SOME OF THE WOODSIDE FOODS 



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E are all trying 

 to do our bit 

 in one way 

 or another. 

 Our best way 

 seems to be in 

 the food cam- 

 paign. Mother 

 tries wheat- 

 less meals on 

 us and we are even going a step further 

 and eating dinners that are both meat- 

 less and wheatless. It is something of 

 a game with us and we make jokes 

 about it; but we have the grimmest 

 sort of humor in the thought that war is 

 not only making wheatless and meatless 

 dinners but also in many parts of Europe 

 is making " eatless " meals. Mother was 

 much cast down over the first trial at a 

 meal without wheat or meat when she 

 served us macaroni and cheese and com 

 muffins. It was a special "company" 

 dinner, with green peas, fruit salad, ice- 

 cream and macaroons. Good enough for 

 Mr. Hoover or anybody! But when our 

 Lady of the Home reahzed that macaroni 

 is made of wheat it most broke her heart. 

 However, it was a start, and from that 

 start we have had many another such 

 meal, equally as good and without the 

 wheat that the Allies need. 



F 



EW of us know how much food the 

 woods hold for us: Wild strawberries, 

 blackberries, dewberries, raspberries, 

 huckleberries. The so-called weeds are 

 good; and there must have been a time 

 when man first tried to eat rhubarb and 

 asparagus. Lettuce is undoubtedly de- 

 veloped from a plant pretty close to the 

 dandeUon. We have eaten with relish 

 the young shoots of the poke-berry, or 

 "poke-root." Burdock, wild mustard, 

 purslane and a lot of others are worth 

 trying, though it is unwise to eat strange 

 roots or plants with which one is not 

 familiar. The deadly water-hemlock, or 



cicuta, is not uncommon and it looks 

 just as good to eat as many another herb. 

 For myself, I cannot raise any very 

 great stir of enthusiasm for most of these 

 "wild greens." One "mess" of dande- 

 lions will do me for a long time, and two 

 are about all I can stand for each season. 

 At least, that is the way I feel now; they 

 say hunger may make a man do anything. 



THERE is a lot of fun, as well as thrift, 

 in going to the woods for berries, or 

 rather to the pastures at the edge of the 

 woods. A day in the blackberries is one 

 of adventure. We are supposed to bring 

 in our cups of berries as the cups are 

 filled, mother being in charge of the 

 central station, and of the lunch. Always 

 there is a clamor for that lunch long 

 before lunch time. 



Toto comes in with a cup that is not 

 very full and a wail that he is on the edge 

 of starvation. Yet he is smeared from 

 ear to ear with the rich juice of black- 

 berries. 



"I only ate one," be declares in reply 

 to an accusing finger. 



"That sounds like bad grammar," 

 says father, butting in from the heights 

 of great wisdom; "but it may be all right. 

 He ' only ate one ' and the rest were used 

 for a facial massage." 



Toto rolls his big eyes, as he always 

 does, when puzzled. 



" Maybe I did eat more than one," be 

 admits, "but a fellow's got to do some- 

 thing when he's hungry and they won't 

 give him anything to eat." 



This appeal is too much. So the 

 baskets are opened and the feast is 

 spread; then a munching in silent con- 

 tentment, and afterwards a rest in the 

 shade with every one of us too full to 

 move with comfort; afterwards more 

 berry-picking; the finding of a song- 

 sparrow's nest with young in it. 'When 

 the little birds stretch their necks and 

 open their mouths that look almost as big 



