Text: Yūya Yokoyama

May in Hokkaido. To gather wild mountain vegetables, I headed to a certain place.

The mountains, blanketed in snow during the depths of winter, had changed their appearance with the thaw, their slopes now beginning to be painted with fresh green.

Bathed in the warm early summer sunlight, I advanced step by step along the mountain path still damp with morning dew.

The vivid green of the trees, the beautiful songs of the birds, the scents of the trees and flowers,

and the life force that emerged powerfully after enduring the long winter—all made me feel nature's resilience and beauty.

Connecting with nature opens up the human senses.

I don't think foraging for wild vegetables is just about gathering ingredients.

Widening my gaze, I see seasonal wild vegetables like butterbur sprouts, tara sprouts, and udo scattered everywhere.

It's also fascinating how the wild vegetables available differ by region.

Moreover, the wild vegetables, whose varieties change with each season, are all encounters that can only happen now. It's a once-in-a-lifetime meeting.

Once the season passes, the next encounter will be in the same season next year.

That's how short and precious the time for wild vegetable gathering truly is.

In the past, foraging was part of daily life.

Elders taught children how to gather and identify plants, distinguishing them from poisonous ones—a tradition passed down from parent to child. They gathered only what was needed for living, expressing gratitude to the mountains. To protect plant communities and ensure future harvests in the same spots, they lived in harmony with nature.

When you actually go into the mountains, you realize there are always some people who don't follow the rules. I often see taro plants stripped bare of all their shoots, and it makes me feel truly sad. To think that human greed or ignorance needlessly disrupts the cycle of life is a grave sin. Therefore, it has long been an unspoken rule not to carelessly reveal gathering spots to others. Some say, “Don't tell even your family; take it to the grave with you,” showing how deeply people valued protecting these places even then. For nature and humans to coexist long-term, this awareness and consideration are indispensable.

Humans have not conquered nature; we are merely a part of it.

Therefore, we must treat the natural world beyond humanity with greater care.

— Rachel Carson, Silent Spring

There is a certain kinship between foraging for wild mountain vegetables and fly fishing.

Literally speaking, both activities involve obtaining mountain vegetables and fish, but that is not what I value or find compelling.

What matters is that the process of achieving the goal presupposes “harmony with nature.”

When you enter the mountains, you notice the tiny sprouts at your feet, the scent of the trees, and the beautiful songs of birds.

When you stand by the river, you listen intently to the flow of the water, the presence of fish, and the rustling of the surrounding trees.

Both wild vegetable gathering and fly fishing can only exist through harmony with nature.

I believe this process itself is a treasure for humans.

As we grow older, our sensitivity diminishes, but time spent in nature gradually helps us reclaim it. Feeling this, I try to enjoy both wild vegetable gathering and fly fishing.

That said, the “Wild Vegetable Gathering” this past May remains unforgettable.

We organized the gathering, inviting friends of various ages to enjoy freshly picked wild vegetables together. Seven of us gathered, I think. Though it was simply a gathering to eat wild vegetables, I remember it had a festive, uplifting atmosphere.

One participant (Advisor Professor Okamura) brought a tempura pot known as a “Kuji sand iron pot.” “Kuji” refers to the Kuji region of Iwate Prefecture, historically known as a sand iron production area. Made from high-purity sand iron, Kuji sand iron pots excel at heat retention, keeping oil temperatures stable. Every wild vegetable we fried came out crisp and perfect.

Freshly picked wild mountain vegetables, fried as tempura, release a gentle, bitter-sweet fragrance of spring.

Tasting them reveals a unique bitterness and gentle sweetness that spreads across the palate, creating the sensation of savoring the mountain's bounty in its purest form. Seasonal mountain vegetables, gathered that very day and shared among us that same evening. It was simply that, yet it became an unforgettably luxurious moment. None of us involved work in the food industry, yet I believe the tempura we savored that day was a dish you simply couldn't find at any high-end restaurant.

Harmonizing with nature, savoring the entire season. And sharing it with close friends. These experiences are surely the true charm of foraging wild mountain vegetables.

That's precisely why foraging wild mountain vegetables is so wonderful.