Where The Wild Things Are In The Suburbs

When we forage on the edges of our town’s sprawl, my family discovers not only incredible edibles but also timeless joy.

- Elizabeth Bastos

I LIVE in a landscape of strip malls. In these increasingly ever present and very American places, it’s challenging to feel connected to the land.

I wanted dirt for my children. Soil. Connection. Madre Tierra. Ecology. 

I’m not crunchy. I don’t wear a nut bag around my neck; I don’t wear hemp shoes. I’m a classic Bobbi-Brown-lip-gloss- and cardigan-wearing suburban mom.

But I grew up spending summers at my grandparents’ farm, on the eastern shore of Maryland. I used to pick wild blackberries, catch a dinner of blue crabs, and run between the rows of the tall corn plants. I knew what wild garlic looked like; when the figs on the fig trees were ready to eat, I ate them. I delicately picked flowers from the honeysuckle vine and sucked the nectar out. I’ve taught my kids to do the same. “It’s so sweet, Mom,” they tell me.