The hedgerows are growing bare, the woodland floor is deep in fallen leaves and winter is beginning to make itself felt. But there are still a few wild treasures to discover in the British countryside.
November is a month that rewards the observant walker.
The showier days of autumn are slipping away. Leaves that were golden and copper just a few weeks ago now lie in damp heaps beneath the trees, the mornings are colder and the afternoon light disappears rather sooner than we’d like.
The countryside can look as though it’s finished for the year.
But look a little more closely.
There are still rosehips glowing red amongst the bare branches, sloes clinging stubbornly to blackthorn hedges and small crab apples hanging from trees that have otherwise surrendered to winter. In sheltered corners, fresh green leaves continue to grow, while damp woodland brings fungi into view.
November foraging in the UK is quite different from the abundance of October. The harvest is smaller, the weather less forgiving and some of the best autumn fruits have already been gathered by birds and other wildlife.
But that is part of its charm.
There is something rather satisfying about finding a little wild food when the countryside appears to have closed its doors for winter.
So pull on your boots, wrap up warmly and take a basket if you wish. There may not be quite as much to bring home this month, but there’s still plenty worth looking for.
Before You Fill Your Basket
November is a particularly important month to remember that we aren’t the only ones looking for food.
Blackbirds, thrushes, fieldfares, squirrels and small mammals all depend on the fruits, seeds and nuts remaining in the countryside as winter approaches.
Take a little, leave plenty and never strip a plant of its entire crop.
Only gather where you have permission and where collection is allowed. The Wildlife and Countryside Act 1981 protects certain wild plants, and uprooting wild plants without the landowner’s permission is generally unlawful. Nature reserves, protected habitats and managed estates may have additional restrictions.
And, of course, identification matters.
Never eat a wild plant, fruit, nut or fungus unless you are completely certain what it is. Common names can be misleading, which is why botanical names are useful, and some edible plants have poisonous lookalikes.
Avoid gathering from busy roadsides, polluted ground or places that may have been treated with chemicals.
With that in mind, let’s see what November has left for us.
Sloes
Prunus spinosa – Blackthorn
If October was the month for finding sloes, November is often the month for doing something with them.
Look along established hedgerows, field boundaries and country lanes, particularly where blackthorn forms dense, thorny thickets. By now, many of the leaves will have fallen, making the little blue-black fruits easier to spot.
They look rather like miniature plums, with a dusty bloom on their skins.
And if you’ve ever been tempted to eat one straight from the hedge, you’ll know that looks can be deceiving.
A raw sloe has a remarkable ability to make your mouth feel as though it’s been lined with blotting paper.
Fortunately, sugar and a little patience work wonders.
There is an old tradition of waiting until the first frost before gathering sloes. Freezing helps soften the fruit, although you can achieve much the same effect by putting them in the freezer at home.
Try them: Sloe gin is the traditional favourite, but sloe jelly is particularly good with cheese and cold meats.
For something different, make a sloe and apple jelly. Simmer equal weights of sloes and chopped cooking apples with a little water until soft, strain through a jelly bag, then add sugar to the measured juice and boil to setting point.
The apples help balance the sharpness of the sloes and provide useful pectin.
Keep the stones intact during preparation and remove them before eating. Like other members of the plum family, sloe stones contain compounds that can release cyanide when crushed or chewed.
Rosehips
Rosa canina – Dog Rose, and other edible Rosa species
There are few brighter sights along a November hedgerow than rosehips.
With the summer flowers long gone, their red fruits remain amongst the tangled branches, sometimes looking almost impossibly cheerful against a grey sky.
Dog roses are common along hedgerows, woodland edges, scrubland and country lanes throughout much of Britain.
By November, the hips may have softened after cold weather, although the exact timing depends on the season.
Rosehips have an interesting place in British history. During the Second World War, when imported citrus fruits were scarce, families were encouraged to gather them as a home-grown source of vitamin C.
Rosehip syrup became a familiar part of wartime life.
It’s a tradition worth remembering, although today there’s no need to treat rosehips as a substitute for fresh oranges.
Their appeal lies just as much in their sharp, fruity flavour.
Try them: Make a small batch of rosehip syrup to stir into porridge, spoon over pancakes or add to warm water.
Wash and chop the hips, simmer them gently in water, then strain the liquid very carefully through a fine jelly bag or several layers of muslin before adding sugar.
The fine hairs surrounding the seeds can cause considerable irritation, so thorough straining is essential. Never use a preparation that still contains them.
Fresh homemade syrup should be refrigerated and used promptly or frozen unless you are following a tested preservation recipe.
And do leave plenty of hips behind. They are valuable food for birds during the colder months.
Crab Apples
Malus sylvestris – European Crab Apple, and other wild-growing Malus species
A crab apple tree in November can look rather wonderful.
Its leaves may have disappeared, but the little fruits sometimes remain hanging from the branches like forgotten decorations.
Crab apples can be found in old hedgerows, woodland edges, parkland and former orchards. Some are native crab apples, while others are naturalised or cultivated varieties that have found their way into the wider landscape.
Their colours vary from green and yellow to orange and deep red.
They can also be astonishingly sharp.
Fortunately, crab apples are far more useful cooked than eaten straight from the tree.
They contain plenty of natural pectin, making them particularly good for jellies and preserves.
Try them: Crab apple jelly is hard to beat.
Simmer washed, chopped crab apples with water until soft, then leave them to drip through a jelly bag overnight. If you want a beautifully clear jelly, resist the temptation to squeeze the bag.
Measure the juice, add sugar according to a tested jelly recipe and boil until setting point is reached.
A sprig of rosemary gives the finished jelly a lovely savoury note, particularly good with roast pork, mature Cheddar or a simple cheese board.
Avoid crushing or eating the seeds, which contain cyanogenic compounds.
And only gather sound fruit. By November, some crab apples will have begun to spoil, particularly after prolonged wet weather.
Haws
Crataegus monogyna – Common Hawthorn
Hawthorn is one of those plants we tend to notice at particular moments in the year.
In May, it’s the frothy white blossom filling the hedgerows. In autumn, it’s the clusters of small red fruits.
By November, many of those fruits are still hanging from the branches, although the birds will have made a good start on them.
Hawthorn grows widely in British hedgerows, woodland margins, scrubland and field boundaries.
Its berries, known as haws, are edible when correctly identified, although they’re unlikely to become anyone’s favourite snack straight from the hedge.
The flesh is rather dry and floury, and the hard seeds take up much of the centre.
But cooking makes them more interesting.
Hawthorn has also gathered a remarkable amount of folklore over the centuries. It was associated with May Day celebrations, boundaries and old country superstitions.
Some traditions warned against bringing hawthorn blossom indoors, while others regarded the tree as something to be treated with particular respect.
Whether or not you believe the old stories, there’s something rather lovely about a plant that has been part of our hedgerows and traditions for so long.
Try them: Hawthorn ketchup.
Simmer ripe haws in a little water until soft, then push the pulp through a sieve to remove the seeds. Cook the resulting purée with cider vinegar, brown sugar and warming spices until thickened.
It makes a tangy accompaniment to sausages, roasted vegetables and cheese.
Hawthorn also has a history of use in traditional herbal medicine, particularly in relation to the heart and circulation. Concentrated preparations can interact with medicines, so they should not be used as home treatments without professional advice.
Sweet Chestnuts
Castanea sativa – Sweet Chestnut
By November, the best of the sweet chestnut harvest may already be over.
But after a windy night, it’s still worth looking beneath mature trees in parkland, established woodland and old estates.
The prickly burrs are often scattered amongst the fallen leaves, and occasionally you’ll find a few sound nuts that have escaped the attention of the squirrels.
Sweet chestnuts have been part of the British landscape for centuries, although the species is not native here.
Their nuts have a gentle sweetness and a soft, almost floury texture when cooked.
And there is something particularly satisfying about roasting them on a cold day.
Try them: Score the shells carefully before roasting, then cook until the flesh is tender and the shells begin to peel back.
Eat them warm, or crumble the cooked chestnuts into a stuffing with sage, onion and breadcrumbs.
They’re also excellent added to roasted Brussels sprouts.
One important warning: sweet chestnuts must never be confused with horse chestnuts, or conkers (Aesculus hippocastanum).
Conkers are poisonous and should not be eaten.
The trees, leaves and seed cases are quite different, so make certain of the identification before gathering.
And if all you find beneath the trees are empty cases, the squirrels have probably beaten you to it.
Again.
Walnuts
Juglans regia – Common Walnut
Walnuts are another autumn harvest that may just linger into November.
They’re not native to Britain, but mature walnut trees can be found in old gardens, parkland, orchards and around former estates.
The nuts develop inside fleshy green husks which darken and split as they ripen.
By November, most will have fallen, and many will already have been gathered.
But if you’re lucky enough to know a productive tree, there may still be a few sound nuts to find.
One thing worth remembering is that walnut husks stain.
And they stain remarkably well.
Anyone who has handled a quantity of fresh walnuts without gloves may have discovered this rather too late.
Try them: Walnuts are lovely with pears and blue cheese, but they also make an excellent pesto.
Blend shelled walnuts with parsley, garlic, grated hard cheese and olive oil, then stir through pasta or spoon over roasted squash.
Only use nuts that are sound and free from mould, and remember that walnuts are a food allergen.
Hairy Bittercress
Cardamine hirsuta
Not everything worth foraging in November comes from a hedgerow.
Some of the most useful edible plants are growing much closer to home.
Hairy bittercress is one of those little garden weeds that seems capable of appearing almost anywhere.
Flowerpots, vegetable beds, gravel paths, cracks in paving.
If there’s a small patch of soil available, hairy bittercress will probably find it.
Its leaves form little green rosettes close to the ground, and in mild weather it can continue growing through autumn and winter.
Despite the rather unappealing name, the leaves have a lovely fresh, peppery flavour.
Think of a milder watercress.
Try it: Add a few young leaves to a winter salad, scatter them over soup or mix them into softened butter with lemon zest.
It’s particularly good with eggs.
A little hairy bittercress on scrambled eggs and toast makes a surprisingly nice breakfast.
Only gather plants you can confidently identify, from ground you know is free from chemical treatments and contamination.
Chickweed
Stellaria media – Common Chickweed
Chickweed is another familiar garden plant that can remain green well into November.
It grows in cultivated soil, gardens, field margins and other disturbed ground, forming soft, spreading patches of little green leaves.
In mild weather, you may even find its tiny white flowers.
Chickweed has a delicate flavour, making it a useful addition to salads and cooked dishes.
It’s one of those plants that can be easily overlooked, partly because it’s so common.
But once you learn to recognise it, you’ll begin noticing it everywhere.
Try it: Add a handful of thoroughly washed chickweed to a potato soup during the final few minutes of cooking.
Or finely chop the tender leaves and mix them into a simple salad with apple, walnuts and a mustard dressing.
Correct identification matters. Chickweed has several features that help distinguish it, including a single line of fine hairs along its stem, but no one feature should be relied upon in isolation.
Some small plants growing in similar habitats are unsuitable for eating.
Sea Beet
Beta vulgaris subsp. maritima
For those of us fortunate enough to live near the coast, November foraging offers a slightly different possibility.
Sea beet is the wild ancestor of cultivated beetroot and chard, and its leaves can remain available well into the colder months.
It grows in suitable coastal habitats, including shingle, sea banks and the upper edges of some saltmarshes.
Here in Norfolk, it’s the sort of plant you may come across on a coastal walk, although not every stretch of shoreline will provide the right conditions.
Its glossy green leaves have an earthy, slightly salty character and can be cooked much like spinach.
Try it: Wash the leaves thoroughly to remove sand and grit, then steam or blanch them until tender.
Toss with a little butter, garlic and lemon juice.
Sea beet is particularly good alongside fish or stirred into a savoury tart.
Do be careful about where you gather it. Much of our coastline includes protected or sensitive habitats, and removing plants may be prohibited.
Saltmarshes and shingle communities are important for wildlife, so there are places where it’s much better simply to admire the plants and leave them growing.
And Then There Are Fungi…
November’s damp woodland can be full of fungi.
Walk beneath mature trees after a spell of rain and you may find mushrooms emerging through the leaf litter, bracket fungi growing from fallen timber and all sorts of extraordinary shapes tucked away amongst the moss.
One particularly distinctive species is jelly ear (Auricularia auricula-judae), often found growing on dead or dying elder wood.
Its brown, rubbery, ear-shaped fruiting bodies are rather unlike the mushrooms most of us are familiar with.
It has a history of culinary use, particularly in soups and other dishes where its unusual texture is appreciated.
But fungi are not something to approach casually.
Britain has poisonous species, and some can be confused with edible fungi. A photograph, mobile app or single identifying feature is not enough to establish that a mushroom is safe to eat.
For anyone new to the subject, the best approach is to join an organised fungal foray with an experienced expert.
Learn to recognise the different species, understand their habitats and enjoy discovering just how important they are to woodland life.
Fungi help break down fallen timber and other organic material, returning nutrients to the soil and supporting the wider woodland ecosystem.
There is plenty of pleasure in finding them without needing to put them in a saucepan.
A Little November Foraging Folklore
One of the loveliest things about foraging is discovering how closely wild food is woven into British history.
For generations, hedgerows provided ingredients for jams, jellies, drinks and home remedies. Families gathered what was available, preserved what they could and made use of the countryside’s changing harvest.
Some traditions were practical, others a little more mysterious.
The first frost was said to improve sloes. Hawthorn was surrounded by old superstitions. Rosehips became an important wartime ingredient. Chestnuts were roasted as the weather grew colder.
Even the old warnings about gathering fruit late in the season often had a sensible explanation behind them.
By November, much of the wild harvest has been exposed to weeks of rain, wind, insects and changing temperatures.
A fruit that looked perfectly good in September may be mouldy or spoiled by now.
And no amount of folklore makes rotten fruit worth eating.
The old countryside traditions are fascinating, but good judgement is still the most useful thing to take foraging.
What About Traditional Wild Remedies?
Wild plants have a long history in British folk medicine.
Rosehips were used in syrups and tonics, hawthorn featured in preparations associated with the heart, and chickweed appeared in traditional treatments for the skin.
These uses are an interesting part of our cultural history, but it’s important to distinguish tradition from reliable medical evidence.
A plant being used for centuries does not necessarily mean it is safe or effective as a medicine.
Some herbal preparations can interact with prescribed medicines, while others may be unsuitable during pregnancy, for children or for people with certain medical conditions.
For that reason, I think the best approach for the home forager is to appreciate these plants primarily as part of our food heritage and natural landscape, rather than treating homemade remedies as a substitute for medical care.
There’s plenty of enjoyment to be found in a jar of rosehip syrup or a little hawthorn ketchup without expecting it to cure anything.
A November Hedgerow Supper
Perhaps the nicest thing about November foraging is that it doesn’t take very much to make something worthwhile.
You may return from a walk with a few rosehips, a modest handful of sloes or enough crab apples to make a small jar of jelly.
Or you may come home with nothing at all.
Either is perfectly fine.
Imagine a November evening after a long walk.
A few chestnuts roasting in the oven. A wedge of mature Cheddar with homemade crab apple jelly. A simple supper of roasted vegetables with a little hawthorn ketchup.
Perhaps there’s a bottle of sloe gin tucked away in a cupboard, quietly improving with time.
None of it is particularly elaborate.
But there’s something satisfying about knowing where the ingredients came from.
The blackthorn hedge beside a familiar lane. The old chestnut tree in the park. The rosehips growing along the footpath you’ve walked a hundred times without paying them much attention.
Foraging has a way of changing how we see ordinary places.
A hedgerow becomes more than a boundary between two fields. A fallen branch becomes a place to look for fungi. A patch of greenery in the garden becomes something worth identifying rather than automatically pulling out.
And the more you notice, the more interesting the countryside becomes.
The Last of the Autumn Harvest
November is not the month for filling enormous baskets with wild food.
Much of the harvest has already been gathered, fallen or eaten by wildlife, and what remains is increasingly important to the creatures preparing for winter.
So take only a little.
Leave the best of the remaining berries for the birds, avoid disturbing sensitive habitats and never gather more than you can reasonably use.
And if you find yourself walking home with an empty basket, it hardly matters.
There are still bare branches to admire, fungi to discover, birds feeding in the hedgerows and that wonderful November light which sometimes appears just before the afternoon disappears.
The countryside may be growing quieter, but it certainly hasn’t become less interesting.
Sometimes the best thing to bring home from a walk is simply the pleasure of having been out there.
Further Reading Foraging in November: A Guide to Winter Harvest, Discover Nature’s Bounty Foraging for Food and Fun, The Art of Foraging: Discovering Nature’s Larder, What’s in Season in November
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