tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-312717432011-09-30T08:02:30.589-04:00Nuts, Berries and Other Roadside Bonanzas for the City DwellerUrban Foragerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250423667189251383noreply@blogger.comBlogger31100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31271743.post-11042417113829384372008-07-12T09:48:00.041-04:002011-09-30T00:06:15.993-04:00

Look at this guy. His idea of a good time is to set up a chair and a cooler next to his car, fire up some mellow R&B on the car stereo, and watch other people have a party. Really! he described his perch there as “the best spot in the park,” and I was eaten up with envy -- not of the patch of ground he'd claimed, but of his enthusiasm for spectatorship. As you can see, I had visual access to the

Urban Foragerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250423667189251383noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31271743.post-1153972182708112462006-07-26T22:58:00.004-04:002008-07-12T10:30:28.537-04:00

It's only my second post, and already I'm betraying my nom de silicon: the place where I foraged for cobbler last weekend does not in any way qualify as urban. In fact, the scene there is so quaintly bucolic that the whole county resembles that ideal pastoral landscape, the golf course (which, by the way, is an excellent place to look for berries). The pastoral impulse, the desire to escape

Urban Foragerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250423667189251383noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31271743.post-1153286210659973082006-07-18T22:14:00.001-04:002008-07-12T10:31:03.790-04:00

A few springs back, I took to riding my bicycle along a riverside path generously provided and maintained by my adopted city. It stretched on for miles, all the way out to a national historic site in the suburbs, and my trips covered progressively more of its length as cherry trees threw off their pink confetti for a callow chartreuse and then a deep, sedate green. The path traversed woods in

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