I'm packing my backpack. A bit of water, an extra sweater, and treats for Max. An expedition. Or, well, we know where we're going, but we're looking for something. A treasure hunt might be a better word. Everything has been lying dormant for months, and now, finally, the frost has loosened its grip. We run down the stairs and catch the bus heading north. The woods. Oslo’s green lung, and so much bigger than most people realize. Parts of it are even primeval forest. Completely untouched nature with billions of organisms we know nothing about. In 2017, the rare large-pored fire sponge fungus was even discovered growing in the Oslo forests.

It’s extremely rare, found in only 15 locations worldwide, and crucial for the biological diversity of the ancient forest. I’ve never seen it, but maybe one day. I wouldn’t take it with me, of course, but just seeing it with my own eyes would be enough. We all have it in us—the desire for the rare and the unique. A pull toward something that might make us feel a little more special. But it can’t be too unique, or others won’t understand its value. Finding that balance. And once you find it yourself, no one can take it from you. It’s yours. You get cred.

Once, I found a bunch of golden-eye lichen and dyed Norwegian wool with it. It turned light purple, and after a day in the sun, it shifted to pale blue. That made me feel like a queen. A royal hue I had discovered, boiled, used, and created. Mastery. It’s the same feeling I had one warm June day, sneaking around the apartment blocks in Enerhaugen. The air smelled sweet yet fresh. Intensely floral. I carried a plastic bag, ready to snatch some elderflower branches and brew the Nordic champagne. It worked. A spontaneously fermented elderflower drink I could share with friends when we missed summer. According to old Norwegian myths, elderflower was said to ward off evil trolls and unwanted guests. But is it just about mastery?

For hundreds of years, it was illegal to forage wild plants in Norway and Europe. In 1641, Inger was out gathering herbs on Midsummer’s Eve—also called St. John's Eve. The most forbidden time to forage, since herbs were believed to be five times more potent that night. Later, she was interrogated about it and explained that she could heal the sick with her plants. A witch, in other words. Witchcraft was usually practiced by women, those the rest of society didn’t understand. The xenophobia of the time? She was sentenced to death in 1643. Just like over 300 others in Norway, executed for witchcraft between 1570 and 1695. They were said to hold secret meetings at midnight, on the night of May 1st, on Bloksberg in Germany. Thousands of witches from all over Europe gathered around a fire, escalating dark forces through their incomprehensible energy. Walpurgis Night. Incidentally, the night before my birthday.

Let me get straight to the point: Would I have been burned at the stake? Probably. Lucky for me, I was born 300 years after Inger. I feel sorry for her and the others who had the urge to forage but lost their lives for it. Not to mention the craftsmanship that comes after gathering these plants. Fermentation, pickling, drying, brewing, and refining. Traditional techniques that have nearly disappeared with recent generations. Understandably so—those of us born after World War II in the West have never needed to collect herbs to cure migraines or pickle chokeberries on our way to work just because they contain vitamin C and antioxidants. You can buy those at the pharmacy or even at the grocery store. Besides, we had other things to do. Playing The Sims 2, feeding our Tamagotchis, or building a Porsche 911 in Lego.

But maybe it’s not so pointless after all. If you take the cucumbers you bought at the farmers' market—from that little farm whose name you’ve already forgotten—put them in a jar with a tablespoon of salt, and wait a week, before you know it, you’ve conjured up enzymes, vitamin K2, antimicrobial substances, and a flavor even more complex than if you ate them raw. The fermentation liquid can be boiled down into a broth and used as a base for ramen. I don’t know where your drive lies, but I’m sure there’s a sense of mastery in you somewhere.

Just as I sneak through the forest searching for treasures, I also have a drive to create—especially through storytelling. Creating something visual, trying to show what a feeling feels like. Often by digging into history to craft a narrative from what once was.

Tonight, there’s a solar eclipse. In Norse mythology, they believed the sun god would punish humanity for its misdeeds, darkening the world and bringing disaster. We’ll see what happens. Either way, the birch buds will sprout, the dandelions will spread as they please, and the wild apple tree at Huk will bloom into bitter cider apples. Maybe it's time to thank Inger at the Midsummer bonfire and see if you, too, carry a glimpse of her healing spirit.