Pungent smell of wild leeks permeates house. Wild leek spirits dance around the kitchen, tangle in your hair, sneak in your newly washed socks. With leeks on the loose we have no hope of remaining tame, civilized. We bare our wolf-teeth at the moon and howl, our paws rough against the forest floor. We leap over logs and hunt pink-eyed rabbits and terrified squirrels.
Wild leeks bring you to the riverbed of your life. No turning back now. Either you leap on your homemade raft and maneuver the rapids or you buy pale imitations of the leek kingdom at the grocery store. Either you nicely spray your hair, patting it into respectability, or you dash into the wind, curls flying everywhere, wolf paws at the wheel of your destiny.
Some folks call them “ramps”. Same thing. They refuse to sit docile in the refrigerator after washing. The sniff everywhere. Soon your bath water fills with leeks. Soon you’re dreaming leek-dreams. Soon you’re singing silently in a foreign tongue of long white roots and green banners. Soon you’ve stepped out of the comfortable jeans of your life into something wild, exotic, untamed.
Beware of eating the wild ones.
The wild ones who have never known the cardboard of grocery stores or the hypnotized stare of the produce workers who daydream beyond the four walls of the supermarket kingdom. In their daydreams they lean against sleek cars and dream of beautiful women. They never imagine the power of wild vegetables, the way wild food grants access into forbidden kingdoms, the way their long roots beckon like fingers: “Come closer, closer, closer now…”
Eating from the earth, dirt still close by, the heart shivers to remember beyond the skin we’ve created, beyond our respectability, beyond our genetic engineering.
Eat wild leeks at your own risk. Prepare to be changed. Prepare to be forever slightly pungent, remembering a distant dream of midnight howling from the green banner of yourself.