Relocating to the mountains of Southern California from the abundant Pacific Northwest, where water flows year round and moss covers every surface, I expected foraging in such an arid climate to be quite sparse.
Stumbling back to my car parked on the side of Highway 38, a pound of glossy brown pine nuts weighing down my sweatshirt, I was quickly proven very wrong.
Underneath pinyon pines laden heavy with pinecones, their green needles barely visible under an armor of small woody fruit, I found myself surrounded by a carpet of pine nuts so thick I was nearly petrified to move in fear of stepping on what would hopefully soon become an ingredient for my dinner.
Back in Washington, I could go hours without finding a single bright orange chanterelle mushroom, although I always considered the hunt to be worth the reward. This was something entirely different.
Sprinkled over sauteed green beans, pulverized into pesto, or baked into crunchy cookies, the unassuming yet abundant pine nut soon became part of my everyday cooking routine- when they got a chance to make it into the kitchen. The canvas bag of seeds sitting modestly on my passenger seat often tempted me on the drive home after a long day of work.
My relationship with pine nuts has not always been so fruitful. A few months ago, upon hearing whispers of edible nuts dropping from trees near High Trails, I would often come home with half a handful of seeds paired with scratched up, sappy hands, the results of an hour or so wrangling some well defended ponderosa pine cones.
Thankfully, through the wisdom of a friend pointing out the comparably stout pinyon pines laden with unguarded cones, me and my fingers and palms didn’t have to suffer too long.
After a few months of harvesting, the secrets of the pine nut have begun to reveal themselves to me. Undergoing significant consumer trials, I have found the best seeds are those with a dark brown, slightly luminous surface.
As they age, the protective shell of a pine nut begins to bleach in the sun, the fruit inside withering and eventually becoming inedible. The freshest pine nuts are those still residing within the protection of their mother cone, but I usually opt in to the ease of mass harvest from the forest floor.
Once collected, I usually throw my entire harvest into the freezer, unless I am planning to use them in the next couple of days. Cracked with a palm or teeth, the pale fruit inside is ready for a light toasting in a pan or cookie sheet, then on to whatever culinary adventure you see fit.
In many environments, foraging can seem daunting due to the high introductory knowledge required to differentiate between edible forest products and their poisonous, and often nearly identical, counterparts. There is often a short harvest window between summer heat and winter frost in which edibility is choice; if you manage to beat hungry forest critters.
Along the highways leading to the San Bernadino mountains, and even within Big Bear city limits, pinyon pines fruit in abundance throughout the fall and winter months, with no inedible lookalikes.
If you get the chance, I highly recommend taking a detour to collect some choicely edible nuts to bring home as a souvenir… if you can last that long without eating them.
At High Trails Outdoor Science School, we ask our instructors to write about elementary outdoor education, teaching outside, learning outside, our dirty classroom (the forest), environmental science, outdoor science, and all other tree-hugging student and kid loving things that keep us engaged, passionate, driven, loving our job, digging our life, and spreading the word to anyone whose attention we can hold for long enough actually to make it through reading this entire sentence. Whew…. www.dirtyclassroom.com
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