It was great staying in a caravan in the forest, though a little eerie. At night you could hear the lonesome call of an owl. We went foraging around a
derelict church, gathering blackberries, where we disturbed a monkjack deer. Down the lanes, I collected crab apples and some early sloes for sloe vodka. I felt intune with all my forbears who have headed out into the late summer sun to gather what they can ahead of colder days. On our last morning I took a walk across the fields and gathered mushrooms. I have some sense about what I'm doing, I don't pick what I don't recognise, and mainly what I recognise are puffballs. I felt exhilarated and so pleased to arrive back in suburbia with my crop. I've gathered mushrooms before, but always chickened out when it came to eating them! This time I sliced them finely, drizzled with olive oil and fresh basil. They were so delicious! None the less, I was convinced I would keel over, such is the power of folklore and our distance from nature. I'm not sure if it was the mushrooms but I've been having the strangest dreams......
A fairytale inspired Folksy Friday
