Foraging for: SUMAC

A tale of foraging sumac in Aotearoa and Appalachia

Childlike delight isn’t easy to come by as an adult. Foraging though, just simply looking, is an easy way to find it again… and again.

My mother, Melanie Freeman Blanton Sisson, is the chief ‘looker’ in our family. She almost can’t pass by a rotten log on a forest stroll without turning it over. The bugs beneath fascinate her.

Just like she gave me my long fingers, and big grin, my mom gave me an observant gene. And she taught me how to look, I mean really look, in rock pools.

L | Melanie Freeman Blanton Sisson – ʻMom’ — R | Garrie Pawnee Freeman Blanton – ʻBud’

In our family, a rock pool can be a noun or a verb. My mom taught my sister, my brother, and I how to go ‘rockpooling’. It’s a simple but joyful exercise. Just head to the water’s edge, find a pool, peer into it, shout out if you spot something neat, then go home to research your discoveries. The moment we found our first sea star still sticks out in my mind – he was small, spiny, and to us, completely brilliant.

As we grew up in Virginia, United States, my mom taught us what to look for and also what to watch out for – cutty barnacles, slippery algae, and swift currents on the coast. Poison sumac, deer ticks, and occasional snakes in the woods.

My grandmother, Garrie Pawnee Freeman Blanton, or ‘Bud’ as we called her, was particularly wary of that first one. Only one ounce of poison sumac was required, I was told as a child, to give every human on earth a severe itch. And Bud was especially allergic to it.

Turns out just ¼ ounce of the irritant found in poison sumac, Toxicodendron vernix, could give each and every one of us a rash. It doesn’t grow here in Aotearoa, New Zealand, and I hadn’t thought of it in ages. But then I stumbled upon a different kind of sumac. An edible kind.I spend heaps of time trawling foraging groups on Facebook. They’re a great way to get familiar with what can be found around you – especially if you’re new to an area, like I am to Ōtautahi Christchurch. At some stage last winter I came across a post that mentioned foraging sumac. That stuff is bad news, I thought. What is this person on about?

A quick Google search surprised me. Sumac is not the nasty plant I thought it was. Or rather, only some varieties are. There are actually 250 different sumac species and it’s found on every continent. According to Colorado ecologist Jeff Mitton, “They all follow one simple, very handy generalisation – species with red berries produce edible berries, while species with white berries are poisonous.”

Rhus typhina, an edible sumac variety found in Aotearoa, New Zealand.—My brain must’ve squirreled away that Facebook post, the image of the edible sumac’s bright red fruit and fuzzy berries, or ‘drupes’ as they’re called. About six months later, as summer returned to Ōtautahi, I spotted some sumac along my usual foraging route. I was completely surprised. The moment of discovery, that childlike delight, there it was, once again. I walked home at double pace, almost giddy, to confirm the ID. After a bit of online research I was confident I’d found staghorn sumac (Rhus typhina). The next time I returned to the plant, I had a new friend, Sophie Merkens, in tow. (We’d coincidentally met in a Facebook foraging group.)

Rhus typhina, an edible sumac variety found in Aotearoa, New Zealand.

My brain must’ve squirreled away that Facebook post, the image of the edible sumac’s bright red fruit and fuzzy berries, or ‘drupes’ as they’re called. About six months later, as summer returned to Ōtautahi, I spotted some sumac along my usual foraging route. I was completely surprised. The moment of discovery, that childlike delight, there it was, once again.

I walked home at double pace, almost giddy, to confirm the ID. After a bit of online research I was confident I’d found staghorn sumac (Rhus typhina). The next time I returned to the plant, I had a new friend, Sophie Merkens, in tow. (We’d coincidentally met in a Facebook foraging group.)

Collecting staghorn sumac.

At the time, Sophie was making her way around Aotearoa in her van, Zephyr, interviewing wāhine growers and gatherers for her book. As we sampled the staghorn sumac’s supremely sour drupes, I could see the childlike delight on her face too. “This has transported me straight back to the time I spent in Iran,” she said excitedly.

Sumac has a long culinary history in the Middle East. Ground sumac is one of the main ingredients in za’atar – a traditional spice mix which also includes sesame seeds, thyme, salt, cumin, and oregano. It’s sprinkled over all manner of food and family recipes are often fiercely guarded.

Staghorn sumac’s leaves go brilliant red as colder temps set in.—

Staghorn sumac’s leaves go brilliant red as colder temps set in.

Staghorn sumac isn’t native to Aotearoa. I couldn’t find much information on how it ended up here, but I’m guessing it was introduced as an ornamental. Today it can be found up and down the country, but it originally comes from the same place that my grandmother, my mother, and I do – Appalachia.

The Appalachian Mountain range runs along the east coast of the U.S. The particular Virginia section that we grew up alongside, The Blue Ridge Mountains, are amongst the oldest in the world. They began forming over a billion years ago. Native Americans, specifically the Cherokee Nation, are The Blue Ridge’s original and rightful inhabitants. According to tribal history, Cherokee people have existed since time immemorial.

Cherokee use sumac to make a drink called quallah. It has a tart, lemony flavour thanks to the malic acid found on the drupes’ hairs – the same compound that gives apples and grapes their acidity. Quallah is often called ‘sumac-ade’ or ‘sumac lemonade’.

Sumac drupes ready to be made into quallah.—

Sumac drupes ready to be made into quallah.

To make my own quallah, I followed a recipe from Chef Nico Albert (Cherokee Nation). In short, give your sumac a rinse, pull the drupes away from the main stem, add them to a jar of cold water, wait, and strain out the solids. The end result is beautifully pink, and deliciously tart, a total thirst quencher. Add simple syrup, or honey, to sweeten it if you’d like.

Quallah Sophie made on the road, with a bit of horopito added in.

Sumac has heaps of other reported uses too. Its tannins yield dyes in a range of colours, and its twigs can be used for weaving. Some variety’s roots, shoots, and barks can also be eaten. Health applications range from styptic, to mouthwash, sore throat remedy, and ulcer treatment.

Foraging sumac took me home in an unexpected way, taught me something new about a place I thought I knew so well, and reminded me of hot, sticky days spent at my grandmother Bud’s house in The Blue Ridge.

Bud was a skilled gatherer and gardener. I don’t know if she ever picked sumac, the name and her allergy might’ve put her off, but she did make heaps of sweet tea. After working in my grandfather Hoss’s garden, Bud always rewarded us with some. Each cool, sugary glass came with a slice of sour lemon. Bud was named ‘Garrie Pawnee’ after the Pawnee tribe of the Central Plains. The skunk brush sumac is characteristic of the grasslands there, and I imagine it would also make a great thirst quencher.

During winter, the staghorn sumac in Aotearoa is fading. The rain will continue to steal the drupes’ colour and flavour, but some will hang on through to spring. The birds seem to leave sumac alone, so keep this in your back pocket, and keep an eye out. You never know, your first sumac find, that moment of delight, may be just around the corner.

WORDS: Olivia Sisson — @liv_mosss
IMAGES: Sophie Merkens — @sophiemerkens