Story and Photography By Summer Miller
When I discovered the asparagus I’d been eating for years was foraged from a stretch of land around my father-in-law’s rural community, I greeted the information like I greet most things—with fervor and excitement. Within moments I assaulted him with a barrage of questions. What do you mean you found it? Where? How do you spot it? How do you know where to look? When do you look for it? All of it— the skinny spears and the thick ones? You just drive around? Can I come?
“Well, I don’t see why not,” he said, answering only the last of my questions.
One year later I tucked my pant legs into my socks (asparagus season is tick season), pulled bright yellow rain boots onto my feet, and drove forty-five minutes to Scribner, Nebraska where we met on a plot of land near the Elkhorn River.