Creasy Alert! (and Creasy Season Sale)

They are out there now!  Beautiful green rosettes volunteering in a fallow section of our winter garden.  They might be  showing up in your neighborhood too!

Soft and easy, good and greasy! How I love them creasy greens!

I can remember hearing the famous urban wild plant forager Wildman Steve Brill (see note below) rhapsodizing about how he ate winter cress greens, not only as a nutritious steamed vegetable, but he also combined the greens with organic buckwheat flour and ran it through a pasta machine to make winter cress-buckwheat pasta.  He claimed that it was a perfect entree for a robust health food meal.

Another group of health food lovers, the Italians, are great appreciators of winter cress as well.  Euell Gibbons wrote that where he lived on the outskirts of Philadelphia, the first sign of spring was not the geese winging their way back north, nor the first robins on the lawn, but it was the Italians “swarming out from town to gather winter cress from fields and ditches.” They use the winter cress in salads, or cooked in soups, omelets, and other dishes. It is called “Barbarea” in Italian. “Barbarea” is also the Latin scientific name by which botanists refer to this group of land cresses. The winter cresses are so named because the greens in some areas are ready for the first picking on Saint Barbara’s Day which falls on the fourth day of December. There are three species of Barbarea commonly found in North America. Barbarea vulgaris, sometimes called yellow rocket. “Vulgaris,” here means “common” and it is the most abundant winter cress in northeastern North America.  Out west however, the native American winter cress, B. orthoceras, prevails. The third species, B. verna, grows wild in many parts of the southeastern U.S. and it is also cultivated in some areas. Sometimes it appears in markets as Dry Land or Belle Isle Cress.  Down South the plant is known universally as “creasy greens”.

Elliott gathering and “looking” creasy greens

I can remember gathering a “mess” of the greens with my Appalachian mountaineer mentor and foraging buddy, Theron Edwards.  He was telling me to be sure to “look” the greens as I picked them.  I told him that I was looking at ‘em.

“I didn’t say look at ‘em,” he jovially scolded, “I said look ’em.” (By this, he meant to pick over each bunch of cress, removing all adhering dirt, debris and damaged leaves before I put them in our gathering bag. (This is good advice for harvesting any wild greens.)  We usually chop the greens and sauté them with olive oil and steam them nowadays, or more traditionally, boil them in a pot of salted water with a chunk of fatback or ham for seasoning. The well-cooked greens can be topped with a sprinkling of chopped raw onions or garlic powder and a few squirts of pepper vinegar. Traditionally they might be served with soup beans and a hot cat-head biscuit or a chunk of cornbread slathered with fresh homemade butter and a generous dab of sourwood honey or sorghum molasses. The highly nutritious liquid the greens were cooked in, known as “pot liquor,” is often drunk along with the meal.  After a meal like that I can assure you the humble weedy winter cress will take on a new dimension.

Perhaps a meal like that inspired the immortal Pegleg Sam Jackson to sing about them. The tune was recorded as “Greasy Greens” (Trix CD 3302) but when I heard him perform it back in 1977, the summer before he died, I’m sure I heard him say creasy greens. It has been said that the lyrics are full of double entendre, but I’m sure this can’t be true because Mr. Jackson didn’t speak French. To hear a bit of a spoken-word recipe and my rendition of the tune, click on the arrow below:

Here are the lyrics:

Winter cress blooms in early spring with, four- petaled, yellow flowers typical of many mustard family plants.

Way down South where I was born,
They raise them creasy greens and corn,
Sweet potatoes, black eyed peas,
Green tomatoes, Momma, pecan trees.

Chorus:
Them creasy greens sure taste good,
I’d just eat them all if I could,
Soft and easy, good and greasy,
How I love them creasy greens

I’m a Mississippi Man from New Orleans.
Crazy ’bout them creasy greens,
If I don’t get ‘em three times a day,
I’ll get mad and I’ll just walk away.

Chorus

Honey, you can cook lima beans,
You can cook things, Sugar, I never seen,
But when you fix up your table for me,
Don’t cook nothing but creasy greens.

Chorus

Honey, there’s some greens up on your shelf,
You must be saving them for somebody else!
I hear some greens falling in that pot.
How much creasy greens have you got?

Chorus

Honey, I don’t care what your Momma don’t allow,
I want some good greens anyhow,
I’ll just eat ‘em, Honey, and I’ll be gone,
She’ll never know we slipped them on!

Chorus

Honey, that meat must’a been fat,
To make them greens so greasy like that!
Don’t cook nothing but naturally,
How I love them creasy greens.

More Cress Lore

Once after I was singing and talking about creasy greens, a ballad singer came up to me and said, “I know an old ballad about creasies.”  He informed me that the word “creasy” is a throwback to merry old England when the cress seller walked through the streets with a basket of cress shouting, “Creases! Creases!” as a street cry. Now in areas of the US that were originally settled by people from the British Isles, the name “creasies” has stuck and is still used today. Then he burst forth and sang this song:

I met a fair young damsel come skipping down the lane,
And her voice it was the clearest of any I did hear.
She had a bunch of early onions, some pickles and strong beer,
Small roses and a bunch of water creases.

I quickly step-ped up to her and unto her did say,
“I’m on my way to Cumberland. Can you direct my way?”
“Oh yes Sir, oh yes Sir,” quickly she did say.
“Take the turn at your left and go down the other way.”

We walked along together, together side by side,
And oft-times I wished she was my lawful wedded bride.
So I asked her this question, half in earnest, half in joke,
And these are the words that unto her I spoke,

“I’ve got cows, I’ve got sheep, I’ve got pigs and I’ve got geeses,
Likewise I’ve got a dairy full of buttermilk and cheeses.
If you’d consent to Mrs. now, fair lady of all leases,
We’ll spend our life in love, and water creases.”

“Since you have been so generous. I believe I may,
Prepare the matrimonials and then we’ll end the day.
I’ve a wedding dress to buy and some little bills to pay…”
I gave to her a sovereign, her debts for to defray.

T’was early the next morning, a letter I received,
“Kind sir, for disappointing you, I do apologize,
But when you pick a partner in a partnership for life,
Be sure you pick a maiden or a widow, not a wife!

I’ve a husband of my own and his name is William Grey,
And when I can well afford it, your sovereign back, I’ll pay,
To think that I would marry you upon the first of May,
You must have been greener than water creases!”

This hilarious old English ballad not only celebrates watercress, using the old English name “water creases”, but it also shows the dangers of getting carried away with your romantic fantasies. I wonder if that fellow ever got his sovereign back.  (A sovereign is a British gold coin worth one pound sterling.)

Lush bed of blooming watercress growing in a clear spring

Watercress is an aquatic member of the mustard family with a sharp, lively taste.  It is quite nutritious and can be used raw in salads and sandwiches, stir- fried with other vegetables, or cooked in soups and stews.

Watercress is a European plant but it has become naturalized in springs and clear streams (particularly in limestone areas) all over North America.  I have picked it in Maine, New Jersey, Colorado, Carolina, and California to name a few places.  One time I found so much watercress growing near the headwaters of a spring-fed river in Florida that I gathered a bushel of it and sold it to a health food store. Because watercress grows in springs with relatively constant temperatures it can be gathered when other fresh greens are not available. I can remember slogging through two feet of snow in a cold snap in northern Ohio when we came upon a spring full of lush green watercress. What a treat it was to nibble fresh wild greens on that snowy winter day.

Creasy Season Sale

Till the end of March I’ll sell the Crawdads, Doodlebugs, and Creasy Greens CD and the Bound for Carolina CD for only $10 each (That’s 1/3 off the normal $15 price). Both recordings have the Creasy Greens song and a whole lot more. And if you like, I’ll toss in the songbook (also entitled Crawdads, Doodlebugs, and Creasy Greens) with any order over $20. The songbook has even more Creasy lore! Check out my calendar. I’ll be doing a bunch of interesting programs around the country.

(Note) Brill is a wild plant enthusiast who does most of his foraging in New York City.  He received national attention in 1986 after he was arrested for eating a dandelion in Central Park.  The press had a field day: “The Man Who Ate Manhattan,” the Daily News headline read. “Daisies Not on New York Diet,” the Chicago Sun-Times quipped.  “Parks Muzzle Weed Maven,” exclaimed another.  The story did have a happy ending however when Brill ended up being hired as a park naturalist by the same agency that had him arrested.  He has authored several books including, Harvesting Edible and Medicinal Plants in Wild (and Not So Wild) Places.

Sphagnum Moss Diapers–Campers Pampers

Sphagnum moss sure is an amazing plant! I’ve been hanging out in some wetlands lately, and with our son Todd attaining his 20th birthday, and a bunch of my friends having babies, I couldn’t help but reminicse about this old rolling stone’s moss gathering activities a couple of decades ago. I hope you enjoy this piece. Lemmie know how your moss gathering goes.

Camper’s Pampers

I just couldn’t get it out of my head!

William Wasowich, one of the last South Jersey moss rakers hard at work in 1992 in a Pine Barrens sphagnum bog. Wasowich was one of the characters mentioned in John McPhee’s book, The Pine Barrens.

Ever since I had seen the article in that old National Geographic Magazine about the Cree Indians, I hadn’t been able to get that picture out of my head. It showed a young Cree mom diapering her baby with sphagnum moss.

Wow! What a concept! I knew sphagnum moss well. I had seen it many times in my wanderings in wetland areas in various parts of the country. I had marveled at its pale green color and its soft, absorbent, spongy texture. I had picked it up by the handful and marveled at how much water I could squeeze out of it. One time I did a test with a bunch of dry sphagnum and a sensitive scale. I found out that it would hold 12 times its own weight in water. Sphagnum’s remarkable ability to soak up water is why it is so important in nature. Because of its water retaining properties and its ability to create and maintain an acid habitat for itself and other plants, sphagnum plays a key role in the formation of bogs. Bog environments act like huge sponges that control erosion on mountain slopes and flooding in valleys. In fact the drainage of almost all the vast northern regions of our planet is controlled by sphagnum moss. Sphagnum moss deposits also provide a medium for the seeding of trees and other plants that are important in the development of northern forests. The peat moss that we buy to mulch our shrubs and mix with potting soil is primarily ancient sphagnum moss that has been mined out of former bog areas.

William Wasowich, one of the last South Jersey moss rakers hard at work in 1992 in a Pine Barrens sphagnum bog.

I had spent time with traditional moss rakers in southern New Jersey. These backwoods folks, known as “pineys”, who live in the relatively undisturbed and ecologically unique area known as the Jersey Pine Barrens, rake fresh sphagnum moss out of bog areas, dry it and bale it for sale to nurseries and garden centers.

Sphagnum moss also has a long history of use as a wound dressing, reaching a peak in its use during World War I when it was used by both the Germans and the Allies. By the end of the war, the British production of sphagnum dressings was estimated to have been about one million pounds a month.

In the 1730′s the great Swedish naturalist, Linnaeus, observed, “The Lapland matrons are well acquainted with [sphagnum] moss. They lay it in their children’s cradles to supply the place of bed, bolster, and every covering; and being changed night and morning, it keeps the infant remarkably clean, dry, and warm … and makes a most delicate nest for the new-born babe.”

Yes, what a perfect material, I thought — a completely organic, biodegradable, disposable diaper. What new parent wouldn’t be thrilled to have such a thing? As my friends began to have babies I would often go into a bog and collect and dry a batch of beautiful soft sphagnum moss and present it to them as a gift at baby showers. I was astounded that even some of my more earthy friends were simply not interested. They would often say, patronizingly, “Yeah right, Doug, go ahead use that moss on your baby.”

Well the time had come. My wife was pregnant and the nesting phase had begun. The nesting phase is that time during pregnancy when many women get seriously focused on “preparing their nest” for the arrival of the new baby. From knitting tiny garments and shopping for blankets and diapers, to preparing the cradle, crib, playpen and other neonatal accoutrements. The nesting phase is a busy, exciting time in an expectant mother’s life.

As an expectant dad, I found my own nesting instinct had kicked in powerfully and now this old rolling stone was scurrying around in bogs gathering every bit of moss he could find. By the time our little one was due, I had stored away several big bags of carefully dried sphagnum.

What marvelous material it is. I can’t say that it was the only diapers we used because we tried all kinds. But sphagnum was our favorite, not only because it is natural and biodegradable but because it was simply, the best. The moss seems to wick moisture away from the baby’s skin and the tiny dry particles of moss act almost like a talcum powder so that the baby’s skin stays smooth and dry. Feces is absorbed and enclosed in a wad of moss. Because of these properties, as well as the fact that the moss is slightly acidic and is reported to contain small amounts of iodine, sphagnum can be helpful to prevent and heal diaper rash.

And it was so convenient. When it was time for a diaper change, we would simply remove the moss, and if we were home, we would compost it under a fruit tree. If we were on the trail hiking, we would simply tuck the soiled moss into the topsoil and cover it with leaves or other forest duff. On car trips we would pull off the highway and bury it. (Once we even discretely slipped a wad of our nitrogen-enriched sphagnum deep into the mulch under landscape shrubbery outside a shopping mall.)

I realized that not only were we being gentle on the earth and giving our baby the best care available but we were also, in some ways, tapping into our ancient heritage because sphagnum moss was used by our northern European ancestors as well as native North Americans.

I asked a native-American friend, who is a speaker of Cree and other northern Algonquian dialects about sphagnum. He told me about how it is still used in the back- country. Mothers wrap their babes in a soft buckskin bag filled with dry sphagnum and change it as necessary His people use the word “otaow” (rhymes with cow) to refer to sphagnum moss. When I asked him about how the word translates, he said the root of the word, “ota,” is associated with the word for father.

“Is that because the fathers gather the moss?” I asked expectantly.

“Not necessarily,” he said. Men might collect moss sometimes but it is usually the women who gather it because they also use it in the moon lodge where the women spend their menstrual periods, singing, talking, praying and hanging out with each other while seated on pads of sphagnum. (Modern women tell me it is hard to use sphagnum if they remain active.)

This root word, “ota,” he went on to say, is a word that implies presence, meaning something like “right here” or “being there.” I thought about how fatherhood had imbued the words “presence” and “being there” with new meaning for me.

The word for sphagnum, “otaow,” he told me, would translate out to mean “protectively holds” or “embraces.”

“Is that because it’s used for diapers,” I asked.

“Not necessarily,” he replied (again), explaining that it is more because of the way the sphagnum covers the ground — like a carpet in some moist areas, growing over rocks and logs and everything — protectively holding the Earth Mother.

When I would protectively embrace and hold my young son in my arms, I would sometimes think about our responsibility to protectively hold all that we touch. When I think about that spongy wad of sphagnum moss in our son’s diaper, I marvel at the vast millions of acres of sphagnum moss that are currently embracing our planet, protectively holding, and ever so gently, softly, controlling the flow of the countless trillions of gallons of water that drain boreal land masses all around the globe.

That wad of sphagnum tucked in our child’s diaper, containing the fluids and mopping up our own baby’s nether regions seemed like a wonderful parallel – sort of a microcosm of what is happening on our planet every day.

How (and Where) to Gather Sphagnum Moss for Diapers

To gather sphagnum moss for baby diapers, it should be picked as clean as possible and promptly dried. When gathering moss I generally carry a tarp or large drop cloth, a pillowcase and /or a pack basket with me into a bog area. Late spring and early summer seem to be ideal times to gather because there is a lot of new tender growth. Boots, amphibious sandals or wading shoes are recommended. In the boggy areas where sphagnum is found, it usually grows as the first layer of vegetation, anywhere from a few inches to a foot or more in depth. It forms a moist, fluffy substrate with various other plants poking through. These might be tufted sedges, delicate flowering orchids, exotic looking pitcher plants, robust red cranberries, or low thickets of pink-flowering sheep laurel and wooly-leaved Labrador Tea. Sometimes sphagnum moss will completely cover a partially submerged fallen log or creep up the base of a tree trunk. The best places to gather the moss are the more open areas where it grows in thick clumps or beds. From areas like these you can pull one handful after another and still leave large amounts to regenerate. When gathering moss, (or any natural resource) it is important to diffuse your impact, taking a few handfuls from one clump then moving to another. Of course it is important not to gather in an area where the moss is not common. You will see, however, that in areas where moss is abundant, you can pick for a few hours in a relatively small area and there will still be so much moss left that it will be difficult to tell where you have harvested. Pick the moss as cleanly as possible, removing pine needles and other bits of debris when you find them. (There will be more opportunities to do this when you spread it out to dry later.) When I pull the moss, if the bottom of the clump is muddy where it was rooted in the bog, I cut or break this part off. I collect the moss in a gathering basket or a sack. When this container is full I carry it to the edge of the bog, ideally to a sunny area, and spread the moss out on a clean tarp or large cloth and go back for more. The moss dries amazingly fast if it is spread thinly. If tarp space is limited and the moss is piled rather thickly it will still dry in a day or two, especially if you turn it regularly and break apart the moist clumps. A few hours of gathering and a day or two of careful drying can yield several months’ worth of sphagnum. The use of a tarp is important to keep the moss clean and away from contact with the soil. This will virtually eliminate the risks of sporotrichosis, a fungal infection that sometimes affects greenhouse workers who work with sphagnum. Recent studies indicate that the offending fungus, Sporothrix schenckii, lives in the soil. It has not been found (and apparently will not grow) on living sphagnum moss. It can be a problem, however, in greenhouses where the dead moss is mixed with water and dirt and allowed to stand for extended periods in a heated environment.

(1) Footnote: (1), Mycopathologia 123: 87-94, 1993.

Diapering with Sphagnum Moss

In the 1730′s the great Swedish naturalist, Linnaeus, observed, “The Lapland matrons are well acquainted with [sphagnum] moss. They lay it in their children’s cradles to supply the place of bed, bolster, and every covering; and being changed night and morning, it keeps the infant remarkably clean, dry, and warm … and makes a most delicate nest for the new-born babe.”

Though some of our friends lay the sphagnum moss on a cotton diaper, we find that a moss filled nylon diaper cover works best for us. To prepare for diapering, open the diaper cover and place it on a flat surface. Place a couple handfuls of the moss in the diaper cover and arrange it “strategically” (more in front for boys). Examine the moss carefully to be sure it is free of leaves, pine needles and other potentially uncomfortable debris. (I press the moss into place with the back of my hand to be sure it is soft and free of projections.) Sometimes we use different “grades” of moss. The softest moss is reserved for the inner layer and the rest is used as the “backfill”. Sometimes we place a few sheets of toilet paper on top to cover the moss.

Then we set the babe down onto the moss and fasten the diaper up as gracefully as possible. Since managing a squirmy baby on an easily scatterable pile of moss is not always easy, having an extra person helping usually makes it easier. (We call it “tag team diapering.”) Once the diaper is fastened we found that training pants or rubber pants help hold the whole assembly together. The moss seems to wick moisture away from the baby’s skin and the tiny dry particles of moss act almost like a talcum powder so that his skin stays smooth and dry. Feces is absorbed and enclosed in a wad of moss. Because of these properties as well as the fact that the moss is slightly acidic and is reported to contain small amounts of iodine, sphagnum can be helpful to prevent and heal diaper rash.

We used moss primarily as a travel diaper and it was amazingly simple. We could go for weeks with only a stuff bag full of moss and two or three nylon diaper covers. While one cover was on the babe, the other, after being rinsed was drying out. Our youngster, as fussy as he was about diapering in general, never did develop an aversion to the sphagnum. When he got to older toddlerhood, he would even help us tuck the loose pieces of moss into his diaper cover.

Of course using such an unusual method of diapering does leave you open to a few raised eyebrows as well as the occasional wisecrack. One friend watched us undo our son’s diaper. When he saw the huge wad of soggy moss he asked, “Don’t you think that boy has a little too much fiber in his diet?

Way Down Yonder

© 2010 by Doug Elliott

Sally and I were walking through the woods along the forested flood plain of a meandering creek and we found ourselves in grove of distinctive looking small trees with large soft green leaves. The tip of each leaf tapered to long pointed drip tip that is characteristic of tropical rainforest plants. These trees, in fact, were northern members of a large family of tropical plants known as Annonaceae–the custard apple family.

In the tropics I had sampled sumptuous exotic fruits from that family–fruits with exotic flavors and colorful names. In Mexico and Central America I had slurped through guanabanas and cherimoyas. In the Florida Everglades I waded through sawgrass and lily pads to sample pond apples. On the Caribbean Islands I had relished the soursop and the bullock’s heart, and learned to listen for the excited raspy calls of the sweet-loving bananaquit birds announcing ripened sweetsops.

Well, right here in this shady Carolina creek bottom on this cool September day we were about to get a true taste the tropics.

How does that old song go?

Where oh where is sweet little Sally?
Where oh where is sweet sister Sally?
Where oh where were me and Sally?
Yes, we were indeed…
Way down yonder in the pawpaw patch!

Like most pawpaw trees, these were growing in the understory, shaded by taller poplars, sycamores, and maples. They are slender trees that rarely grow taller than thirty feet and the trunks rarely exceed a foot in diameter. I started moving through the patch grabbing the trees by the trunks and giving each one a brief, vigorous shake, and lo and behold, we started hearing the distinctive thumps of pawpaws hitting the ground. And before long we were excitedly…

Picking up pawpaws and puttin’ ‘em in our pockets. Way down yonder in the pawpaw patch!

Pawpaws are found from the north shore of Lake Ontario, south as far as northern Florida, and west to the Great Plains. In the Carolinas and other parts of the South we also have a dwarf pawpaw, a small shrub with tiny fruits.

As little known as pawpaws are, even today, they have interesting connections to our history. George Washington enjoyed dining on chilled pawpaws, and Thomas Jefferson cultivated them at Monticello. The Lewis and Clark expedition subsisted on “a great many papaws, a fruit in great abundance on the Missouri, from the river Platte to its mouth.” Daniel Boone and Mark Twain were reported to have been pawpaw fans. John James Audubon painted the yellow-billed cuckoo on a pawpaw tree. There are towns named Pawpaw in Indiana, Illinois, West Virginia, and Michigan.

A Portuguese chronicler who traveled with Hernando De Soto was the first European to write of pawpaws. He reported Native American tribes cultivating the fruit in the Mississippi Valley in 1541.

For the next 150 years, little is heard of the pawpaw until John Lawson, after traveling through the eastern half of North Carolina in 1700, reported in his 1709 Natural History Of Carolina, “The Papau is not a large tree [but] it bears an Apple about the bigness of a Hen’s Egg, yellow, soft, and as sweet as anything can well be. They [the Indians] make rare Puddings of this Fruit.”

Mark Catesby described and illustrated the pawpaw in his classic 1754 edition of Natural History of Carolina, Florida and the Bahama Islands. This was the first fully illustrated study of the natural history of North America. (Catesby described the pawpaw in Latin as, “Anona fructu lutescente, laevi, scrotum Arietis referente” which translates to mean, “Anona with smooth yellowing fruit resembling the scrotum of the Ram”.)

Annona was the Roman goddess of agricultural produce and her name was adopted for the plant family Annonaceae. The current botanical name for the pawpaw is Asimina triloba. Triloba describes the flower’s three petals and sepals. Asimina comes from “asimin” the Native American name for the fruit. (A native speaker of Algonquin dialects told me that the root of the word “min” refers to food, hence our name “persimmon” for another native fruit.)

Catesby included a full-sized painting of the pawpaw in his book, however, pawpaw aficionados have long pointed out that the painting is not quite accurate. It shows the flowers on the same branch with mature leaves and ripe fruit. This never happens in nature, as the flower appears in early spring well before the leaves reach full size. Catesby’s flowers are not the correct color either, being rendered greenish white rather than the rich brownish purple, and the fruit is unnaturally colored a deep golden yellow.

A little historical perspective, however, explains these discrepancies, and considering the circumstances, perhaps we could cut Mr. Catesby a little slack. Catesby had spent more than a decade exploring the Southeast observing, illustrating, and amassing a massive collection of plants and animals. Then he spent the next 20 years back in England working on his book, which is still acclaimed as a masterwork. Somehow he never ran across a pawpaw in his travels, so he prevailed upon Quaker botanists John Bartram and Peter Collinson for specimens. Bartram lived in Philadelphia and traveled extensively collecting plants and sending them to Collinson, in England, who would cultivate them and/or disperse specimens to interested parties like Catesby, Linnaeus, and other naturalists. But how would they possibly keep the delicate and ephemeral pawpaw flowers and the highly perishable fruit in good condition on the two month trip across the Atlantic by sailing ship? Collinson worked out a plan and sent the following instructions to Bartram in 1736:

There is another plant that we want seed and specimens of, that is the Papaw…[on] behalf of a curious naturalist, who neglected when in Virginia, to draw the Papaw; and as this is
a curious plant, in flower and fruit, and not figured by anybody…they tell us such stories of its fruit, that we would be glad to see it; which may be easily done, by gathering two or three bunches of its fruit, full ripe, and putting them into strong rum, in a jar or pot, and corking it up close, will keep very well…specimens of it in flower…one small twig would be enough; but thee may put several loose flowers in the jar of spirits, and then a couple of fruit, full ripe…

The pawpaw’s elegant flower has a distinctive meaty color and mild fetid aroma that attracts a variety of pollinators, from butterflies to carrion flies. (Todd Elliott photo)

How can we fault Catesby’s artistry if his flowers were a little faded after two months at sea rocking in a jar of rum, and so what if he gilded the fruit a bit? I do wonder how that pawpaw flavored rum tasted.

The pawpaw’s distinctive fleshy, purple-brownish-maroon flowers have a mild, fetid, musky aroma that attracts flies and other insects that serve as pollinators. In fact some pawpaw growers have been known to strew their pawpaw patch with road-kills to attract carrion flies and gnats who will likely investigate anything with a meaty appearance and a rank odor.

The pawpaw is North America’s largest native fruit. Pawpaws occasionally weigh more than a pound. The fruits often grow in bunches. (Todd Elliott photo)

The fruits are somewhat kidney-shaped, resembling soft stubby cucumbers, and usually weigh between a few ounces and a half pound. But they can be larger. Pawpaws are actually our largest native North American fruit. Neal Peterson, who is the founder of the Pawpaw Foundation and known to many as “Mr. Pawpaw”, told me that the largest pawpaw he ever grew weighed one pound, fifteen ounces. He said it was large enough to feed a family.

The pawpaw fruit is known for its creamy smooth texture, succulent sweetness, and exotic tropical flavor.

Inside the thin green skin, pawpaw fruit resembles a creamy banana with plump black seeds the size of large lima beans. The fruit is very nutritious–high in protein, vitamins, minerals, and sugars.

Describing the taste has long been a challenge for outdoor writers and pawpaw lovers alike. Neal Peterson says the taste is “a symphony of flavors in your mouth…like the finest custard you ever ate.” After downing a good pawpaw, he says, “the world is definitely a nicer place to be in.” Janet Lembke, the author of Shake Them ‘Simmons Down, an excellent book celebrating southern trees, after lamenting the difficulty in describing the flavor of a fruit that tastes like itself, she offers: “creamy smoothness of banana, enlivened by a light but definite hint of pineapple, a dollop of clover honey, and a dash of vanilla.” Euell Gibbons, the dean of American foragers, handed off the task to an Indiana country boy who said they taste like “mixed bananers and pears, and feel like sweet ‘taters in your mouth.” Jim Hillibush, a wry Ohio journalist wrote, “It’s an acquired taste. I’m still acquiring it…my pawpaw loving friend says it tastes like an ‘overripe banana with hints of mango, pineapple, melon and berries’ If still green, I’d add rancid sneakers …because you must know when a pawpaw is ripe. Unripe ones taste like, I don’t know, week old socks?” I wonder, do many Ohio journalists taste their old socks?

Derek Morris, a Forsyth County, NC Agricultural Extension agent, has thirty-some different varieties of pawpaw trees growing on less than an acre. He says the flavor varies with the different varieties and with the stage of ripeness. His favorite variety, so far, is the Overleese. He describes it as “caramel and butterscotch — rich, sweet and with the texture of a baked sweet potato. It improves with age,” he says, “even when the fruit turns black.”

Turning black is one of the obstacles the pawpaw faces on the road to wider acceptance and marketability. The reason you rarely see them in the market is because of their short shelf life, which is usually somewhere between six hours and three days. (Refrigeration can extend this somewhat.) Breeders are working to develop varieties with a longer shelf life, smaller seeds, and less bitterness and astringency than is found in many of the wild fruits.

In the last 20 years, there has been a great deal of interest in the developing the pawpaw as a commercial crop. The center for research into pawpaw production is Kentucky State University, which has had a comprehensive program since 1990. Ohio has crowned the pawpaw as its official state fruit. Ohio has its own pawpaw growers’ association and has held an annual pawpaw festival since 2000.

North Carolina has a number of growers as well, and occasionally North Carolina farmers markets feature pawpaws during the short time they are in season. The Dixie Classic Farmers Market in Winston-Salem has their annual Pawpaw Day the last Saturday in August.

Leslie Sanderson has over 50 trees producing near Maxton and he sells many pounds at markets in the Robeson County area. Milton “Pawpaw” Parker has a number of trees under cultivation near Whiteville, and he is involved in the formation of the Appalachian Pawpaw Growers Association. Parker can often be seen at the Columbus County Farmers Market selling fresh pawpaws in August when they are in season and pawpaw milkshakes off season. He says that freezing the pulp is a great way to store pawpaws. Pawpaw pulp really lends itself to smoothies, milkshakes, and ice cream. Morris says, “Even people who don’t like pawpaws like pawpaw ice cream,”

The pawpaw plant contains a plethora of potentially useful chemical compounds in the leaves, stems, and seeds. In the old days pawpaw seeds were powdered and used as treatment for head lice and more recently some of the compounds are being developed into insecticides. There is also another family of compounds found in the leaves and stems known as annonaceous acetogenins that are being used to treat cancer.

The pawpaw has a very fibrous inner bark that has been used since ancient times to make nets, rope, twine, and other cordage. In fact, that reminds me. Remember that gal, Sally, I was telling you about at the beginning of this article? Her name wasn’t really Sally, but many years ago when she and I were in that pawpaw patch we came upon a pawpaw tree that had just been knocked over by a large fallen branch I stripped the bark off that fallen tree and extracted a long strand of the smooth fibrous inner bark. She snatched that bark right out of my hands and she amazed me as she crocheted those natural inner bark fibers into a beautiful round doily- like thing. That same crocheted piece she made that day is now hanging on a wall in our house which overlooks a pawpaw patch on the banks of Chalk Creek in Rutherford County, NC. It’s been hanging there for more than 20 years. And that gal? She’s still hanging around, too — and she still amazes me.

My sweet wife, Yanna, made this piece of crochet work entirely from fibers of pawpaw bark.

Pawpaw Recipes

Pawpaws are best the day they reach perfect ripeness when they are soft to the touch. It is best to peel away the skin and eat them fresh out of hand. Be sure to spit out the seeds.

I learned from a Cuban friend to put the pawpaw pulp in a blender with milk, water, and honey and make a delicious smoothie drink he called “un vatido”.

The pulp can be used in place of bananas in any banana bread recipe, but when it comes to celebrating the taste of pawpaws, dishes with less cooking are better because heat destroys many of the flavors.

Pawpaw Pie or Parfait

Euell Gibbons, in his 1962 classic wild foods book, Stalking the Wild Asparagus, shared this recipe for parfait or pie filling:

In a sauce pan mix together 1/2 cup of brown sugar, 1 envelope unflavored gelatin, and 1/2 teaspoon of salt. Stir into this 2/3 cup of milk and 3 slightly beaten egg yolks. Cook and stir the mixture till it comes to a boil. Remove from the heat and stir in 1 full cup of strained pawpaw pulp. Chill for about 20 or 30 minutes in the refrigerator until it mounds slightly when spooned. Shortly before the mixture is sufficiently set, beat 3 egg whites until they form soft peaks, then gradually add 1/4 cup of sugar, beating until stiff peaks form. Fold the partially set pawpaw mixture into the egg whites. Pour into a 9 inch gram cracker crust or into parfait glasses and chill until firm. “Then,” Gibbons recommends, “lock the doors to keep the neighbors out!”

Pawpaw Zabaglione

Pawpaw Zabaglione was created by Chef Michael Luska of the Yellow Brick Bank Restaurant in Shepardstown, WV for the banquet at the first Pawpaw Foundation conference.

Combine 6 egg yolks and 1/2 cup sugar in the top portion of a simmering double boiler, Warm 1 cup of passion fruit liqueur and add it to the egg yolk and sugar mixture, and cook, stirring constantly until thickened. Allow mixture to cool, then fold in 1 cup of pawpaw pulp Whip 1 cup of whipping cream and fold it into mixture. Serve chilled.

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For more nature lore and an amazing tale about an epiphany in the pawpaw patch check out my book Swarm Tree at www.dougelliott.com.

Three Snakes in One – Blacksnake-ology 101

… (including one astounding, but visceral, photo)

There are two kinds of common black snakes found in most of the eastern half of North America: the black rat snake and the black racer. Neither is venomous. The black rat snake is glossy black on top with a blotchy white pattern on the underside.

These are the ones that you find lounging around in trees, barns, and chicken houses where they ambush mice, rats, and other warm-blooded creatures. (Yes, they also like eggs and young chicks.)

Black rat snakes, especially the large ones, tend to be mellow and will often accept gentle handling by humans.

The black racer, or blacksnake, is a duller almost grayish black with a brownish nose and only a small patch of white under the chin.

It has a different personality entirely.  It is high strung and crawls amazingly fast. If you do actually catch one, they are usually very defensive. They tend to bite repeatedly and if you persist in holding on you may get a bit scratched and bloody. They are often seen on warm days racing through the thickets and creeks in pursuit of lizards, frogs, and other snakes–which brings me to the reason I’m writing this.  Our son Todd called us out to the road during this last warm spell, saying, “You gotta see this!”  It was a sad, but amazing road-kill: a freshly squashed black racer revealing three species of snakes that it had just eaten—a worm snake, a garter snake, and a northern water snake.

It reminds me of the time my friend John Connors came upon a black racer that had swallowed something so large it could hardly move. After a bit of gentle prodding the snake disgorged a good-sized copperhead.

I guess a black snake is good to have around!

Pick up my DVD with my story of the snake and the egg at a SALE PRICE!

While we are talking snakes, I might mention my one and only DVD  An Evening with Doug Elliott has almost an hour and a half of my favorite “Stories, Songs and Lore Celebrating The Natural World” includes my somewhat famous true story of the snake and the egg. This DVD just won a national Storytelling World award and we are celebrating with a half price sale—only $10 til the end of April 2012.  Check out the rest of the selection of books and recordings while you are on my website.

Enjoy the spring season. ~ Doug

Earth-scurf Rustling Love Fest

From the torpid dormancy of winter’s dark depths, they emerge with hormones pumping – crawling, hopping and slithering – flowing with the newly moving waters. Moist air is directed over amphibian vocal chords and surreal sirens’ songs burst from the chilly humid darkness. The calls are an invitation to dance the ancient dance of new life.

The wood frogs come first. Listen…

“I hear in the … meadow the most unmusical low croak from one or two frogs, though it is half ice there yet,” wrote Henry David Thoreau in his journal March 18, 1853.

Another New Englander, contemporary herpetologist, Thomas Tyning writes, “Wood frogs sound so much like quacking ducks that many people are reluctant to believe that amphibians really make these sounds.” (Stokes nature Guide to Amphibians And Reptiles pg 87.)

Thoreau’s journal describes their call as “…a remarkable note with which to greet the new year, as if one’s teeth slid off with a grating sound in cracking a nut”. (Don’t try this at home. Dentistry is expensive.)

“Their croaking is the most earthly sound now, … in the awakening of the year … a rustling of the scurf of the earth.” 5 2 1852

Yep, here in the North Carolina foothills I heard those wood frogs’ “earth-scurf rustlings” coming from the pool in our back yard one warm day last week. This reminds us that the salamander rains will be coming soon and I’m sure you don’t want to miss your own neighborhood’s amphibian love fest this year!  For the rest of the story (Some of the rest of the story, that is), check it out at: http://dougelliottstory.wordpress.com/2010/02/09/salamander-rains/

Also check out my updated calendar—lots of programs around the country this year http://www.dougelliott.com/calendar.html

The History Channel, Road-kills, and the Hairy Bikers

The BBC called. They were filming a show for the History Channel called “The Hairy Bikers” (http://www.history.com/shows/hairy-bikers) about two long-haired, redneck-hippie biker “foodies” who are touring the country on their Harleys in search of regional cuisine. They wanted to stop in and visit. They had already been to a chili festival in the Southwest; hunted alligators, frogs, and nutria in Louisiana; toured a wheat farm in Kansas and a rice plantation in South Carolina. They were going to go mushroom hunting with Alan Muskat near Asheville and they wanted to stop by our place on the way. Did they want to tap my vast knowledge of edible wild plants, healing herbs, teas and remedies? Or sample the hundreds of varieties sweet potatoes, tomatoes, beans, and other unique vegetables that Yanna grows in the garden? Or taste the sumptuous tulip poplar and sourwood honey from our beehives? Nope! They wanted me to take them hunting road-kills! “Street meat,” they called it. They came early in the morning (the best time for hunting road-kills in summer) and they stayed all day. We had a great time and I must say we “scraped up” a pretty fine feast.

Check it out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_z9I_M7e3W8

If you are inspired and want more info be sure to check my products page for the Woodslore book. It’s a homemade production from back in the old days when you really did cut and paste (with scissors and a glue stick) to lay out a book. There is an article entitled “Another Roadside Attraction –How to Use Road Kills” which gives you all the details (including a Gary Snyder poem on the subject.) This article first came out in the mid-1970’s in the Whole Earth Catalogue. It was probably the first article on the subject in a national publication. Also in the Woodslore book are articles on medicinal plants, possumology, old-time apples, basket making, bears, birds, and much more.

SALE ! Just for the month of January 2012, I’ll ship the Woodslore book to you for $10 post- paid. This is just about half the normal cost (including shipping).

Keep on the trail and keep in touch,

Doug

The Black Walnut Possum Hunt

Here’s a riddle for you:

Hey diddle hi,
Hey diddle hey
There’s a big black stain
In our driveway

High as a house
Low as a mouse,
Got more rooms
Than anyone’s house

Hey diddle hey
Hey diddle-diddle
Look inside there’s
A possum in the middle… What is it?

There really is a big dark stain in our driveway. It’s from black walnut hulls. This is the season for gathering black walnuts (and butternuts too). Black walnuts have thick tough husks covering the nut. The husks contain a strong staining dye and are somewhat of a nuisance to remove by hand. So country tradition is to toss them in the driveway and drive over them for a week or so. As long as you have a fairly soft (gravel or dirt) driveway the car tires remove the husk, but the walnut’s hard shell remains intact. Then we rake ‘em up, hose ’em off, and then let them dry for a few days in the sun. We store them outside on the porch in a well ventilated, rodent proof container, and they will keep for a couple years. The walnut tree is “high as a house.” The nut is indeed “low as a mouse,” and when we crack the shell and look inside at the many chambers we’ll find out there are indeed lots of rooms–more rooms than my house anyway…. But what about the possum in the middle? Let’s get to cracking some of the nuts. We’ll go on a possum hunt, and maybe I can show you a few possums!

So now you have your black walnuts dehusked and dry. You can start cracking and eating them right away, but after a few weeks the flavor matures as the nut kernels begin to dry. The kernels shrink a bit and become easier to remove from the shells. But it is the cracking of the nuts that is the challenge. You can do the Stone Age method of hitting the nut with a hammer stone on a “nutting rock” (a large flat rock with a dimple in it to hold the nut). However, a carpenter’s hammer seems to work better than a stone hammer because of the leverage. Hitting the nut on the point seems to work best. Some folks use a vise. Many years ago we ordered the famous lever-action Potter Walnut Cracker, made in Salpulpa, Oklahoma. Picking out the nut meats is still somewhat labor intensive, but using the cracker has increased our walnut consumption considerably.

Cracking nuts with a hammer stone

The potter walnut cracker in action

Now about that “possum in the middle”… You can imagine our surprise when we saw little possums looking back at us from a pile of nut shells. Yep, every now and then when it’s cracked just right, the “inner possum” will be revealed in the stem end of the nut shell. What does this mean? I’m not sure. Maybe it’s all a metaphor. Just get cracking and maybe you’ll release your own inner possum! And also have some mighty fine eating. ( 0330) 0322

A small herd of possums emerging from the nutshells

Look inside there’s a possum in the middle

Recipes:

Black walnuts are quite nutritious–high in protein, unsaturated fats, and omega 3 and 6 fatty acids, as well as a large assortment of vitamins and minerals.

The nuts can be eaten plain, “right off the nutting stone” as they are cracked. They have a strong flavor, and for some it is an acquired taste. A good way to acquire a taste for black walnuts is to bake them in brownies. They also go well in nut breads.

A Cherokee woman once told me they make their winter succotash with hominy and pinto beans sprinkled with black walnuts.

Our favorite recipe is to cook homemade sausage, hominy, apple, and black walnuts together. YUM!

You can use the husks for a rich brown dye on wool and other natural fabrics. The nut shells can be made into buttons, knobs, and other useful items.

Two folks wearing homemade wool hats dyed with black walnut hulls examine the dark trunk of a black walnut tree.

The brown and tan wool in these hats was dyed with walnut husks, and the buttons on the buckskin coat and the looped fiber bag are made from walnut shells.

Meanwhile…

…if you want to get cracking on your holiday gift giving, be sure to check out the products page on my website: All kinds of books and recordings “celebrating the natural world.” I could possibly even whip you up a bark basket should you be needing one. Good luck on your black walnut possum hunt!