don't mind the occasional worm. Let's not even get into the oft-overlooked serviceberry or the (tasteless, in my opinion) white and black mulberry.

This isn't forbidden fruit — this is forgotten fruit, and believe it or not, it's everywhere. Don't believe me? Let me give you just a few examples.

A tart Montmorency cherry tree in Washington, D.C. Daniel Wood hide caption

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A tart Montmorency cherry tree in Washington, D.C.

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The DSCC tells me to get lost, and opens my eyes

I came to D.C. after finishing college and spent most of the past decade living and biking around the verdant Capitol Hill neighborhood.

Early on in my time in the city, I was biking when I noticed a dramatic old apple tree hanging over a wall near the Supreme Court. My mind ran wild, imagining this as a tree that had been on this stately property for hundreds of years, probably planted by some senator or congressman.

I picked two apples and took them home, but they weren't ripe. Every day I passed this tree and, weirdo that I am, dreamed about the pies I'd make with these apples when September came.

When the apples finally ripened, I tried to find the owner of the tree and ask for permission to pick at least the ones hanging over the sidewalk. I probably could have just done it, but I asked anyway. I walked to the door of the Democratic Senatorial Campaign Committee and knocked. No one was in, so I gave them a call the next day.

They told me to kindly screw off. The next week the tree was drastically cut back. Trav...

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