About Porage

Having gathered wild delights for many years, forming serious foraging habits was probably inevitable!  Although foraging didn’t become a compulsion for me until about 3 years ago; when, walking one spring morning, I wondered, ‘What’s that little blue flower?  It looks familiar, but, different!”  And the world opened up; and I became a babe in the woods; again and again!

With my children grown and on their own, my time became exactly that, my time!  I’ve always adored plants and the outdoors.  Therefore, naturally, as my parenting obligations waned my plantophila bloomed!

I live in the small New England coastal town of Wareham; dubbed “The Gateway to Cape Cod”.  Much of my foraging is done within a 15 minute walk from Main St, in the center of town.  The Wareham River (in many of my pix) runs directly behind the buildings on Main St; divided by parking and the RR tracks.  Folks come down to the river, to fish, go crabbing, picnic and leave loads of garbage.  Between the traffic, RR and garbage, it’s not a great place to forage.  However, it is a wonderful place to photograph and identify plants in their habit.  If you are ever in town, do enjoy the walk.  You will be amazed at all the free bounty growing wild, right here in town!

Foraging is a matter of need for me.  Not only does it nourish my body, it also feeds my mind and brightens my soul.  And, if the shit does ever hit the fan, I know I will survive; as will the folks around me, because I forage.  The benefits of foraging are numerous.  Right now, for me, the benefits include exercise, fresh air, free gourmet treats, learning and trying new things, seeing with fresh eyes, the pleasure of writing this blog and connecting with other Nature lovers.

This blog is my notebook.  Like me, it’s a work in progress.  The more I learn, the more I realize, I have much to learn.  This blog is an effort in organization and sharing.  Please feel free to comment, question and correct me.  I’m an avid researcher and always share my sources.  All the photos here are mine; except for “Our Sunday Guest” posts.  I will only write about plants that I’ve identified, researched, found, harvested, processed and consumed; except in cases of poisonous plants.  Never take my word as law; jump off from here, go explore (please do check out my blogroll) and discover “The Garden”, for yourself.  There are no copyrights on my writing or photos.  Please feel free to use them.  I would appreciate credit, though!  Please be respectful of the authors on my “Our Sunday Guest” page.  Many do have copyrights on their work.

L’chiam!

Much Love and Many Blessings ~ Inky Redbird ~

This is my self-portrait; I’ve given much thought to who I am

and how I touch the world around me.

~ I do this for all my relations~

like a neon beacon

flickering through the night

charged with static

signaling fellow travelers

my soul is unmaskable

with long held monikers

psychodelic fun barbie

leaks out

all over everything

i do

 

stripped of restriction

addiction is an affliction

of power

with our thumbs up our asses

we run circles

around nothing

in a desperate attempt

to annihilate

we delay relentless anxiety

while being bombarded

with disinformation

slamming down

cramming in

jamming up the fax

between cracked pavement

from 73 car radios around us

while 12 and a half million computers boot

to various virus threat reboot messages

and mired maximum cpu warnings

traffic signals

parking meters

elevator rays

microwave burritos

eaten in fiberglass cubicles

swallowing stale recycled air

Givenchy

and humility

we fry

2,000 years of lies later

truth volcanically resurfaces

and it’s simple

the secret to happiness

is service or suffering

simple

not stand up for the flag service

or wimbledumb service

or bake sale service

or service with a smile service

but please my friend

sit here

in my most comfortable chair

and allow me to remove your burden

and your shoes

so i may wash your feet

service

please share all i have worked hard for

service

allow us to break bread

refresh our throat

and lift our spirits

service

rest in my bed this night

so i may sleep on the floor

beside you

and remember we are kin

service

as tomorrow we return to war

before nam and beyond

irag…..genocide….iran…..apartide…..darfur…..what more. . . .

many spirits hang in purgatory

tsunami…..economic collapse…..nirvana…..contradiction. . . .

what happened to addiction

i’ve wondered into fiction

you’re thinking

i’m thinking

you’re thinking

but it’s not about thinking

it’s about blinking and seeing

and moving and being

it’s about forgetting ourselves

letting go

running long into the night of futility

regardless

of course we believe

we are powerless

by definition that’s oppression

being responsible for the effort

and not the outcome

conveniently

removes personal responsibility

allows one small thought

divination

hands it over to invisible demons

and angels

how foolish when

together

we are god

look into my eyes

hold my hand

while i inhale your divinity

linda lu

curious, furious, uproarious wandering jew,

born on the cusp of cancer and leo in the year of the wood horse,

child of the beat generation, mother of many,

lover of peoples, their words and their musics,

feels passionate, artsy, and powerful,

needs peanut butter and jelly companions,

admits to silly sentimental savorings,

gives blood, time and far too much advice,

fears nothing and everything,

would like to see every child have bubbles, hugs and full tummies,

resident of wonderer’s lane,

redbird,

believes

 

am i just

a loser

magnificent

chaotic

a phoenix

am i lazy

starring out the window

solving the riddle of time

fearing success

not giving a mundane damn

are my tattoos

the manifestation of self mutilating behavior

the stained glass of my soul

antisocial

a desire for artistic release

am i immoral

sucking the life out of everything around me

languishing in divine sensuality

not doing my part

chasing rainbows

is my ability to hyperfocus

narcissistic

a divine gift

avoidance tactics

sacred space for creating miracles

i don’t understand

being grounded

or mixed up numbers

i don’t understand

simultaneously loving and hating people

or why i don’t pay attention

i don’t understand

how you see me

or why i so easily become overwhelmed

or my insatiable sensual appetite

or my right-on intuition

i don’t understand

why i can’t stay

or my need for loud music

or how i get lost

or why you don’t want me

i don’t understand

why i’m homeless

wherever i am

or why it makes perfect sense

i don’t understand

why you don’t understand

or why our brains function differently

i don’t understand

your questions

or your reasoning

or your need to control me

i don’t understand

what’s next

i don’t understand

why i don’t understand

something

anything

everything

i just don’t know

do i blurt out

from judgmental ego

to give random messages from spirit

because i am simply rude

or possessed

do i self medicate

due to addictive predisposition

to regulate disbursement of pain

for fun

or in order to have fun

do you know me

as a nuisance

an alley

as incompetent

or just plain crazy

will it help

to institutionalize me

to educate yourself

to psychoanalyze me

to arm me against your insensitivity

is it odd

that i can be so generous

that you could love me

that there is hope

that i need to be colorful

do you recognize

my struggle

your fear

my heartfullness

your narrow mindedness

do you wish

i would grow up

you didn’t have to deal with me

i would wake up

or just give you a break

do you give me

the brush

a helping hand

grief

encouragement

when i come for treatment

am i med seeking

truly sincere

a waste of your precious time

a reminder of your inability to be effective

can you hear me

screaming out in class

singing to the moon

crying myself to sleep

begging for alms

i’m beginning to realize

there is hope for me

i’m beginning to realize

there are no excuses

there aren’t even many good answers

i’m beginning to realize

the answers are secondary anyway

i’m not just insane immoral lazy a bad seed shiftless stupid hopeless

i’m beginning to realize

i’m happy with my personal brand of craziness

i need to putter

i’m beginning to realize

there’s hope for you

we see things differently

you have demanded an explanation to questions i can not answer

i’m beginning to realize

the solution to my puzzle

i’m beginning to realize

the solution to your puzzle

i’m beginning to realize

you are here to give the big picture

i’m here to fill in the details

please forgive me

when i break your rules

for veering off task

when i don’t hear you

i’m busy writing poetry

must have heard the sun yawn

awoke to 4 am silence

feeling feather light

skipped out into the dew kissed darkness

my good drum in hand

the birds sang with me

all the way down

to where two rivers meet

just as morning sky kissed my eyelids

the birds, my drum and i began to pray

grateful for the glaciers, earthquakes, beavers

chaos and ancestors

gathered here

holding this place

so two rivers may join

dear lawrence

did i miss the party of my initiation

where my ideas would be common

where my thoughts were spoken

where my beat began

before my beat began

where they drank without me

into the wee hours of eternity

filling each other with words

later to be eloquently delivered

i suppose if i had stopped on their stage

intimidated and inundated

with the horror of rejection

their reflection of my inflection

could have encouraged

a young romani girl from n.y.

transitioning

between the purely physical and spiritual

often drifting toward timeless untold expansion

slowly the physical erodes

claiming cronehood, the consummate dirty old lady

sings to the moon

ancestors answer greetings

feet pounding gratitude

smiling in the face of impunity

rolling away, possessions scattering

it is a good day to die

Just click on any photo to enlarge, for greater detail.

Thanx for stopping by.  See you soon!