Eating From Our Roots Novels & Stories

This is muscle memory from years of helping Mom in this garden. The dandelions come up with their long thick taproots, the kind that go down forever, searching for water in the drought. Sometimes they break off halfway and I can feel the snap in my fingers, that small vegetable violence. The crabgrass is harder—those shallow spreading roots that seem to go on forever, each clump revealing more, like pulling on a string and finding it attached to a whole web underground, everything connected, and if I could just find the center, the source, I could pull it all up at once, but I never find the center.

My patience seems to be wearing out as I stare at her while she assesses the beet roots on the shelves. We are at a raw food materials store. It's one of our events to prepare for the physical classes. After this we will converge at the front of the store to take pictures. So far everything has been going well except the constant urge to speak to Dahlia. Ever since the day at the hospital, I keep getting intrigued by her. The little things she does, how her fingers gently caress the fruits, how her lips curve into a slight smile as she assesses vegetables. She must really like the things of nature. I didn't see that before when we were together. It makes me realize that I took a lot of thing

“We had to go through so much, but maybe this is our time to grow, to build something real.” They spent the morning together in the garden, their fingers digging into the soil as they planted seeds and talked about the future. Each scoop of earth, each carefully placed seed, felt symbolic—an act of faith in the life they were building. It was as if they were quite literally planting roots, affirming their commitment to this new chapter.

That isn’t important right now though. “Here is our crops area. The root vegetables and vines are this way.” We make our way around a few large fields that are growing items like wheat and corn. I can see that Pine Woods grows the majority of their food and that is good. A pack should be selfsustained whenever possible.

She plunged into the groove, pounding across the root network, seeming not to notice how her footsteps suddenly echoed hollowly. Cursing, Finn followed her in, staying close to the skin-smooth trunks and leaping among the sturdier roots. The surface gave like a mattress beneath his boots and the stink of sulfur wafted up, warning that the grove was fully mature. The roots of the carnivorous trees had pushed aside the earth, creating a hollow to collect their digestive acids. Too late, she understood. She stopped abruptly near a large parental tree, hands outstretched for balance, and looked back at him with new horror written on her face.

“I could’ve left them out of everything.” His neck flushed. “It’s no big deal to eat around them. Especially when everything you fix is so good.” “Charmer. Anything else you don’t like, foodwise, as long as we’re on the subject?” “Turnips, parsnips, radishes, beets, prunes, collard greens, Dijon mustard, strawberry ice cream. I could take or leave coconut. Same for cauliflower.” Jessie stared at him. “So a fall soup with root vegetables isn’t a good idea?”

“I can smell dead plants and mud. I can feel the roots of trees or hedges or something dangling from the roof.” “What kind of trees?” “I don’t know.” “Get up. Feel the roots, smell them.” I stand up, bumping my head painfully hard against the roof of the enclave they’re holding me in. Clumps of dirt and mud rain down on me, but I ignore it as I reach up to feel the roots. “I don’t think they’re very deep. Thick roots, but spread out. I don’t know.” I stand on my toes to smell it, concentrating on the roots and the tree above. “I’m not sure. It smells kind of…citrusy.”

While the species here were different, many shared similar characteristics with the flora back home and she found herself identifying edible roots and medicinal herbs that some of the women had walked right past. "This one," Mel said, crouching near a cluster of round, deep purple fruits nestled low to the ground. She plucked one and held it up. "The skin is rough, which means it's ripe. If it were smooth, you'd want to leave it for a few more days." Gerda peered at the fruit and raised a brow. "We've seen those before but never picked them. No one knew if they were safe."

One less complication in a world made of them. We moved on to the deeper brush, looking for tubers and the edible leaves we used for salad. As Ariana bent over to pull a root from the earth, I found my eyes straying. Despite the weight she’d lost, she still looked healthy. Her frame was leaner, her muscles more defined, and her ass... well, it was still round and plump against the fraying fabric of the pants. I looked away quickly, focusing on a nearby bush. "Nat!" she called out, waving me over.

The ground beneath them shook violently, and Clara screamed as the roots pulled tighter. ⸻