Autumn Foraging

Foraging is all about being in step with the earth, following the seasons. Summer sunshine, autumn rain, winter rebirth, spring flourishing. You discover the beauty of impermanence—that nothing stays forever, but everything finds its way back.

In Autumn, a forage begins with a hot cup of tea and a twilight adventure. Reaching grassy hills as dawn breaks, soothing waves of green fading into the distance. The sky takes on an otherworldly hue, and mist settles in valleys below.

When you reach the forest floor, it's coloured countless shades of brown. Dried pine needles, fallen branches, and damp soil. Brown is the colour of calm—balancing and blending, always present but often unnoticed. An unassuming hue that's more meaningful and varied than we give it credit for.

The cold air reveals your breath, unfurling in soft clouds before vanishing. Watching it appear makes you aware of yourself. The steady rhythm of inhale, exhale, the life moving through you. For a moment, your breath is no longer automatic but intentional, anchoring you to the present, stilling the restless hum of your mind. The mind quiets, the world narrows to this one simple act: breath.

The forest exhales with you, setting the forest floor in motion. A wind stirs dried leaves into a spiral at your feet. Wind, breath, spirit—a seemingly united presence.

I stop to pick handfuls of fresh pine needles, a cushion to lay my delicate mushrooms and berries. The perfume of pine—earthy, resinous; a sacred incense. Sticky sap rubs against me; the trees anoint me with perfume balm.

A quick glance along the bramble-buried path, and you'll notice what others would have walked past. You see the orange glow of Saffies (Lactarius deliciosus), half-buried in pine needles. Fly Agarics (Amanita muscaria) making red polka-dot shelters for the forest fairies.

A floral scent drifts on the breeze—faint, but distinct. You pause, scanning the forest floor until your eyes settle on a mound of leaf litter in just the right place. Kneeling, you brush the leaves aside, and there they are—a fairy ring of lavender Blewits (Collybia nuda), nestled perfectly hidden.

The fungi fairies provide, my basket spills, a trove of earthy treasures. Grey Knights (Tricholoma terreum), their caps cloaked in soft felt. Slippery Jacks and Grannies (Suillus spp.) huddle together, their skins a luminous slick from forest dew. A quick wander to the birch trees and there's Porcini (Boletus edulis) and Birch Boletes (Leccinum scabrum), their stems stout as fairy-table legs.

Autumn's generosity does not end there. A second basket overflows with soft strawberry tree fruit, native raspberries, and late blackberries, their sweetness deepened by autumn's harvest. Crab apples, hawthorn, and quince nestle beside a bouquet of dandelion, nasturtium and violets. Even the green weeds are chosen, the earth inviting, "Take these, too."

It is a lavish, autumn harvest— as varied as a whole shopping trolley, but more special and appreciated.

The earth has provided everything. Later, with peaceful rain tapping the window and jam pots bubbling, I’ll reimagine the day in honeyed hues. I sketch pine trees and toadstools onto labels for homemade jam—tiny stories of the forest’s gifts, preserving the day’s magic.