Wild Berry Coconut Cream Tart

One of the differences between growing up in a rural vs. suburban area is an ingrained sense of boundaries. In the suburbs, where I grew up, nature exists between managed borders, named by an official sign. It’s on the way, in between, with a superficial depth indicative of the priority of development. All suburban leaves carry the echo of a parent warning about poison ivy, ticks, and possible Satantic ritual that are carried on deep within them. And the wild berries, they’re all poisonous.

When I get together with a friend who grew up surrounded by real forest floors, expansive spaces where wild flourished, her symbiotic relationship to nature is evident. And this contrast helps me break down the underlying fears that lurk from my formative years–much like exploring abandoned places does. She knew where the wild berries were. The same kind of berries that folks pay entry to pick in neat little bushes partioned by man. And I picked these berries, like my female ancestors did while men hunted, relying on a centuries old naturally selected trait on the X chromosome that ensured survival (source).

And then I made a vegan coconut cream tart with a raw coconut, carob and pecan crust… something my ancestors did not have time to do.