I like to imagine that the early English colonists who built my house and farmed my land brought some asparagus with them, that the "wild" asparagus popping up amongst my junipers and lilacs are descendants of those first asparagus plants to arrive in New England. Asparagus was originally introduced to this country by the early colonists.
What we call wild asparagus are escapees from gardens. They look healthy and robust, and have probably been there for years.Īsparagus is not native to North America. That’s when I noticed, in a different part of the yard, smack dab in the middle of both a juniper patch and a clump of lilac, huge asparagus fronds (over 7 feet tall!). I watched the spears form and then extend into that wispy foliage. A big rhubarb patch suddenly appeared along the path down to the river.Īs soon as I could in the spring I planted some rows of asparagus in what I hoped would be the perfect spot. Wild strawberries hide around the edges of the field. Unobtrusive bare patches of ground have exploded into irises, peonies and Solomon’s seal.
It has been so exciting - this our first spring and summer - to discover what is already growing here. Some of the trees and plantings could be remnants of those first Colonial gardens. I’m in a new house now – in a house and land that were settled and built by a Revolutionary War soldier and his family. The problem with finding wild asparagus for someone as impatient as myself is that when it is easiest to find it is too late to harvest the plant has bolted, all those delicious sprouts that we think of as asparagus had unfurled into towering, wispy stems and leaves. I had just finished a re-read of Euell Gibbons iconic book about foraging “Stalking the Wild Asparagus.” A friend had pointed out some wild asparagus growing in my field, obvious once pointed out. I learned about wild asparagus and how to spot it almost 10 years ago.
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