She went through foraging phase, striking out in her long corduroy skirt and pocketed apron to search for wild mushrooms and clover, ramps and ground cherries and slim carrots she could always spot by looking for Queen Anne’s Lace and its lovely white blooms. She always came back, flushed and radiant, switching on the stereo and swinging you around in the kitchen. Your dad warmed the olive oil and made them both a drink, her bounty spread across the cutting board and all over the kitchen table.