Foraging Hawthorne
I once heard the Australian aboriginal walkabout described as a spiritual tool to recognize that everything is the world of spirit, and nothing is mine. Can you imagine if every human had such an insight? For me, anxiety abates just pondering the shift from acquisition, thinking and responsibility to receptivity, listening and interconnectedness. In aboriginal culture, deepening into the world of spirit through the ritual of a walkabout is how a boy becomes a man. It strikes me as something more desperately needed in non-indigenous communities, but perhaps less compatible with how life is expected to unfold.
I went snowshoeing the other day, from our property into the back pastures of a nearby farm, and noticed all the ways that my mind runs circles around notions of property, ownership, permission, and the possibility of getting something out of the land. Which isn’t particularly neurotic, as far as it goes. But it must be that walking outside is a natural way to bring the world of spirit closer, allowing us to see what’s in our minds against a much vaster panel of space. A walkabout lite.
In the first seasons that we lived on our 11 acre property in Underhill, Vermont, I eagerly took notice of anything I could identify and forage on the land. At some point I noticed a scraggly Hawthorne tree, hanging over a dense thicket of what I would later identify as Elderberry. This one Hawthorne tree did not seem to have enough berries to bother harvesting, but I had since spotted a few other trees along our dirt road. And so occurred my youngest son’s and my afternoon of collecting “haws”, or “hips” if you prefer (Hawthorne is in the rose family).
The adventure was ill-fated. We breached all etiquette around avoiding ticks and plunged into the dense brush surrounding these roadside trees. Most of the berries were quite high and I had to pull the branches down so my 4 year-old could pick one or two berries then say he was done. While I tried to pick more, he would invariably become entangled in a thorny vine, or trip into a cacophony of fallen twigs. The entire area was covered in road dust, which I figured I could wash off the berries, but it made the whole experience even less romantic. We were also trespassing, not knowing who owned the particular property we climbed onto from the road.
We ended up with about 3 cups of berries, many of which had to be discarded due to worm holes or simple mealiness. The remaining berries, once processed, yielded ¼ pint of jelly, which was magnificent in color, but inedible due to overcooking.
And so it goes, when you try to adopt something into your life that you have no experience with whatsoever.
A few weeks later my kids and I took an unplanned excursion down the side bank of our property, to a creek that runs through the area. Along the edge of the creek we came upon a gorgeous tree, drooping towards the water with innumerable twigs and branches creating a sort of shelter underneath. I soon noticed there were bright red, very large berries floating in the sheltered pools of water, and piled around the base of the tree in rocky sand. I looked more closely at the branches and saw the telltale inch-long spikes. I rushed back to the house for a basket, and this time we collected at least 6 cups of perfectly ripe haws, leaving twice as many behind. Instead of jelly, I made Hawthorne syrup, which I have since enjoyed almost every afternoon in a mug of hot water with lemon* (very romantic).
In late fall, while walking along a trail we were attempting to clear through a nearby part of the property, I realized that my favorite tree in that area is, also, a Hawthorne. How many times had I walked by it without really looking at the branches, the bark, the thorns? I found a small handful of spent berries, relaxing their form into the earthy floor, to confirm the tree.
Hawthorne is widely considered by herbalists to be a tonic of the heart, supporting long-term health of our cardiovascular system and also the emotional “heart” of our shared humanity — our interconnectedness, empathy, gratitude, forgiveness, grief and loss. I felt a sense of richness to know these trees were growing strongly around the house, but still that twinge of acquisitiveness, in scheming how to best get the berries next year.
Back to snowshoeing, in mid-February. When I first emerged into the back pasture of the neighboring farm, it was completely untracked — a pristine, open field of snow. I decided to walk along the rock wall that led most directly to another pasture. As I walked, I started to notice the trees along that wall. One Hawthorne. Then another. Then another, and another. With a few apple trees mixed in, the entire length of the wall was populated with healthy, tall Hawthorne trees, smaller ones sprouting up between. As if that wasn’t enough, I emerged from the pasture into an orchard, populated with the largest Hawthorne trees I’ve ever seen (as well as apple and possibly other fruits).
It took some work for me to reign back the thoughts of how I might access these trees next summer, when the wooded paths are overgrown and the neighbor’s cows are once again using the pastures. I would, of course, have to talk to them about it, and reveal my crazy infatuation with this plant. More to the point, on that afternoon, I was on a really long walk by myself, exploring new parts of the territory around my home. With two small kids, a busy partner, abounding illness and variable weather, this type of outing has been rare. For me to walk so far, even out my own back door, the causes and conditions have to align just so.
I took a moment to just stand with all those trees, opening myself to their medicine without having to own them, or process them. What was it like to just be with them? It was a lot of things. Glorious, for one. And warm, even though the air was cold. Tender. Like feeling a heartbeat underneath the snow.
I’m sure I will continue to collect haws, and will undoubtedly refine the process. I also aspire to experience the nourishment of my emotional body, through the blessing of their presence nearby.
*My favorite source of recipes for all things Hawthorne (and Elderberry) is currently the website www.practicalselfreliance.com.
