A guide to the seasonal scavenger hunt in the Pine Tree State, where summer transitions from sun-ripened berries to the earthy treasures of the forest floor.
Foraging in Maine is a seasonal dance — one I look forward to all winter long. When I arrive in May, still a bit early for most things to pop up, I am practically buzzing with anticipation. For me, the pursuit of finding free food never gets old, and there is an immense satisfaction in knowing I had a part in harvesting the ingredients for my meals.
First to arrive are fiddlehead ferns, but I learned long ago that cleaning them is such a beast that my enjoyment of eating them is inversely proportional to the effort it takes to clean them. So I wait, champing at the bit, for the next something or other to show up later in the season.
I recently discovered a patch of June berries by the side of the road (a.k.a service berries) that are sweet and delicate, with a flavor somewhere between blueberries, cherries, and almonds. There are never more than a few handfuls of ripe berries at a time but it’s just enough to stir into a bowl of yogurt after my walk.
By midsummer, the mountain sides are blanketed with wild low-bush blueberries. Since I do a lot of foraging on trails or in nature preserves, I’m sure to read and respect the regulations before heading out. Most allow foraging for personal use only and strongly discourage the use of instruments like blueberry rakes. It’s almost impossible to deplete a patch when you’re just picking by hand — there are plenty left behind to feed the locals, i.e. bears, birds, and deer.
Honestly, nothing beats tender, buttery scones or fluffy pancakes made with wild Maine blueberries and the simple act of picking them transports me directly to the pages of one of my favorite children’s books, Blueberries for Sal by Robert McCloskey.
By late summer and early fall, my focus shifts to the forest floor as peak mushroom season arrives in my part of Maine. The forest really comes alive with choice edibles when the weather is rainy and cool (that’s Maine in a nutshell), creating stellar conditions for foraging. A patch of rainy weather may bother some but I know that rain brings mushrooms – I just need to be patient enough for the sun to come out and give them time to grow.
I have yet to find morels or maitakes up here and boletes (like porcini) are a real blind spot for me — there are so many types and I can’t seem to find the choice ones. But other local varieties such as chanterelles, black trumpets, chicken of the woods, hedgehogs, lobster mushrooms, and oyster mushrooms are easily identifiable and while not readily available, they are certainly easier to find. I’m no expert, so I don’t take any chances with mushrooms I’ve never seen before, and strongly urge anyone interested in mushroom foraging to join a local mycological group and pick up a reputable guide book. There are some deadly mushrooms that look like edible species, so it’s best to use utmost caution. As the saying goes, “There are old mushroom hunters, and there are bold mushroom hunters, but there are no old, bold mushroom hunters.”
It’s become second nature to always carry a paper bag while hiking or even use a baggy t-shirt during a run to hold any mushrooms I might come across. When I stumble upon a particularly fruitful patch, I’ll snap a photo on my phone which logs information like location, date, and time so I know where there might be more in the future. If I’m lucky and I get a bumper crop, some mushrooms get dehydrated (black trumpets) while others get sautéed and frozen, or eaten right away. I was taught to always leave the little ones to continue to grow and drop their spores, increasing the possibilities of future generations of fungi.
I never tire of a plate of pasta with sautéed wild mushrooms, summer corn, shrimp, and lots of fresh herbs from my garden (recipe below), or a piece of seared halibut with bacon and wild mushrooms, or a hearty plate of crispy skin salmon with wild mushrooms and beans.
Also by late summer, the fragrant, heady blossoms of the rosa rugosa — aka beach rose — have transitioned into ripe, deep orange-red rose hips, powerful sources of vitamins C, A, and B. Rosa rugosa is a naturalized plant, meaning it was non-native at one time but has established itself in a new location. They can be found all along the Atlantic coast from Virginia to Maine. And while the flowers are magnificent to see and smell, the hips are hidden gems to most.
Rose hips can be dehydrated to make tea which is super high in immune-boosting antioxidants and is tart and tasty. But I’ve been making rose hips jelly for ages, and by summer’s end, I’ll have dozens of jars to stock my pantry with and give away to friends and family. The flavor is quite unusual and unlike anything I’ve ever had before and is delicious on my morning toast. For more savory applications, I like to mix some with dijon mustard for a bbq glaze for ribs or chicken, combine some with sriracha to brush on shrimp kebabs, or serve with goat cheese and crackers.
Taking only what you need and leaving the rest isn't just good for the land — it's a pretty good way to move through the world. It reminds us to pay attention, to appreciate what's in front of us, and to leave something for the next person or the next season. In yoga, these ideas are known as aparigraha — taking no more than you need — and santosha — finding contentment in what is already enough. Nature has a funny way of making those lessons feel less like philosophy and more like a practice of gratitude.
Gratefully,
Grace
PS – If you want my much coveted blueberry scone recipe, you can email me at AskGrace@sitkaseafoodmarket.com — I’ll be happy to share it with you.
This recipe is one of my favorite ways to enjoy a gift from Mother Nature.
Pasta with Wild Mushrooms, Corn, and Seafood
¾ pound dried pasta
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 big handfuls wild mushrooms, cleaned and torn into pieces
2 minced garlic cloves
½ cup fresh corn kernels
½ pound shrimp, peeled and deveined
Salt and pepper
2 tablespoons butter
½ cup picked crab meat
2 tablespoons chopped parsley or chives
Cook the pasta in salted water until al dente. Reserve 1 cup of the water, then drain the pasta.
In a deep skillet, heat the oil over medium high heat. Add the mushrooms and cook, stirring until softened, 5 to 8 minutes. Add the garlic, corn, and shrimp, and season with salt and pepper. Stir in the pasta, butter, and ½ cup of the reserved pasta water and cook, stirring until the shrimp is pink and curled, 3 to 4 minutes. Add more water a tablespoon at a time, until the pasta is coated with a thick sauce. Fold in the crab and parsley, season to taste, and serve right away.