Wild Wild Eating

Tish Farrell

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There’s a little ‘copse’ of wild cherry trees (Prunus avium)  in one corner of the allotment. Most years I scarcely notice the fruit. The cherries are usually less than half the size of a cultivated cherry, and more stone than flesh. But this summer there has been a magnificent crop, and I’m afraid I’ve been grabbing handfuls as I pass, stuffing them in my mouth, and spitting out the stones willy-nilly.  Delicious, but most uncouth, and doubtless my regardless foraging activities will give rise to a whole new forest.

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And why not? These native British trees are very beautiful; quite stately in habit and tall with handsome chestnut coloured trunks. Hitherto my dealings with them had been confined to autumn when I go and rake up the leaf fall to make compost. And what a golden harvest it is. The leaves are very lovely; so much so, I…

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Published by peter petterson

Father of four, grandfather of thirteen, and great-grandfather of six. Resides in Taita, Lower Hutt, Wellington, New Zealand. Living happily in retirement and enjoying the company of my many young descendants.

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