Summer 2005
Children of the Asparagus
by T. L. Roe
Every spring you see them along the highways and irrigation ditches. Their
backs are bent as they search for the green, succulent spears that grow
wild throughout southern Colorado. They are the Children of the Asparagus.
For them, hunting wild asparagus is more than a mere pastime, it is a celebration.
But your not invited to their party, you have to find your own.
Ever since King Louis XIV of France had greenhouses built so he could eat the plant all year long, asparagus has been called the “Food of Kings.” In fact, asparagus has been cultivated for over 20,000 years.
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Originally found in the eastern Mediterranean region, asparagus was brought to areas such as North America with settlers. Asparagus was so greatly desired, that as early as 200 BC, Romans developed a “how-to-grow” manual, and were freezing asparagus to preserve it. Today, asparagus is still revered for its healthful properties which make it a mega-fighter of cancer and arterial disease, not to mention that it tastes good. A perennial member of the lily family, wild asparagus (Asparagus officinalis) comes in many shapes and sizes. It can grow in large bunches of thirty stalks, as three or four plants, or appear as a solo artist. One of the unique attributes of wild asparagus is that every time it is picked, new growth will begin to appear almost immediately, so the fun is not over after the first cultivation. Wild asparagus is the first vegetable of the spring in Colorado. If climatic conditions are favorable, peek seasons can begin as early as March and last through late July. Once asparagus reaches maturity in its second year of growth, spears can shoot up as much as ten inches in twenty four hours. |
Connoisseurs see wild asparagus as more of a delicacy than a mere edible plant. They insist that there is a big difference between the taste of asparagus found growing in the wild and asparagus sold in grocery stores. For them, the difference is like comparing a homegrown tomato fresh from the garden to the cardboard-tasting red balls that pass for tomatoes come midwinter in the stores. Perhaps this is true, or maybe it all boils down to what plant expert Euell Gibbons once said, that “the idea of reaping where you did not sow is the real fascination behind the endeavor.”
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