I have always favored those plants that could feed me.
When we lived on the edge of the Hudson River palisades in New York, we could mark the seasons’ progress with the generosity of nature. Thick-skinned, wild purple grapes grew in the woods in the back of our old green house. An ancient cherry tree behind the garage oozed a tasty chewable sap, even before the reddening cherries pleaded to be picked.
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