Acorns

Last Sunday I took the train to the outskirts of the city, heading up Commonwealth Avenue toward Chestnut Hill. It was my first weekend on my own since the surgery, and I like to spend free Sundays tending to my spiritual health. I got off the train at the Chestnut Hill Reservoir. The day was hazy with the last dregs of summer humidity, but it smelled like fall; drying leaves and acorn husks on the breeze. I settled down on an outcrop overlooking the shore-side path, my back against some conglomerate of small stones set in blue-gray rock. All around me, cedars and red oaks undulated in the cool breeze.

Since my abdominal surgery in early August, I've been healing steadily. After leaving the hospital, I spent ten days at my parents' house slowly gaining my mobility back. At first, small things -- walks around the neighborhood, showering, doing dishes -- were exhausting, but it got better over time. I started working remotely in late August, and by the second week of September I was back at my apartment and in the office. Physically, it has been nothing but progress. However, mentally it's been challenging. I find myself perseverating on small sensations -- a new bump of scar tissue, new soreness, a slight upset stomach. It can be hard to put aside the intrusive worries and thoughts about possible complications and the natural worry that comes with having come face to face with the fact that sometimes challenging things can just happen to you, even when you did nothing wrong. I feel vulnerable.

When I have rougher patches with my mental health, it can be hard for me to avoid the instinct to tune out. I spend my free time on my phone or on TV; I turn on podcasts during my commute; anything to drown out intrusive thoughts. While this works to keep my worries at bay, I have come to recognize these behaviors as a sign that I am struggling. They make me feel disconnected, distracted, and less fulfilled.

When I brought up these feelings with Toni, she asked me two poignant questions that helped give me clarity. First, she asked me if there were any hobbies I could pick back up that would be easy on my healing body and would keep me in the present. I knew that it would be particularly good to find something that would help me utilize my weekday mornings on the days I work noon to 8pm. Second, she asked me what exercises, activities, and practices I find grounding -- things that bring me back down to earth when I get lost in my head.

That Sunday out on Chestnut Hill I found my answers. Consistently, being out in nature has been my most reliable source of grounding energy, bringing me back down to earth when things are hard. When the COVID-19 pandemic began, the first thing I did was get into the woods near my parents' house. I am sure many of you remember; I was bushwhacking off trail eating the plants my dad had taught me when I was little, tracking deer and raccoons, sitting under trees with my journal and a book. It is good medicine, and I have been neglecting it now that I have moved into the city. (For those of you who are also following my music journey, that is going to be a big theme on my upcoming album). When it came to finding a hobby I could sink my teeth into, the answer was all around me, falling from the red oaks and rolling down the hills. Acorns!

Some of my earliest memories are of harvesting acorns with my dad. For many, the smell of fall is apples and pumpkin spice. For me, it is the smell of acorn bread. We would pick them off of the sidewalk in our neighborhood and lay them out on window screens to dry. I remember the soft, hollow clack of their shells and the roasty flavor they take on when boiled. I remember hot acorn blueberry muffins in the morning, filling the house with nutty warmth.

Acorns are abundant, even during lighter years. When I did a harvest back in 2020 I could fill my backpack full and still leave extras for the squirrels. Every bite of warm, nutty, delicious acorn bread fills me with wonder at how much food the natural world around provides each year. Samuel Thayer writes:

There is no food that means more to me than the acorn, for the acorn fulfills both a promise and a fantasy: that the forest will provide for me. When I gaze across an Ozark valley from a limestone precipice, I see more than scenery. I see thousands of acres of bounty, millions of pounds of delicious food dropped from the crown of countless trees, waiting to be gathered up by eager hands. I see more food than I could ever eat–more than I can even fathom. A wilderness and an orchard in one. The world looks different when you eat acorns. (Thayer, Samuel, Nature's Garden, p. 146)

In many ways, acorns are perfect for where I am at right now. Acorns are not like a lot of other wild edibles; you don't even have to leave the city to find them. I would not pick and eat a cattail out of the Muddy River that snakes through Fenway and Longwood, but I'd eat an acorn from the bank, safe inside its shell. Acorns keep well and the long process of shelling and then leaching out the bitter tannins is forgiving. I harvested a bagful last week and don’t have to worry about them going bad while I am away dog-sitting for my parents. If I run out of time to finish shelling, the nut meat won’t spoil, and I can finish when I get back from work. Leaching the tannins out is mostly a waiting game. I just need to change the water every one to two days. Once it’s flour it will keep for a long time while I think up things to cook and bake. 

Acorn processing is therapeutic. It activates all my senses, smell, feeling, taste, touch, sound. It grounds me in my relationship with the natural world and in gratitude to the earth and all she offers, as well as the indigenous people who have stewarded the land on which I am a grateful guest and from whom much of this knowledge was gleaned. It makes me excited for the changing of the seasons. Summer came to a close as I lay in bed recovering, and the days are growing shorter. Knowing the acorns would be there to greet me come autumn has gave me something to look forward to. It is a reminder that colder days do not solely represent a loss, but also bring new joys with them. I am apprehensive to process acorns all by myself for the first time, but I am also excited.

If you have been following me on Instagram, you will know that back in 2020 I made a YouTube series of my last acorn journey. I am embarrassed that I shot all of the footage of me finishing the process and baking acorn waffles and pumpkin bread and then never got around to editing and uploading it in Part 3. Life just got away from me and I wasn’t able to follow through…until now! I’ve finally gotten around to editing and uploading Eating Acorns Part 3 which you can check out below, featuring a demo version of my song, Falling Leaves, the full version of which will be coming out at some point soon-ish; more on that later. I have also been documenting this year’s acorn journey on TikTok and maybe Reels too if you are interested in following along there.

Thank you all, as always, for being interested in the things I am up to. It is my pleasure to share them.

With love,

IJ

I really want to show you the things I loved when I was young

Before we move out to the city, where neon lights outshine the sun

And maybe when we're older we'll move out to a quaint New England town

And I will bake you acorn bread as we watch the geese fly south.