So I was wandering around this afternoon with my camera. I don't do that much. When I'm walking with the camera I'm searching for a good photo. I see things that I like to look at but many times I know what I'm seeing won't end up a good photo. I posted a snap of an elephant carving over at LoveSettlement. Shortly after taking that I was walking through the new gourmet food court on Shattuck when a woman looked in my face and said, "I know you." She raised her finger, "Uh," she said, concentrating for the name. "Glenn," I supplied. "Wait," she said. "Not Craig. Glenn! That's it! You worked at Nolo! Do you still write poetry?"
Yes, I said. Google me. Lots of Glenn Ingersoll and it's just about all me.
I didn't remember her name. Dayna Macy. That's right. I remembered her. She was the woman who ran Nolo's PR. She also attended some of our afterwork yoga classes. As I recall she had good poses. Dayna has a website. But many of the internal links seem to be broken. One of the pages has links to writing, including this one in Yoga Journal about foraging in the East Bay parks. "When my foraging walk at Tilden comes to an end, I thank Muscat for a truly eye-opening day. My pockets are filled with chickweed and miner's lettuce, which I'll prepare for tonight's dinner. I head home, already tasting them, fresh and sweet."
My mother knew a few edible wild plants and miner's lettuce is one I learned from her. (Or maybe we both learned about it from one of her hiking buddies.) Whenever I go for a walk in the woods and see fresh leaves I pluck a couple and munch as I walk along.
Mom knew puffball mushrooms so I'll pick one if I see one and pop it in my mouth. There's such fear of poisonous mushrooms that whenever I've done this with someone around they gibber at me. There was a recent feature in the SF Chronicle about mushroom hunters. And another article in the East Bay Express covers the likelihood of getting ticketed for foraging in the East Bay parks; it's illegal.