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Textbook A Forager S Treasury A New Zealand Guide To Finding and Using Wild Plants 2Nd Edition Johanna Knox Ebook All Chapter PDF
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IN THE URBAN AND RURAL WILDERNESSES, THERE IS AN
ABUNDANCE OF FOOD JUST WAITING TO BE DISCOVERED, IF ONLY
YOU KNOW WHAT TO LOOK FOR. FORAGED FOOD IS HEALTHY,
ECONOMICAL AND SUSTAINABLE, BUT THE BEST PART IS THE FUN
YOU WILL HAVE FINDING IT.
Preface
Introduction
A brief history of foraging in Aotearoa
Why forage?
Ready to forage
The treasures
Preserving the harvest
Tisanes
Infused syrups
Infused vinegars
Luxury butters
Infused oils
Infused honeys
Infused alcohols
The art of freezing
The art of drying
The art of pickling
Recipes
Flavour combinations
Super-salads
Snacks
Meals — light and fresh
Meals — warming and filling
Sweet treats
Solar cooking
Natural healing and well-being
Medicine from nature
Natural body care
Mental health
Found perfumes
A brief history of natural perfumery
Store-cupboard staples for perfumery
Bought botanicals — a primer
Your brilliant nose
Getting started
Wild perfume formulas
Using fixatives
The wide world of ingredients
Found colours
Dyeing with foraged plants
Using mordants
Preparing to dye
The art of dyeing
Play as you forage
Small adventures
Other games
Resources
He mihi
Glossary of reo Māori terms
Index
Preface
Ka ora te whenua, ka ora te tangata.
I wrote the first edition of this book during 2012, and from the moment it went
to print, I started making a list of things I’d love to change. Nine years later the
list was quite long, and when Jenny Hellen from Allen & Unwin asked if I’d like
to revise the book for a second edition, I had already half-written it in my head.
I’ve updated some plant details, changed recipes and corrected a few errors.
I’ve taken some sections out so that other ideas can be included, and I’ve fixed
the way I’ve expressed some things to better reflect my current world view.
Admittedly, that process has made me feel like a bit of a fake, hiding and
overwriting the past, but I remind myself that the first edition still exists. I still
like it and I hope that, with all its differences, it remains a resource in its own
right.
Since I wrote the first edition, the world feels — for many of us — like it’s
changed a lot. Certainly we’re further along a trajectory we’ve been fearing.
But some things remain the same: whether your environment is urban,
suburban or rural, foraging connects you to the land, the air, the waters and the
life all around you. Day by day, month by month and year by year, you watch the
changes and cycles. You become increasingly aware of the connections between
every little thing. And the more you get to know them, the more you see and
hear how the Earth calls on us to do better, to try to put things right — however
hard and uncomfortable that might be. Even if the Earth is in pain, she’s
determined and she’s hopeful. And, because we’re a part of her, so should we be.
Kia hora te marino,
foraging life began at the age of about three when I unexpectedly squatted in
pansies with their little monster faces, so perhaps I was thinking, ‘I’ll eat you
up, I love you so.’ Then again, I might simply have been exhibiting the instincts
and holidays. We gathered pipi, and took home empty shells, driftwood, sea
glass, pussy willows and toetoe. I was aware of our whakapapa to the whenua
Tauranga further north — but I didn’t know back then what that could or
should mean for me. Then my grandfather died and my grandmother moved to
Auckland.
hills of Te Awa Kairangi/the Hutt valley. Our section offered plenty of flora to
explore, both native and introduced. My father, Fred Knox, worked hard to
create a garden and orchard there. My mother, Mary Knox, was a busy
poultices and face packs. I enlisted my younger sister Andrea to lie still each
morning while I plastered her face with bananas, oatmeal and bits of random
garden plants. I stripped apples from my father’s tree and dug a small pit in the
bringing out this fresh supply in the depths of winter. (They were definitely
surprised.)
infusing water with rosemary and decanting it into an old perfume bottle.
When Vanessa upended the bottle onto her wrist, out plopped a shocking lump
of blue mould that quivered on her skin until she shrieked and hurled it off.
teenage years. Then, in my early twenties, something changed. For the first
time I started to earn my own money. Buying things suddenly seemed more fun
Within a few years, another wave of change broke over me. My first child,
my son Marlon, was born and I was washed into a twilight world of human body
new cause. The dull band of pain across my head became a part of me, and my
inability to remember what I had done a day, or even an hour, before grew
legendary. Just when I thought this period might never end, it did.
I resurfaced. Lo and behold, I had a new little friend who liked to pick me
leaves at the park. He reminded me of how I used to be, and I started gathering
Raukawa, learning from Rita Tupe, Maudy Tupe and Mate Tihema. And, just
understand.
I think we’re all foragers at heart. From birth, the drive kicks in. We snuffle
around, smelling, feeling and able to see only as far as we need, to find food in
our tiny mum-sized domains. Months pass, then years, but we still employ all
our senses in the hunt for health and sustenance. We might be lucky enough to
supermarket.
to collect, to heal, and to provide for ourselves and our loved ones. Most of all,
though, I believe it speaks to our need to connect to the world around us.
favourite plants, and methods of harvest and use. We also have our own ways of
ordering our ideas and experiences. And, wherever in the world our ancestors
are from, we carry with us a specific legacy of foraging tradition and knowledge
Gathering lore is a changing, evolving body of knowledge and every person has
their pieces to add. I’ve enjoyed jigsawing together what pieces I can to make
this book, and I’m grateful to the many people who’ve generously shared their
I’d like to think this is a book you can dip into and out of at whatever points
catch your interest, or to use to follow your own trails. It’s by no means
even imagine.
A brief history of
foraging in Aotearoa
relationships, and they developed kawa and tikanga to live by. Their lives, laws
and mātauranga were indivisible from the land and the surrounding waters.
The British Crown’s invasion began stealthily. It was marked by the arrival
of Captain Cook, bearing instructions to look for land that Britain could take.
European whalers, sealers and missionaries came next, and some hapū
Māori showed Europeans local plants that could be utilised for food and
sovereignty of Māori hapū over their lands and taonga, while giving the British
chiefs and their people simply decided to hand over sovereignty to some
foreigners — that is exactly how the British chose to interpret things. With the
and oil-fuelled juggernaut rolled across the country, shifting earth, extracting
resources, pouring concrete and excreting pollution. New plants and animals
Throughout this crisis, sometimes tenuously and against all odds, Māori
meanwhile, were inclined towards peaks and troughs of foraging. The peaks
often coincided with tough economic times, such as during the wars and the
Great Depression.
In the 1970s, oil shocks rocked the global economy, and many people in the
Western world were realising that industrialisation was hurting life on Earth. A
peak in foraging activity, both here and overseas. You can see some of the books
Indigenous rights struggles were gathering power globally, and Māori were
fighting on many fronts for their whenua, mātauranga and taonga. From this
period emerged the groundbreaking Waitangi Tribunal claim Wai 262. It sought
mātauranga Māori. The claim was lodged in 1991. It was another twenty years
before the resulting report, Ko Aotearoa Tēnei, was published. This beautiful,
The affluence of the 1980s saw Western enthusiasm for foraging wane —
until the early 2000s. Then came a renewed backlash against industrialisation’s
effects on personal and planetary health. Foraging blogs sprang up across the
another level. Collecting from farms, cities and suburbs brings us face to face
with the stories of our lands. For many of us, that impels us to think harder
about what we can do to set things right, to help pull ourselves out of trouble.
Some people are already stretched, doing all they can; others, and I am one of
wherever they are from — is more important than ever. One way or another,
most of us are here in Aotearoa because we or our ancestors planned hard, took
great risks and met immense challenges in order to make change. We too carry
There are many compelling reasons to gather from the wild: for health, for
To keep healthy
The cultivated foods we buy in shops today have been bred for the commercial
Nutritional value isn’t always high on the list of priorities, and consequently
many modern cultivars have a lower nutritional value than their ancestors. Wild
foods are often more densely packed with nutrients, and a wild-food diet can
To save money
In both the short and long term, foraging can save dollars. Relatively few people
in this country will live entirely off what they gather, even for a short time, but
if you have a pantry stocked with cheap staples you can combine them with
many fresh, richly nutritious wild ingredients to make a wide range of dishes.
While I was writing the first edition of this book, money was tight for my
family. But I had stores of rice, pasta, flour, sugar and beans. By spending
money on only a few extra essentials and foraging for the rest, I killed two birds
with one stone: I tested the recipes in this book and helped to keep my family
well fed.
To explore terroir
Every plant is a storehouse of valuable phytochemicals — natural chemicals
chemicals appear throughout a plant and others only in one part of it.
The same chemicals can pop up in diverse parts of the plant kingdom. For
example, anethol gives liquorice, fennel and star anise their aroma, even
nutritional and medicinal values. But the exact mix and relative strength of a
chemical in any given plant can be affected by many things, including genetics,
patterns of change in all those things. So, a plant’s exact location in space and
All this is what winemakers call terroir. More recently, producers of artisan
principles.
the plants that grow in your patch. A quick stroll can reveal, for example, that
the lavender flowers growing outside a local cafe have a strength and softness to
their fragrance that is quite different to those in the plants growing beside a
neighbour’s gate, which may have a quieter scent with a sour note.
ending journey. Even if you reach the geographical edges of your roaming
space, you will never reach the edges of time, as plants grow and change each
To provoke thought
As human populations sweep around the globe, they deliberately take with
them collections of plants useful to them or loved by them, and they also carry
stowaways. Just as some human cultures invade others, the same is true of some
plant communities.
In any new location, some plants are well behaved, staying where you put
landscape, overrunning other plants in their path. While foraging, you see the
Human history and plant history are deeply entwined, and thinking about
one sheds light on the other. You cannot really know, for example, why this
dandelion grows on this grassy bank in this suburban park, unless you also
know that 200 years ago the bank was full of rich, dark, damp native ngahere,
loud with birds and threaded with the tracks of gatherers. You cannot know
why this dandelion grows right here, waiting for you to pick it, unless you know
what happened between then and now to clear the bush, remove the people
its past, to be fearless in facing what we might find out, and to be prepared to
think about how to make things right and then act on those thoughts. Who took
care of this land before? Who takes care of it now? Who doesn’t? Who should
isn’t just about creating pristine reserves. It’s about getting in there and
entangling ourselves with the land and the life around us in a relationship of
give and take. When we go too far one way or the other, we lose what it is to be a
Modern industrialised society does this odd thing where it exploits large
tracts of land, taking but not giving, and then sets aside a few reserves,
When I think about the space between myself and the stream I live on,
Not even concrete, I realize, can block me, block us, from the knowing
starting with the ground beneath our feet, no matter how far below,
BOOKS IN MANUSCRIPT.
INTRODUCTORY.
I n the year 410, Rome was captured and sacked by Alaric the
Visigoth. At this time, S. Jerome, in his cell at Bethlehem, was
labouring at his Commentaries on Ezekiel, while it was the downfall
of the imperial city which incited S. Augustine to begin the
composition of his greatest work, The City of God: “the greatest city
of the world has fallen in ruin, but the City of God abideth forever.”
The treatise required for its completion twenty-two books. “The
influence of France and of the printing-press,” remarks Hodgkin,
“have combined to make impossible the production of another De
Civitate Dei. The multiplicity of authors compels the controversialist
who would now obtain a hearing, to speak promptly and concisely.
The examples of Pascal and of Voltaire teach him that he must
speak with point and vivacity.”[1] S. Augustine was probably the most
voluminous writer of the earlier Christian centuries. He was the
author of no less than 232 books, in addition to many tractates or
homilies and innumerable epistles.[2] His literary work was continued
even during the siege of Hippo by the Vandals, and he died in Hippo
(in 431), in his seventy-sixth year, while the siege was still in
progress.
In regard to the lack of historical records of the time, I will again
quote Hodgkin, who, in his monumental work on Italy and Her
Invaders, has himself done so much to make good the deficiency: “It
is perhaps not surprising that in Italy itself there should have been
during the fifth century an utter absence of the instinct which leads
men to record for the benefit of posterity events which are going on
around them. When history was making itself at such breathless
speed and in such terrible fashion, the leisure, the inclination, the
presence of mind necessary for writing history might well be wanting.
He who would under happier auspices have filled up the interval
between the bath and the tennis court by reclining on the couch in
the winter portico of his villa and there languidly dictating to his slave
the true story of the abdication of Avitus, or the death of Anthemius,
was himself now a slave keeping sheep in the wilderness under a
Numidian sun or shrinking under the blows of one of the rough
soldiers of Gaiseric.”
Hodgkin finds it more difficult to understand “why the learned and
leisurely provincial of Greece, whose country for nearly a century
and a half (395-539) escaped the horrors of hostile invasion, and
who had to inspire them the grandest literary traditions in the world,
should have left unwritten the story of the downfall of Rome.”
“The fact seems to be,” he goes on to say, “that at this time all that
was left of literary instinct and historiographic power in the world had
concentrated itself on theological (we cannot call it religious)
controversy, and what tons of worthless material the ecclesiastical
historians and controversialists of the time have left us!... Blind, most
of them, to the meaning of the mighty drama which was being
enacted on the stage of the world ... they have left us scarcely a hint
as to the inner history of the vast revolution which settled the Teuton
in the lands of the Latin.... One man alone gives us that detailed
information concerning the thoughts, characters, persons of the
actors in the great drama which can make the dry bones of the
chronologer live. This is Caius Sollius Apollinaris Sidonius, man of
letters, imperial functionary, country gentleman, and bishop, who,
notwithstanding much manifest weakness of character and a sort of
epigrammatic dulness of style, is still the most interesting literary
figure of the fifth century.”[3]
Sidonius was born at Lyons, a.d. 430. His father, grandfather, and
great-grandfather had all served as Prætorian Prefects in Gaul, in
which province his own long life was passed. In 472, Sidonius
became Bishop of Arverni, and from that time, as he rather naïvely
tells us, he gave up (as unbecoming ecclesiastical responsibilities)
the writing of compositions “based on pagan models.” In 475, the
year before the last of the western emperors, Augustulus, was driven
from Rome by Odovacar,[4] the Herulian, the Visigoth king, Euric,
became master of Auvergne. Sidonius was at first banished, but in
479 was restored to his diocese, and continued his work there as
bishop and as writer until his death, ten years later. At the time of the
death of Sidonius, Cassiodorus, who was, during the succeeding
eighty years, to have part in so much of the eventful history of Italy,
was ten years old. There are some points of similarity in the careers
of the two men. Both were of noble family and both began their
active work as officials, one of the Empire, the other of the Gothic
kingdom of Italy, while both also became ecclesiastics. Each saw his
country taken possession of by a foreign invader, and for the
purpose of serving his countrymen, (with which purpose may very
possibly have been combined some motives of personal ambition,)
each was able and willing to make himself useful to the new ruler
and thus to retain official position and influence; and finally, both had
literary facility and ambition, and, holding in regard the works of the
great classic writers, endeavoured to model upon these works the
style of their own voluminous compositions. The political work of
Cassiodorus was of course, however, much the more noteworthy
and important, as Sidonius could hardly claim to be considered a
statesman.
In their work as authors, the compositions of Sidonius are, as I
judge from the description, to be ranked higher in literary quality than
those of the later writer, and to have been more successful also in
following the style of classic models. The style of Cassiodorus is
described as both verbose and grandiloquent. In his ecclesiastical,
or rather his monastic work, taken up after half a century of active
political life, it was the fortune of Cassiodorus, as will be described
later, to exercise an influence which continued for centuries, and
which was possibly more far-reaching than was exerted by the
career of any abbot or bishop in the later history of the Church.
The careers of both Sidonius and Cassiodorus have a special
interest because the two men held rather an exceptional position
between the life of the old empire which they survived and that of the
new Europe of the Middle Ages, the beginning of which they lived to
see.
Of the writings of Sidonius, Hodgkin speaks as follows: “A careful
perusal of the three volumes of the Letters and Poems of Sidonius
(written between the years 455 and 490) reveals to us the fact that in
Gaul the air still teems with intellectual life, that authors were still
writing, amanuenses transcribing, friends complimenting or
criticising, and all the cares and pleasures of literature filling the
minds of large classes of men just as when no empires were sinking
and no strange nationalities suddenly arising around them.... A long
list of forgotten philosophers did exist in that age, and their works,
produced in lavish abundance, seem to have had no lack of eager
students.”
As an example of the literary interests of a country gentleman in
Gaul, Hodgkin quotes a letter of Sidonius, written about 469: “Here
too [i. e. in a country house in Gaul] were books in plenty; you might
fancy you were looking at the breast-high book-shelves (plantei) of
the grammarians, or the wedge-shaped cases (cunei) of the
Athenæum, or the well-filled cupboards (armaria) of the booksellers.
I observed, however, that if one found a manuscript beside the chair
of one of the ladies of the house, it was sure to be on a religious
subject, while those which lay by the seats of the fathers of the
family were full of the loftiest strains of Latin eloquence. In making
this distinction, I do not forget that there are some writings of equal
literary excellence in both branches, that Augustine may be paired
off against Varro, and Prudentius against Horace. Among these
books, the works of Origen, the Adamantine, were frequently
perused by readers holding our faith. I cannot understand why some
of our arch-divines should stigmatise him as a dangerous and
heterodox author.”[5]
In summing up the work of Sidonius, Hodgkin points out the
noteworthy opportunities for making a literary reputation which were
missed by him. “He might have been the Herodotus of mediæval