I’ve been wondering lately… if you’re foraging in your own garden, is it still considered foraging?
Not exactly a life-altering question—but one that’s been quietly lingering in the back of my mind. From what I’ve gathered, as long as something is growing wild and you didn’t intentionally plant it, it still counts. Which feels reassuring, because it means that some of my favorite little rituals do, in fact, fall into that beautifully romantic category of foraging.
Every year, garlic mustard finds its way into my yard. It’s considered invasive here, so I pull most of it up—but I’ve allowed a small patch to exist in a tucked-away corner near my garden bed. In early spring, I pick the young leaves and delicate white flowers, adding them to salads. There’s something deeply satisfying about harvesting something unplanned, something that simply chose to grow.
This year, wintercress made a surprise appearance too. I’m still getting acquainted with it, but that’s part of the joy—learning the rhythms of what appears, uninvited, yet somehow welcome.
Just beyond my yard, the park near our home feels almost like an extension of this quiet abundance. The city has planted apple trees, along with raspberry and golden currant bushes—something I had never even heard of before. Discovering them felt like stumbling onto a secret.
In spring, the wild rose bushes bloom—five sprawling shrubs that fill the air with the softest, most nostalgic fragrance. Later in the year, their rosehips can be gathered and dried for tea, a small way of carrying that season forward.
Not far from there, the forest offers its own treasures. Wild blueberries hide among the wooded patches, while raspberries and black raspberries thrive out in the open fields. By late July, they’re ready—but so are the mosquitoes. Berry picking becomes a bit of a battle, one that requires patience, long sleeves, and a sense of humor.
Closer to home, our linden tree blooms in early summer. I gather the flowers gently, drying them for tea. It’s one of my favorite seasonal rituals—simple, quiet, and grounding.
Where I come from in Poland, foraging—especially mushroom picking—is something much deeper than a hobby. It’s tradition. It’s family. I still remember going out with my grandmother, watching her move confidently through the forest, gathering mushrooms that would later become the most incredible homemade pierogi. There’s a certain kind of magic in that memory—one I haven’t quite been able to recreate here, mostly because I’m still learning which mushrooms are safe to pick. But it’s something I hope to return to one day, perhaps with a bit more guidance and a basket in hand come autumn.
There are still so many things I haven’t tried yet, even right in my own garden. Hosta shoots, for example—something I only recently learned are edible, despite having plenty growing on my property. Daylilies are on that list too. I imagine them being somewhat similar to squash blossoms, which I already love, but with their own unique flavor. And then there’s lilac syrup… something I’ve never made, but absolutely want to. The idea of capturing that fleeting spring scent in a bottle feels almost too lovely not to try.
So maybe this is foraging. Or maybe it’s just paying attention—to what grows around us, to what each season quietly offers.
Either way, I like the idea of it.
Although, if we’re being honest…
“Eating things I found in my yard” might be just as accurate.
Tell me—have you ever come across something unexpected and edible that you’ve been curious to try? 🌿
