What are Fiddleheads Anyway?

Ferrrrrrns!

Fiddleheads are the new growth of ferns. They come out in a spiral from the base of ferns in the spring. Some are edible. Some are not. In this article, I will show you how to tell the difference between the edible and non-edible ferns here in the Pacific Northwest so that you can get some of these delicious spring edibles.

But first … a little bit about ferns because B O T A N Y!

Fernstory, The History of Ferns

(Yes, I just made that up…)

Ferns are a class of vascular plants with around 10,500 known extant species. Some of the earliest fern species are estimated to have arrived on Earth in the Carboniferous Period around 360 million years ago. To give you some perspective on what the landscape on Earth looked like around this period, I’d like you to consider that there were no flowering plants nor mammals on Earth yet.

All plants reproduced by either cones or spores, and the fauna of this period were predominantly marine invertebrates, fish, insects, amphibians, and early reptiles. Oxygen during this period is estimated to be higher than it is today (30 percent compared to today’s 21 percent), allowing plants and insects to thrive and grow quite large. Giant ancestors of the modern dragonflies came around during the Pennsylvanian subperiod with wingspans up to 28 inches (Britannica). Yikes!

Ferns emerged during a period when the Earth’s land surface was mostly tropical to subtropical. Our temperate rainforest ecosystems didn’t come on the scene until around 50 million years ago. During this time, there were a variety of trees and plants that are now commonly found in the Pacific Northwest, Southeastern United States, or Eastern China. Where we currently live in the Pacific Northwest had both lowland subtropical ecosystems similar to that of Florida as well as cooler, wetter ecosystems closer to the climate of Seattle, Washington.

The most notable plants found in our area 50 million years ago sound pretty familiar: Even 50 million years ago, cedars, firs, and other conifers, maples, birch, and ferns dominated our landscape (Burke Museum). There’s also evidence of high volcanic activity during this time, indicating that these species were adaptable and resistant to higher temperatures and even volcanic activity.

It’s kind of crazy to think that ferns of some variety or another have been living here in the Pacific Northwest for almost 300 million years before our modern tree species that we now associate as the dominant indicators of the forest ecosystem. Kind of makes me not want to call these douglas-fir or cedar forests … perhaps they’re just fern and moss forests with some conifers and hardwoods.

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Salmonberry

I am
pacing
around the house
because someone
is knocking at my door,

but I can't seem to
find my pants.

When I peek
through the blinds,
I can see her
wearing a bright pink hat

and a frilly dress
of green lace.

I can't
I won't
I mustn't
go out there.

I wait until the golden hour
turns to a dark red blush.

Then I 
open the door
and in rushes 
the warm breeze

of summer.

--Ansley Roberts

Three shrubs leaf out and flower first in spring.

In Celtic traditions, Imbolc signifies the turn of winter to spring. This seasonal festival is usually held on February 1. Some folks refer to Imbolc as a midwinter festival because February 1 is far from the vernal equinox we recently experienced on March 21. As the spring equinox is the time of year with days to nights. This date is the more modern seasonal shift to spring. However, the climate and latitude of the British Isles, where Imbolc was traditionally celebrated, are quite similar to where we live in the Pacific Northwest. Which points me to considering a few other factors besides the daylight hours as indicators for springtime.

The British Isles (England, Scotland, and Ireland) and most of Europe rest between 40-60 degrees latitude, which is roughly the same latitude as the Pacific Northwestern states in the United States and up the Western coast of Canada. Both the Pacific Northwest and the British Isles have a relatively similar climate with four somewhat mild seasons and cloudy, drizzly weather. With all of this in mind, our spring in the Pacific Northwest starts earlier than March 21.

How do I know this? Because of my dear friend, Osoberry. If you walk through the forest in early February, you’ll find one species of shrub budding out with bright green leaves. This is the osoberry! This is the first sign of spring in the Pacific Northwest. After osoberry buds and begins to form flower clusters, salmonberry and red elderberry aren’t far behind.

These early blooming native shrubs might be a little difficult to tell apart at first, so I decided to create a little comparison guide for distinguishing the differences between salmonberry, red elderberry, and osoberry.

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Comparing Salmonberry, Red Elderberry, and Osoberry

Obviously, these shrubs look VERY different as they start to flower and fruit. But! I noticed that the leaves might look rather similar before they start showing. Knowing how to tell which one is elderberry or not is most important because all aerial parts of the elder are toxic except the flowers.

This is how you can tell salmonberries, osoberries, and red elderberries apart:

Salmonberry

These yellow to orange berry-producing shrubs are in the same family as plums, roses, and many other fruit trees. It’s genus is Rubus just like blackberries and raspberries. The specific epithet is spectabilis, which I rather love because the flower really is a spectacularly hot pink (hence the name). Latin, once again, isn’t that creative.

Anyways, the easiest way to tell these shrubs apart from the oso- and elder- berries is the bark, leaves, and flowers. The leaves come in sets of three leaflets. Once the leaves are fully developed, the two bottom leaflets resemble the shape of a butterfly! Salmonberry stems are a tan-brown with rather benign thorns (compared to Himalayan blackberries) and an upright stature. The flowers, as you can see below, are simple, five petaled pink beauties.

The flowers of the salmonberry are edible and pretty tasty. I usually like to use them as decorations on cakes or sprinkled into my wild greens salad. The berries are remarkably NOT as spectacular as the name would suggest … however, they are the first berry to fruit in the Pacific Northwest so I’ll not be picky.

These berries are rather distinct with their bright orange color. They ripen into a red, and sometimes so much so that they develop into a dark purple. Not all salmonberries fully turn red or purple, so I generally eat them regardless of their color. The flavor is rather bland, but sweet. I like them in jams and jellies or as cake decorations myself.

Red Elderberry

She’s a knobbled old hag and I love her. At first glance, this is certainly the shrub you might mistake for an osoberry; but it’s a mistake you really mustn’t make. Unlike salmonberry or osoberry, the leaves and stems of elderberries contain toxins that aren’t safe to consume. Three distinguishing factors for elderberries is their warty-looking bark, opposite branching, and pinnately compound leaves (see images below for reference).

Red elderberry (Sambucus racemosa) is one of three native elderberry species in the United States. The other two species, black and blue elders, are native to the east side of the Cascades and are generally only found in landscaping on the Western side. Unlike the black and blue species (which also need processing to remove the seeds), red elderberries are not typically considered safe for consumption due to them having higher levels of toxins than the other two.

I’ve been waiting for the elders to bloom to write my elderberry profile. It’s hard to keep up with all the plants blooming and fruiting in the spring! There’s just so much I could cover. Once the elders flower, there’s really not much else in the spring to mistake them for. Maaaaaaaaybe you could make the mistake of comparing them to a ninebark or oceanspray, but the bark, opposite branching, and red berry clusters are a dead giveaway.

If you’re having trouble distinguishing elderberries from other trees and shrubs in the Pacific Northwest (specifically in winter), I would encourage you to look closely at the branching pattern for clues as to which plant you’re looking at.

Just like the big leaf maple, elderberries have opposite branching (see middle photo above), which means that they produce nodes directly across from each other compared to alternate or whorled patterns.

Osoberry

I wrote an entire profile on osoberry back in February as my first plant profile in A Forager’s Diary. It’s a little less in-depth than my recent publications, so thanks for being with me as I refine my work.

Osoberry (Oemleria cerasiformus) is one-of-a-kind. No really! There actually aren’t any other species in the Oemleria genus. It has simple leaves with smooth margins. This is an important identifying feature since they sometimes look similar to cascara later in the season. The leaves taste like cucumber and are delicious when added to your water bottle on a hike.

Just don’t FORGET them in your water bottle for a week and then take a sip of your water on a bike ride and choke on rancid osoberry tea. (Ask me how I know …)

The osoberries themselves have a bitter cucumber skin flavor, but they’re not bad. These berries resemble tiny purple plums, hence their Western common name, which I do not prefer, “Indian plum.” There’s a nice-sized pit in the middle, too, so be sure not to crunch them down if you haven’t had one before.

Not particularly useful in jams or anything because of their bitter flavor. I generally have a taste while I’m on the trail, then leave the rest for the birds.

That’s about all I have to say about that. I hope this short reference guide helps you find some delicious berries this spring and get to know the local flora better!

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Maple Seasons

Maple sap, maple tap.
The source of midwinter
Sweetness.

Maple flowers, spring towers.
Pollen baskets on a
Bee's legs.

Maple leaves, sunshine weaves.
Stars of summer shade
Moss and ferns.

Red falls, autumn calls.
And back we go again to
Winter.

--Ansley Roberts

It’s big. It’s leafy. It’s a bigleaf maple!

Bigleaf maple (Acer macrophyllum) is one of the easiest deciduous trees to identify in the Pacific Northwest. Its giant leaves are unmistakably maple-like. Just picture the Canadian flag and you’ve got the basic shape down. If you’re into Latin, Acer means “jagged-pointy” and macrophyllum means “big leaf.” Apparently, the Latin language is not very creative … but that’s kind of the point.

There are 13 maple species native to North America, which is roughly 10% of the total maple species found worldwide. Sugar and black maple trees are the maple species most commonly used for syrup production due to their high sugar content, but these are found in the Northeastern United States and Southeastern Canada.

In the Pacific Northwest, we have two species of maples, bigleaf and vine maples. The two are distinctly different. Vine maples (Acer circinatum) have small leaves, green bark, and skinny, winding trunks compared to the towering furrowed bark trunks and ginormous leaves of the bigleaf maple.

Vine maples make excellent wood for carving, but these are slow-growing trees so I recommend harvesting these with care and intention. I like to use them for carving spoons, making spears, and crafting simple bows for traditional archery.

Onward to our regularly scheduled profile …

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"What is a weed?
A plant whose virtues have never been discovered."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Next time you're out on the town, hike the knees of your pants up and bend down to peer at a little round cluster of leaves peeking up out of the sidewalk. Ask the little chap what it is all about ... Take time to listen for an introduction. You might have to risk sitting down for a spell because sometimes the voices of beings who are stepped upon, ripped out, and forgotten are hard to hear.

This is a practice any of us could stand to do with anyone or anything we perceive as inherently useless, mundane, in-the-way, or "other."

This isn’t just a suggestion. It’s a ritual that I like to refer to as “Taking a Plant to Lunch.” When you first get to know someone, you might learn their name, maybe a little about where they live, or what they do for work. But, I would bet you don’t know what side of the bed this new acquaintance wakes up on or the sound she makes when she nervously clears her throat before addressing a client with bad news.

If you want to know someone you’ve just met more deeply, I suggest taking them to lunch. Plan for one or two hours. Maybe go to your favorite cafe or share a picnic in a local park. If the date goes well, schedule a longer meeting on another day, preferably something that allows for fun, movement, or a shared interest that came up during your lunch together.

So, in the spirit of getting to know a plant better, taking it to lunch might look something like this:

• Observe its leaves, flowers, or fruits for color, shape, and orientation.

• Notice where it likes to grow (in the soil, on a tree, in the water, etc).

• Consider whether it prefers sun, shade, or some of both.

• Discover its current relationships (pollinators, predators, and prey).

• Maybe even learn its name. HERE are my suggestions for PNW field guides.

Taking notes (mentally or physically) is a good idea. These first impressions are important to remember so that you can easily find and greet your new friend if you see them out in public. If you’re feeling particularly spicy, maybe you could try drawing the plant in your notebook like Jack does for Rose in the Titanic movie.

I doubt I would ever take a notebook to a first date with a human being, but plants, animals, and fungi don’t seem to mind me taking notes about their habits.

When and if you’re ready, here are some ideas for future actions, dates, and conversations to deepen intimacy:

• Find a recipe or craft to make together.

• Get dressed up to visit with your plant ally.

• Invite the plant to dream with you and record your dream upon waking.

• Bring the plant gifts (water, tobacco, bone meal, compost).

• Plan a spa day (prune the plant, do your makeup together, etc.).

• Spend time together in silence.

• Tell the plant about yourself, too! Share life updates and challenges.

• Talk about future plans: what happens in a year, two years?

• What are we? (I.e. What does this relationship have to teach us?)

My hope in sharing this activity is that you will find weeds and other plants you previously looked over as allies or at least acquaintances to greet when you walk down the street, work in your garden, or visit a hiking trail.

MAYBE you’ll even find a “weed” that stops being a weed and starts being a friend.

Which plants are you taking to lunch? Leave a comment below!

Leave a comment

Honestly, I dislike the term “weed.” Many of the plants we refer to as “weeds” are simply herbaceous plants that thrive in disturbed environments (i.e. tilled soil, sidewalk cracks, clearcuts, forest fires, construction sites). They serve an important role in the succession of ecosystems, often creating more bioavailable nutrients for future perennial plants, shrubs, and trees. Some weeds are even tasty edibles or have incredible medicinal benefits!

Yes, sometimes weeds are truly invasive and create more chaos than others, but these particular spring greens are friends, not foes.

Here is a list of my favorite spring greens to forage in no particular order:

1. Hairy Bittercress

2. Chickweed

3. Cleavers

4. Red and White Clover

5. English Daisy

6. Dandelion

7. Yellow Dock

8. Field Mustard

9. Miner’s Lettuce

10. Purple Dead Nettle

11. Stinging Nettle

12. Sheep Sorrel

13. Wood Sorrel

14. English and Lanceleaf Plantain

Identifying and Enjoying Spring Greens

Most of these greens are excellent in salads. I usually bring leftovers for lunch when I am teaching outside, so I am always delighted to grab a few handfuls of wild greens to add to my dish. TBH - they are pretty bitter on their own, which (albeit a little shocking at first bite) is super good for your gut this time of year.

I like to think of seasonal foods as being timed exactly for when we need them most. Traditionally, people coming out of the cold, wet winters would have been subsisting on meats, nuts, and any root vegetables from the fall harvest. After months of eating a bunch of proteins and starches to survive the winter, humans need to replenish vitamins and flush out their gastrointestinal systems. Bitter herbs and greens are just the thing!

What are my favorite herbs to forage in the spring? Why … I’ll tell you!

Hairy Bittercress

(Cardamine hirsuta)

This small, peppery-flavored member of the mustard family has delicate, rounded leaflets and tiny white flowers. It thrives in moist, disturbed soil, often appearing in garden beds and pathways. A lover of cool weather, it flourishes in partial sun to shade. Bees and small flies visit its flowers, while birds and insects snack on its seeds. Use its leaves in a fresh, zesty pesto or as a peppery garnish on salads.

Chickweed

(Stellaria media)

A sprawling plant with tiny star-shaped white flowers and lush green leaves, chickweed hugs the ground in rich, moist soil. It prefers shady spots but can tolerate some sun. Bees love its nectar, and its tender leaves and stems are a favorite snack for small herbivores. Enjoy it in a fresh spring salad or blend it into a cooling skin salve.

Cleavers AKA “Stickyweed” or “Bedstraw”

(Galium aparine)

Recognizable by its sticky, clinging stems and whorled leaves, cleavers form sprawling mats in damp, shaded areas. They thrive in rich soil, often creeping along the forest floor or hedgerows. Butterflies and bees visit its tiny white flowers, while birds enjoy its seeds. Make a refreshing cold infusion by soaking fresh cleavers in water overnight for a gentle lymphatic tonic.

Red and White Clover

(Trifolium pratense & Trifolium repens)

Clover’s familiar trifoliate leaves and puffy flowers grace meadows, lawns, and roadsides. It thrives in full sun but tolerates some shade. Bees adore its nectar, making it a vital forage plant. Red clover is known for its medicinal properties, while white clover is milder in flavor. Dry the blossoms for a soothing tea or add them to baked goods for a floral touch.

English Daisy

(Bellis perennis)

A cheerful, low-growing flower with white-petaled blooms and a yellow center, English daisy dots lawns and fields in cool, temperate climates. It enjoys both sun and partial shade. Pollinators visit its nectar, and it is largely unbothered by grazing animals. The small leaves are slightly bitter but can be tossed into salads, or use the flowers to decorate herbal vinegar.

Dandelion

(Taraxacum officinale)

Bright yellow blossoms and jagged, deeply toothed leaves make dandelions unmistakable. Found in fields, lawns, and cracks in the pavement, they thrive in sun or partial shade. Bees, butterflies, and birds rely on them for food. Use the young leaves in a salad, roast the roots for a coffee alternative, or make a golden dandelion syrup from the flowers.

Yellow Dock

(Rumex crispus)

This robust plant has long, wavy-edged leaves and tall, rust-colored seed stalks. It prefers disturbed soils, roadsides, and open meadows with plenty of sun. Pollinators visit its tiny green flowers, while birds and small mammals eat its seeds. The roots are a classic herbal remedy for digestion, and the young leaves can be cooked like spinach—just be mindful of their tart, oxalic acid content.

Field Mustard

(Brassica rapa)

With bright yellow flowers and lobed, slightly hairy leaves, field mustard stands tall in disturbed soil, gardens, and open fields. It basks in full sun and attracts bees and butterflies. The leaves, flowers, and seeds are edible—toss the greens into a stir-fry or ferment the flower buds into a spicy mustard relish.

Miner’s Lettuce or Siberian Miner’s Lettuce

(Claytonia perfoliata or Claytonia siberica)

This delicate, succulent green has circular leaves with tiny white flowers in the center, often growing in shady, moist soils of forests and meadows. It thrives in cool temperatures and is pollinated by small bees and flies. Its tender leaves make an excellent fresh salad green that tastes like a fresh spinach leaf. It’s high in micronutrients, vitamins, and minerals—perfect for a trailside snack.

Purple Dead Nettle

(Lamium purpureum)

A fuzzy, square-stemmed plant with purple-tinged leaves and tubular pink flowers, purple dead nettle grows in sunny to partially shaded areas of disturbed soil. Bees and early pollinators love its nectar, and it often carpets fields in spring. The leaves can be dried for tea or infused into oil for a soothing skin salve.

Stinging Nettle

(Urtica dioica)

With its serrated, triangle to heart-shaped leaves covered in tiny stinging hairs, this plant flourishes in rich, damp soils along streams and forest edges. It prefers partial shade and is a host plant for butterflies. Despite its sting, nettle is highly nutritious—blanch the young leaves to remove the sting and use them in soups, pestos, or teas.

Sheep Sorrel AKA “Pope’s Hat”

(Rumex acetosella)

This small, arrow-shaped leaf plant has a tangy, lemony flavor and thrives in acidic, sandy soils in full sun. Tiny red flowers appear in early summer, attracting pollinators. It is often browsed by small mammals. Use its tart leaves to brighten salads or blend them into a refreshing sorrel soup.

Wood Sorrel

(Oxalis oregana)

Resembling the Irish shamrock with bright green delicate, heart-shaped leaves, wood sorrel grows in shady forests and moist meadows. Its small white flowers attract bees, and its leaves fold at night. The sour, citrusy leaves make an excellent trailside snack, or add them to a summer lemonade for a wild twist.

Broadleaf & Lanceleaf Plantain

(Plantago major & Plantago lanceolata)

These resilient plants have broad (English) or narrow (lanceleaf) ribbed leaves and grow in compacted soils along paths, lawns, and roadsides. Their tiny flowers rise on long stalks, feeding bees and small insects. Plantain leaves are a go-to for wound care—chew them into a poultice for bites and stings, or dry them for a medicinal tea.

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I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

- William Carlos Williams

This poem by William Carlos Williams is by far one of my favorite poems of all time. It's such an intimate encounter. I imagine this poem as the kind of note I would write to my partner and tape to the shelf in the fridge that was once laden with sweet, cold fruit. My sticky fingers would leave a print on the paper and the taste of summer plums would still linger on my lips as I wrote the apology. Would I be sorry? Never.

It is time.

I spent last week in the Yucatan Peninsula of Mexico. Everyone in the Pacific Northwest should plan a small escape from the gray clouds of winter at least once. Although I don’t have a doctor’s license, this would be my sole prescription if I were. The streets of Playa del Carmen were flooded with bright colors and bold tropical fruits. The sunshine blinded me with memories of growing up in the desert. Call me crazy, temperate rainforest lovers, but there’s something special about sprawling out like a lizard on a hot rock under the noonday sun.

Anyways … back to our climate … I returned home to the drizzly forest where frogs now sing and flowers are starting to bloom. The dark days are over my friends! Welcome home to equal days and nights! As far as native plants in the Pacific Northwest go, osoberries are the first shrub to leaf out and bloom in the spring. You can see their lime green leaves and peaking out through the barren forest in late February and March. Like the vendors in Mexico harking their wares on the street, osoberry declares the start of spring in the Pacific Northwest.

“Come out of your dens, wild things!” Osoberry calls, “Fly home, winged ones!”

Next in the forest and farms comes hazelnut (filbert) catkins. These are the long edible flowers born to our beaked hazelnut. No apologies for my digression; however, we are here to discuss flowers of a different structure. In town, we have different early spring stone fruit trees flowering in their springtime songs: plums, apricots, almonds, and cherries. Apple and crabapple blossoms aren’t stone fruits and come along a little later, so we’ll get to those at another time.

On to plums …

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Where's the balm to soothe my heart?
The gaping fissure in my world
needs to weep before it can close.

No balm of Gilead will heal this.
No doctor can suture the wound.

Only the time it takes for a cottonwood
to grow tall over the river bank
and drop its buds in a winter wind storm
will help to close the gap.

What’s the deal with this sticky tree anyway?

Admittedly, there is a time of year I absolutely hate cottonwoods. Once the cottonwood flowers go to seed in the spring, we get a “second winter” with a dusting of fluffy white cotton everywhere …. E V E R Y W H E R E. You can’t get rid of it. The seeds float into the air when you sweep or blow them. They melt onto the pavement when you try to wash it away. These little buggers get sucked into your nose and cause a sneezing fit (ask me how I know).

But this time of year [February], I would like to be snuggled up against a cottonwood for hours. Why the big change? In mid-winter, cottonwoods start to bud. The buds are covered in a sticky resin that smells like the inside of a bee hive; which, if you haven’t had the pleasure of smelling inside a hive, has the most intoxicating tangy-sweet honey scent.

When I lived in Northern Arizona, I used the resin from pinyon or ponderosa pine trees to make a pine pitch salve that was incredible for healing wounds and cracked skin. After moving to the Western Cascades, I had to get creative and find a new resin to use for my salves - in came the cottonwood.

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Sing this to the tune of "Hakuna Matata" from The Lion King:

Thuja plicata! What a wonderful tree

Thuja plicata! Has leaves in flattened sprays

It means making fire for the rest of your days

It's our fungi-free, Western red cedar tree

Thuja plicata!

Thuja plicata, Thuja plicata
Thuja plicata, Thuja plicata

- Matt's fun way of remembering the scientific name for Western Red Cedar.

Cedar is a Lifestyle

So, fun facts first. Western redcedar isn’t a cedar.

Just let that one sink in for a minute … I’ll wait.

…

…

…

It’s a lot like how Douglas-firs (Pseudotsuga menzesii) are neither Douglas, nor are they firs - hence the hyphen between the names. Botanists do the whole hyphenated thing to tell you that the common name of the plant doesn’t exactly match the classification of the plant itself. Other examples would be Devil’s-club (Oplopanax horridus) or False-lily-of-the-valley (Maianthemum dilatatum).

Apparently, the folks who gave Western redcedar its name forgot the hyphen part. Many people also separate the common name of redcedar into two words: red cedar; but, technically, this is incorrect since they aren’t true cedars. True cedars are trees within the genus Cedrus, which, as you will learn, is not the scientific name for our native “cedar.”

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Branches are red,
Bark is white,
I like red alders.
Catkins are tight.

- A love poem to red alders by Ansley Roberts (just in time for Valentine's Day)

Camouflaged in Plain Sight

Alders were one of the first trees I learned how to identify when I moved to Oregon in the summer of 2021. Having lived in the Southwest for over 20 years, I quickly realized how far behind I was at identifying the plants in the Pacific Northwest. I studied forestry in college, worked in greenhouses for years, and had training in herbal medicine so I was very familiar with plants in general. However, I knew next to NOTHING on the Western side of the Cascades Range outside of an urban garden when I first moved here.

If I’m being honest, I made a decision to leave my life in Arizona behind over the course of a week. 2021 was a rough year for me, so I needed a big change. I quit my job, left my boyfriend behind, and applied for housing in Oregon and Washington until the first roommate situation panned out. I had never been to Oregon before, and I only visited Seattle once when I was 10 years old with my dad and two brothers. I knew nothing about the Pacific Northwest before moving here other than that it was wet and there were a lot of trees. As I learned after arrival, trees were one of the first ways I connected with my new landscape.

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When I look out into the winter landscape
All is barren except for scattered bright green buds
Catching the filtered early morning light.

Hope brims in my heart to see the return
Of ephemeral dangling clusters of white flowers,
Signaling the start of spring around the forest.

Sometimes these cold winters sink so deep into my bones
I forget that not all days are clouds and rain.
Osoberry reminds me to be brightness on dark midwinter days
And that I can go slow and let others fruit first.

Welcoming Spring …

It’s the first week of February, a month that feels like a pivoting point in the year. February offers peculiar holidays, like Groundhog Day, where we let a plump rodent dictate our hopes for the coming of spring. Even the month itself seems to bow to the rhythms of nature, stretching to accommodate an extra day every four years, as if we’re collectively trying to recalibrate ourselves with the balance of dark and light. Perhaps that’s what we crave most in midwinter: a break from the monotony of chopping wood, huddling by the fire, reading, storytelling, dreaming, and ladling endless bowls of soup. For some, the comfort of winter’s slower pace is enough; for others, it’s a struggle not to hibernate entirely. Yet, as we learn year after year, winter inevitably gives way to spring, no matter how long or short the wait may feel.

This transitional energy is what Imbolc, the ancient Gaelic festival, captures so well. Celebrated on February 1 or 2, Imbolc marks the midpoint between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. Its roots trace back to Ireland and Scotland, yet its themes resonate even in the Pacific Northwest, where our climate somewhat mirrors the British Isles. Both regions share similar latitudes, between 45° and 50°, and that kinship brings familiar seasonal rhythms. Here in Washington, the first hint of spring doesn’t come from a groundhog’s shadow nor Brigid’s fire but from the osoberry (Oemleria cerasiformis). This native shrub sends out its delicate, white-green blossoms long before other plants dare to stir. The osoberry’s arrival feels almost miraculous—a quiet rebellion against the lingering cold, whispering, “Spring is coming.”

If Imbolc happens to dawn warm and sunny here in the Pacific Northwest, folklore suggests we’re in for a late winter. With an early, wet fall last year and a mild winter, the osoberry buds might arrive early, catching the faintest hint of lengthening days. The shrub’s return reminds us that seasons march forward even in uncertainty. Like the osoberry blooms, Imbolc is a time of small but meaningful awakenings—of light creeping back into the dark and the earth beginning to stir. It’s a moment to pause and wonder about what the rest of winter will hold. Will we linger in the cold a little longer, or will the osoberry’s blooms prove prophetic, ushering in an early spring?

Osoberry Identification Guide

Osoberry (Oemleria cerasiformis) is a deciduous shrub native to the Pacific Northwest. It is also known as “Indian plum” – although I don’t particularly like that name – since the berry has the shape and color of a miniature plum. I note this plant as one of the first native shrubs to bloom in early spring, signaling the end of winter.

Botanical Description:

• Family: Rosaceae (Rose family)

• Height: Typically grows between 6 to 16 feet (1.8 to 4.9 meters).

• Leaves: Alternate, lance-shaped, 2 to 5 inches long, with smooth edges that are slightly rolled under. The leaves are pale green, paler below, and emit a cucumber-like scent when crushed.

• Bark and Twigs: Twigs are smooth and purplish-brown with noticeable orange lenticels (pores). The bark has a bitter taste.

• Flowers: Fragrant, greenish-white, about ½ inch in size, appearing in loose hanging clusters of 10 to 20 flowers each. Blooming occurs from late winter to early spring, often by late January.

• Fruit: The fruit starts out tan to pale orange, transitions through pink to reddish-purple, and ripens to bluish-black with a thin waxy coat. The seed is a stone, or pit, that contains cyanoglucosides.

Habitat and Distribution:

Osoberry is native to the Pacific coast and ranges of North America, from British Columbia, Canada, to Santa Barbara County, California, USA. It thrives in moist open forests, clearings, riparian areas, along roadsides and fence lines, on hillsides, and in canyons. It also occupies drier forests, chaparral, and coastal scrub habitats. The shrub grows on most soil textures but not on saturated or especially shady sites.

Ecological Significance:

Osoberry is a valuable early-season nectar source for pollinators such as bees, moths, butterflies, and hummingbirds. Its fruits are consumed by various small mammals, including foxes, coyotes, deer, bears, and many bird species, aiding in seed dispersal.

Ethnobotanical Uses:

Osoberries were traditionally consumed by several First Nations tribes, including the Cowlitz, Karuk, Kitasoo, Kwakiutl, Lummi, Makah, Nitinaht (Ditidaht), Quinault, Skagit, and Snohomish who consumed the fruits fresh, dried, or cooked, despite their often bitter taste which is reminiscent of cucumber. The bark was used as a tuberculosis remedy and a mild laxative. Strips of bark were also used to bind harpoon tips.

Cultivation and Landscape Use:

Osoberry is popular for restoration projects in the Pacific Northwest due to its ease of propagation, rapid growth, and wide tolerance for various shade and moisture regimes. It is best grown in full sun to part shade in fertile, moist, well-drained soils. In moist soil, plants may sucker extensively. Will tolerate somewhat dryish soils but does not tolerate wet soils. Prune immediately after flowering and remove excess suckers to restrict growth. Established plants may be cut back to near the crown in winter for complete rejuvenation.

Join the chat to share your recent findings and contribute to an ongoing community discussion about foraging in the Pacific Northwest!

What to do with Osoberries

If you like the flavor of cucumber, you might enjoy a little electrolyte and flavor boost by adding fresh osoberry leaves to your water bottle while hiking on the trail.

I might also suggest making a flower essence for springtime since the flavor of the berries is rather – to my tastebuds anyway – unpleasant. I wouldn’t recommend them for syrup or jam because they honestly taste quite bitter despite how much sugar you add.

Osoberry Flower Essence

• Use: Flower essences are used in energy work and emotional healing. Osoberry’s early blooming can symbolize resilience and renewal after a harsh winter.

  • When making your own medicine, other intentions and energies may come up as each plant and person has something to learn from the other, so listen to your intuition when using flower essences.

• Instructions:

  1. Find an osoberry growing in the wild or in your garden.

  2. Sit or stand in a position of comfort, ground yourself into your center, and call in any guides or guardians who might be able to assist you with making medicine and building a relationship with this plant.

  3. Introduce yourself to the osoberry, state your intention for visiting and medicine making, then wait.

     1. Note any emotions, colors, memories, scents, etc. that come to your mind.

  4. Harvest fresh osoberry blossoms, place them in a glass bowl of spring water, and let them steep in sunlight (or moonlight depending on your intention) for 3-4 hours.

     1. You may choose to wait with them, sing to them, meditate, or dance while they infuse with the essence of osoberry.

  5. Strain the liquid into a clean jar and preserve it with brandy or vodka (75% spring water to 25% alcohol) to make a mother essence.

     1. Mother essences can be distilled further by adding 3 drops to another container with the 1:4 ratio of water to alcohol.

     2. You can add a drop of glycerin if you enjoy a sweeter flavor.

  6. Use a few drops under the tongue or in water for emotional support.

If you’re not quite up to the task of making your own flower essences, Tree Frog Farm on Lummi Island in Washington makes flower essences from native PNW plants. You can find more information about Osoberry Flower Essences on their website.

Osoberry is OH-SO-good.

For those interested in learning how to make your own flower essences or herbal medicine, join one of our in-person classes in Mount Vernon, WA.

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Hello and welcome!

I’m Ansley Roberts, co-founder of Rainwalk Rewild, and I couldn’t be more excited to launch A Forager’s Diary. This space has been growing in my heart for a long time, and now feels like the perfect moment to share it with you.

Who am I?

I’m Ansley, affectionately known as “Shmanzley” by my close friends. I created Rainwalk Rewild, a wilderness school in the North Cascades region of Western Washington, intending to weave ancestral wisdom into a regenerative future. Originally from Northern Georgia, I lived in Arizona for over 20 years until I decided to move somewhere with bigger trees and more water.

My passion for the natural world has taken me from surveying native plants in national parks to guiding others in reconnecting with nature through herbal medicine, dreamwork, and rites of passage. I settled in the Pacific Northwest in 2021 and can’t imagine living anywhere else … except in the winter … then I dream of warm sandy beaches and long motorcycle rides in the summer.

As a trained herbalist, outdoor educator, and energetic practitioner, I have the great honor and joy of leading others to their belonging on this earth and to the stories in their bones. I believe in the power of storytelling, music, and shared experiences around the fire to foster deep connections between people and the natural world.

Why did I create A Forager’s Diary?

The Pacific Northwest is bursting with life—plants, mushrooms, and stories waiting to be rediscovered. I’ve been studying and teaching about plants all over the Western United States for over a decade; yet, despite my knack for wild places and preference to hide in the forest (or desert) for uncertain lengths of time, I’m a big fan of using technology to bring people together and share knowledge.

That’s why I created this online space—to expand the circle, to share the magic of the wild with more people than I can reach in a Washington weekend workshop, and to create a deeper connection to the land, no matter where you are.

Our world is fast-paced, technology-driven, and more disconnected from nature than ever. A Forager’s Diary is a way to slow down, learn, and rekindle a sense of belonging to the natural world through foraging, plant studies, and creative writing.

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A Forager’s Diary

I’m so excited to share what’s on the horizon for A Forager’s Diary. Whether you’re here as a free subscriber or a paid supporter, there’s a lot of magic in the works that I can’t wait for you to experience.

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Weekly Plant & Mushroom Profiles (For Paid Subscribers)

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Our first profiles of the year will feature early spring treasures like nettles, osoberry, and turkey tail mushrooms—just in time for the changing season.

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When to Expect It

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Here’s to the stories waiting in the roots, the leaves, and the spores. I can’t wait to explore them with you.

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