It is generally accepted that “when in Rome,” one should “do as the Romans do.” While I’m not sure I accept this advise without exception, there is of course a lot of wisdom and experience behind it — particularly if doing something out of the ordinary might result in your hanging! Fortunately, things are not quite that extreme most places, and so following this sage advise can lead to many interesting experiences around immersion into formerly unknown subcultures. This is as true about food as it is about anything else. And in fact, two of my most memorable forays into America’s hidden subcultures revolve around food — and in particular, around the hunting and gathering of food! In a word: fishing!
First, a couple years ago, I went with my kids and a friend to a nearby lakeshore community. Our goals for the day were to swim, to look at spring flowers, and see if we could catch any whitefish off the pier. Fortunately, my friend was a seasoned fisherman and brought along equipment for all of us. Nevertheless, I was wholly unprepared for what I was about to experience. When we stepped out on that concrete pier, we entered another world. There were at least 50 other people on the pier: men, women and children. And I would wager that they had all been there many times before. They spoke the same “language” of whitefish fishing, they carried similar gear, and like clockwork, when the dusk settled, they all pulled out little lanterns and set them at the pier’s edge. It was like joining a tribe. They were reticent in the way the anglers stereotypically are. But I also felt a kinship, demonstrated most compellingly in our new nearest neighbors’ clear concern that my two kids meet with success. They gave us little bits of the secret lures that the whitefish were taking today. They suggested alternative ways of baiting up. They provided nets for catching and expertly maneuvered them to snag the caught fish. When we left the pier that night, I felt like I had been allowed not only to peek into the window of another culture, but like I’d been welcomed by actions that spoke louder than the words that were absent.
My second experience with this sort of unique subculture occured just last week when my kids and I once again joined a friend for our first smelting adventure. At about 10 p.m., we piled out of our vehicle and carrying 5-gallon buckets and sturdy wire nets on long poles, we stumbled to the riverside where about a half dozen other anglers stood with similar gear. The fish weren’t running yet, so only one man was actually in the river in waders. Everyone else had staked out a spot on the bank or on the old wooden bridge, and would occasionally run their net through the water from upstream to down. One lantern provided enough light to perform this work, at least when the fish weren’t running. Folks chatted quietly in their groups, and occasionally one would shuffle over to chat with us. We were there about an hour, and during that time several fishermen pulled into the parking lot to see if there was any action. We took a break by walking down the streambank to the mouth, where we saw a great blue heron wading in the bay, shrouded in mist. It was an idyllic experience, even though all we caught was a chub and a blunt nosed minnow (which my daughter enjoy keeping in a bucket for observation!)
Admittedly, neither one of these experiences resulted in much food for us. However, that was beside the point. For me, it was more about experiencing something new, and experiencing this relatively tiny subculture of people who take very seriously these opportunities to find food in their local environment. This sort of self-sufficiency is hard to come by in the modern US. It was also a great example of something I am always telling my kids: even though we don’t have TV, there are plenty of interesting and infinitely more productive things to do that also have the side benefit of offering time to “veg out”!
Oh, and by the way, a couple nights later at the tail end of a day of rain, my friend caught 5 gallons of smelt at that same bridge! I wasn’t there to see it, but did have the opportunity enjoy a taste of the fresh bounty, which was quite good, deep fried in a flour and cracker meal batter. Evidently, the male smelt run up the river ahead of the females, and males are easier to clean than females (due to the eggs). So my friend was very thankful to have been there at the very beginning of the night’s run, having waited a full two hours in the cold darkness in hopes that they might just possibly run!
It’s not always true, but it seems that being a successful locavore often depends on being in the right place at the right time! And it’s not just game species — it’s things like blueberries and raspberries and chokecherries and morels and the list goes on! But that’s writing for another time.
