Food is life, food is health.

Food is farming, food is science.

Food is art, food is culture.

Food is wasted.

Food is everyday, but everyday

People starve .


As we grow on, it’s often hard to remember our roots.

Foraging helped me trace back.

I’ve always had a love for nature exploring, making tracks off the beaten track.

Mischief matters and there’s no place like a forest or a mountain, a clean beach with a savage sun trap.

There’s four seasons and it’s not a hotel, do tell of the seasons and my mind will Spring back.

Spring and there’s Summer, summoning Autumn leaves, leaving Winter to come back.

When I think of foraging, picking Blackberries and that , aunt Mary and her jam, her fresh soda bread

It goes way back .

Back to the good ol’days, back to the bóithrín beag. Famine food and Hazelnuts.

Seasons changing and seasonal theft, Apples and Elderflower for free in the countryside

Lords and ladies beware of it! Wild Garlic impersonator to the untrained eye.

From Sorrel to Meadowsweet, Charlie barking Woodruff , elusive Spring Morels deep in the bush.

Going nowhere fast.

The trick to slow living is learning the past.


In a world of social media , drool-worthy images and Gordon Ramsay, we often find ourselves with little confidence in the kitchen, an ‘I can’t cook ‘ attitude.

With the wealth of knowledge available to us , cooking shouldn’t be seen as a daunting task. We eat every day and should be confident in feeding ourselves, others too.

A new skill is never far away. Pick up that book, write down that screenshot recipe, fail and fail again. But fail better .