I’m not a forager, but I like to read those who are — such as Lang, local forager extraordinare. I think the stories help me look at the world a little differently, especially when I’m out on foot. Which is probably what caused me to notice the little berry plant growing in my neighbor’s wild and unruly side yard in the first place. How the plant got there I’ll never know, but last year I snacked on a few delicious berries while pruning back her overgrown wax myrtle, and the fruit was gone before I thought to identify it.

This year the plant produced dozens of berries. A few days back I plucked the ripest into a bowl and there was no doubt from the sweet, thick scent that they were raspberries. The harvest was just enough to add divine flavor to a couple of bowls of chocolate ice cream — good trade for a teeny bit of extra yardwork.