Pig Face
“Paying attention is a form of reciprocity with the living world, receiving the gifts with open eyes and open heart.”
Boxing Day 2021.
Its the perfect walking weather today. Soft rain falling from a petal grey sky. This is ‘pig face’ season. If you walk quietly and pay attention you can feast on the most delectable fruits you’ve ever tasted. These magical plants are everywhere, all the way up and down the coast. You probably walk past a thousand each day and dont notice them.
Years ago I went on a day foraging course along Sydney’s Eastern beaches. The guide told us in the summer, for a few short weeks you can eat the fruit of pig face. For years after whenever I saw the succulent I’d try to eat its leaves (wouldn’t recommend), it’s flowers (also taste horrible) and finally gave up.
A couple of summers ago I noticed in the usual pink flowers and bright green stems a dark pink fruit. It looked like a pig with two little ears sticking out. I squeezed it and a fruit came out, white and slimy from it’s vivid skin. I tasted it cautiously at first. Then with delight. It’s hard to describe the taste, but imagine a kiwi fruit and a strawberry had a baby and you’d be pretty close. They taste like heaven.
Today I went out as I always do. Walking along the washed out beach, weaving between thousands of stranded jellyfish and the rotting carcasses of sea birds. The ever present death reminds me of the cycle of all things. Everything is born. Everything has it’s time in the sun. Everything dies and is reborn. Time is not linear. Time is a circle. What a relief it is to know there’s nowhere to get to.
I make my way to the creek where the rain periodically opens the creek into the sea. When the stagnant water rises it cuts through the sand and breaks out into the ocean. Piles of foam build up on the banks like dirty clouds. I stomp through them, bubbles sticking to my feet.
It’s Boxing Day so there’s actually people around. I walk past a few families and their dogs. I’m the only one walking alone. I’m grateful for my solitude. Walking with others has it’s own joy but I might miss the dance of the seagulls chasing each other in the wind. Walking is for listening. Listening to the ones who have been here longer than we have. Listening to the animals. Listening to the plants. Letting them tell their story.
I walk through the creek and into the bush. Sometimes I pick my entry point just right and a little path opens up before me. Today is not that day. I scramble awkwardly through thick scrub and scratch my legs to pieces. The scratches help me remember.
My reward for tearing my skin on the sharp, gnarled scrub was a whole patch of pig face with countless fruits, just ripe. I’d come here a week ago and the fruits weren’t quite ready. You know they’re ready to eat when they’re swollen. You can actually here them say ‘eat me!’. I sat down and asked for permission from the plants. I’ve started doing this recently, inspired by Robin Wall Kimmerer’s heart achingly beautiful ‘Braiding Sweetgrass’.
I felt a bit silly at first, but now it feels wrong to not ask permission. These incredible fruits have been laid out here as a gift. I didn’t have to do anything to receive them. There was no money exchanged. The plant doesn’t ask anything of me in return. They are a gift. Like any gift, I’m extremely grateful. How poignant to receive these on Boxing Day, the day of giving and receiving. I listen to the answer. It’s a definite YES, eat me! I start to devour the little fruits, in awe of their sweetness.
I eat to my hearts content, then arrange the little skins in a mandala, as an offering to the plant. Thank you, I whisper. Thank you for your sweetness. I love you. How incredible. The plants know how to make food from light and water, and then they give it away.
It’s easy to say we love nature, we love the Earth. I’m sure you do, as I do. But what I’ve realised over the hours, days, weeks, months I’ve spent sitting alone in the bush is this. The Earth loves us right back. When we notice a tree and smile, the tree is smiling right back. She’s delighted that we’ve noticed. She loves our attention, just as much as our friend loves it when we are really listening.
Everything changes. The next day I told my students about the pig face. Go out there! There’s a feast waiting for you! You’ve never tasted anything like it. Go with respect, ask the plants, dont take the last one. There’s enough for all of us.
New Years Eve
I’d been telling anyone who would listen about the wonders of these fruits. Maybe a lesson that some things don’t need to be shared. My boyfriend and I were walking to the beach less than a week later. We sat on the little bench and watched the last sun set of 2021. celebrating the year that bought us together. Laughing at my pick up lines ‘I like your e-bike’. In awe of the choices we made that led us here. On the way back I saw the bright pink flowers. ‘Pig face!! You HAVE to try them!’
There were only a couple of fruits this time. I bowed down and whispered a little thank you before picking the ripest one. But when I squeezed, the fruit disintegrated. It had turned from white to brown. The sweetness turned rancid.
That’s why foraging is so special. These delights are only here for a moment then they’re gone. You have to understand the seasons and learn their songs.
A student came in the next day. She was underwhelmed with the fruits too. They faded so fast. But just maybe, if you’re paying attention, you’ll see a shiny pink bud sticking out and it might not be too late. If not, there’s always next year.