My first proper foray into foraging happened with wild grapes, specifically fox grapes (Vitis labrusca). A love affair that was written in the stars and all the other clichés. Below are my field notes from the experience:

FIELD JOURNAL: 002
DATE: Thursday, September 10th, 2020
TIME: 3:30 pm

Wild grapes are in season,” the text begins. “I’m going to collect a bunch to make spiced jam at some point this coming week if you would like to join,” my friend writes.

On this particular day, we are watching the weather forecast intensely as it has been raining on and off. We decide to meet in the afternoon when the rain has waned. I arrive at their house clad in a colorful rain poncho, wellies (or rain boots), a basket to carry my grapes in and as always, my camera on a flexible tripod. We walk a short distance (about 2 minutes away) from their house to an open field.

G: Do you smell anything?
Me: Umm not really. What am I supposed to be smelling? I walk closer to where he is standing. And the closer I get, I am overwhelmed by a smell that I am not sure how to describe. Flagrant maybe? Or a sweet aroma of sorts? I spend a few minutes thinking about how to describe this smell. Musky, yes, that might be the one.

I observe the leaves - heart shaped and wide. And every so often under one of them I see the cluster of grapes, plump, round and dark. G hands me one to taste. At first the sourness of the grape is intense but it becomes sweeter as I chew gingerly, careful not to crunch the seeds.
Me: Oh man! This taste is familiar.
G: What does it taste like?
Me: I’m not sure what it is called in English but in Swahili it is called a zambarau*.

I should point out that while this exchange is taking place, it begins to rain heavily, so much so that we seek shelter under an American Elm (Ulmus americana). I notice that the wild grape with its vines, has climbed all over the elm tree making it appear as one oddly shaped tree. As the rain continues to pour we rush to pick some clusters of grapes, not too many because we always leave some for other people and nature -– this is our motto always. There are shrieks as water runs down our armpits, backs and in my case causes my mascara to run. We are drenched and with my basket full of wild grapes, we set off back to the house to dry off.

Every season, the one thing I make without fail is jam. However I challenge myself to create something new with the grapes. Here are some of the ones I’m loving thus far.