I live just South of the range of wild rice. There is a band of Zizania that has been harvested as far back as anyone can remember, that circles the globe. It is one of the many symbiotic occurrences that speak to our relationship, not just with the land, but the waters. you see, standing rice is an amazing nutrient source and harbors many insects who can reduce the ability of the rice to seed itself. the interaction of humans with the rice beds transforms the standing rice to projectiles, a good many of which fall into the harvester's canoe, but reseeding the beds with what flies above and beyond the gunnels.
My first foray into harvesting, I think I worked for about two days, left me happily tired, and in possession of about eighty pounds of what was soon to become more work than I had imagined, but a great boon to the critters of my neighborhood as well. You see, that first year, the rice was under heavy attack from rice worms, a caterpillar that consumes the heart of the grain, leaving just a bit of husk. I estimated that there were tens of thousands of these worms in the eighty pounds, but since I had to dry the rice anyway, I figured that I would pick the worms out. I took my bundle of rice back to Green Bay and before I even began to unwrap the tarp, wasps were hovering around. Wouldn't you know, those "pests", who love a good insect if they can get one, carried away every last rice worm. Each time I would stir and fluff the rice, more worms would be unearthed and taken away. The wasps would hover, swoop in, and take the caterpillar-like worms off in an instant. It almost looked like an insect conveyor belt, but I paid no attention to where they were headed with them all. Pickins were good for wasps that year.
Once dried and parched, the process of roasting the whole seed, husk and all, I had about enough for just over a pound a week for the year. The hulls still needed to be removed and that was a process as well, but again, it was a slow and loving process, giving, as much as receiving, in relationship with the menomin. My favorite way to prepare it is to cook it up and add just a touch of maple and enjoy it just like that. I don't even put salt or butter on it most of the time, because the nutty grass flavor is so beautiful unadorned. I use it in casseroles, stews, venison roasted on a bed of cooked rice and vegetables is also a great way to enjoy it.
Ancient lore, passed down through the ages, recounts how the Ojibwa migrated West, looking for a place where food grew on the water. Here, or just North of here, is such a place and I would love to share what I know of the process with others who want to learn this ancient tradition.
My first foray into harvesting, I think I worked for about two days, left me happily tired, and in possession of about eighty pounds of what was soon to become more work than I had imagined, but a great boon to the critters of my neighborhood as well. You see, that first year, the rice was under heavy attack from rice worms, a caterpillar that consumes the heart of the grain, leaving just a bit of husk. I estimated that there were tens of thousands of these worms in the eighty pounds, but since I had to dry the rice anyway, I figured that I would pick the worms out. I took my bundle of rice back to Green Bay and before I even began to unwrap the tarp, wasps were hovering around. Wouldn't you know, those "pests", who love a good insect if they can get one, carried away every last rice worm. Each time I would stir and fluff the rice, more worms would be unearthed and taken away. The wasps would hover, swoop in, and take the caterpillar-like worms off in an instant. It almost looked like an insect conveyor belt, but I paid no attention to where they were headed with them all. Pickins were good for wasps that year.
Once dried and parched, the process of roasting the whole seed, husk and all, I had about enough for just over a pound a week for the year. The hulls still needed to be removed and that was a process as well, but again, it was a slow and loving process, giving, as much as receiving, in relationship with the menomin. My favorite way to prepare it is to cook it up and add just a touch of maple and enjoy it just like that. I don't even put salt or butter on it most of the time, because the nutty grass flavor is so beautiful unadorned. I use it in casseroles, stews, venison roasted on a bed of cooked rice and vegetables is also a great way to enjoy it.
Ancient lore, passed down through the ages, recounts how the Ojibwa migrated West, looking for a place where food grew on the water. Here, or just North of here, is such a place and I would love to share what I know of the process with others who want to learn this ancient tradition.
No comments:
Post a Comment