My journey into rewilding began in 2014 after my divorce. I was coming back and forward into myself. Water baby that I am, the process certainly involved water.

One of my early-on initiations involved a rope swing. My dear friend Gus convinced me to jump off the rope swing that used to be tethered to a sturdy tree along Ashfield Lake’s shoreline. I had never swung on a rope swing, but I figured at the age of 45 it was time to try. I remember running with the rope and thinking what the hell am I doing as a leapt into the air. I heard all the younger beings from behind me yell, “Jump! Jump! Let go! Let go!” And so I complied. Releasing the rope, my descent was swift. Immersing myself in the water felt like a spiritual rite. Popping up exuberant and free and…OW! Never put your hands out as if to brace yourself. Bad idea. I decided I could check rope swing off this create-as-I-go rewilding list of activities I did not need to do again as fun as it was, cause it was also just a bit too scary. I had also decided purposefully breaking through ice to see how strong it was (based on a question posed to me), was another check-off and not to try again. But that experience did give me an epiphany – that though one person (the wasband) couldn’t hold me, I am still held – by the Earth, the stream, and my friends ready to fish me out. And that cold water was exhilarating. An oncoming initiation into purposeful cold-water swimming.

The other experience was later that year in late September, when again, my dear friend Gus and I went to Chapel Falls, and the water was absolutely frigid. Shivering, Gus asked me, “At what point does this not become a good idea?” Teeth chattering, I responded. “The moment we can’t get out of the water.” Well, we managed to heave ourselves out. Though I felt like a popsicle, some part of my body and brain exhilarated in the experience – I felt entirely alive; all cells awake. Years later I would learn that cold plunges do a body good. According to a report in the National Library of Medicine, cold water swimming has several health benefits including ramping up hematological and endocrine function, improving respiration thereby decreasing upper respiratory tract infections, and enhancing one’s mood and general well-being. I am totally hooked and am one of those Sirens or Selkies you see swimming in icy Ashfield Lake, reveling in the euphoria.

Something else that was changing in me during this rewilding process was that I was making a conscious decision to eat more wildly – meaning, eat more wild and feral foods on a regular basis. Sure I had been teaching about wild and feral edible foods for over a decade, but it hadn’t ever been a focus, just part of my natural science/history teaching work. I felt that by eating more wild flora, fungi, and fauna, I would come back and forward into myself. And I did. I felt healthier and stronger. I still do.

Black Trumpets were initiatory in the sense that it was the first time I was trusting myself in my knowledge as a mushroom hunter to feed another person – yes, my friend Gus again. Back in 2014 I wrote an article for the Ashfield News on my initial experience finding, identifying, and preparing a mushroom medley meal for my friend, wanting to repay my friend’s kindness without accidently causing his demise. Of course the story ends in success because I have every intention of being an old mycology enthusiast, while not necessarily a bold one.

I find Black Trumpets (Craterellus fallax) in Eastern Hemlock dominant forests, though guides will state that these “horns of plenty” can be found in Oak-Beech dominant forests. Well camouflaged, once you finally find one, you will start to see more. Maintain ethical harvesting and certainly do not pick the first one or the last one you find and in totality be mindful to leave plenty for others to find as well. Black Trumpets are in the Chanterelle family and are a choice edible. As the name states, these mushrooms look like little trumpets. Their inner vase is black and the outer surface of the funnel is gray. The upper cup portion can appear wrinkly but there are no gills. They have a short indistinct stem emerging directly from the duff. Fruiting bodies appear August through November and are very easy to harvest. The spore print is a buff yellowish-orange. Their scent is pleasant, sweet dirt. To prepare, brush off any dirt and sauté until wilted. They are absolutely fantastically sweet-earthy delicious! I also learned this fungus is called “black trumpets of death” or “horns of death” to scare off thieves. That’s how yummy Black Trumpets are. But do not mistake this joke for thinking that the bulbous white “angels of death” are edible. Also known as death angel or destroying angel, Amanita bisporigera is actually deadly. Hence, one of the many issues with common names. Sometimes they mean what they say and other times – not so much. So even if you cannot pronounce the Latin name, it’s still a good reference.

In rewilding I’ve grounded myself in the most effervescent ways through swimming in wild waters and eating wild foods. I have learned my limitations and to honor them while also pushing through my comfort zones to try new things.

So if you’re feeling too comfortable in an uncomfortable way, perhaps it’s time to shake things up and journey into the wilds of yourself. What would that look like for you? What activities feel like an edge for you that you want to explore beyond?

I found that I absolutely love swimming in freezing cold water, particularly if I can touch ice so I know the water is 32 degrees. It’s thrilling and enlivening. And trying new wild foods and incorporating more from the Land into my diet, feels so nourishing and exciting. Each new wild food I sample, because I saw or read a trusted wild edibles enthusiast discuss, feels like a triumph and a promise to live authentically and untamed.

Arianna Alexsandra Collins, naturalist educator, poet, writer, wild edible enthusiast, and Wiccan High Priestess.

An edited version of this article appeared in the September 2025 edition of The Ashfield News.

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