One afternoon, after he had been ranging in a larger circle around camp than usual, Tim came home with startling news.

“I found a banana tree,” he declared.

I poo-poohed his statement. “We are too far north for banana trees. They grow only in the tropical rain forest.”

Triumphantly he produced his booty. “Then what is this?”

I took what he offered, which did resemble a short, squat, green banana. I sniffed at it. The odor was fragrant and cloying.

“Where did you get this?” I asked.

“There’s a clearing about half a mile down the hill,” he said. “I found this under a tall, skinny tree growing there. There were some more on the ground, but they had turned black.”

I peeled back the hide. The fruit within was pale yellow. I tasted a morsel. It was sweet, unlike anything I had ever eaten. I could not tell whether I liked it or not, but of course that was no consideration.

“I think it’s a custard apple,” I said. “I remember hearing about them in school. The Lewis and Clark expedition came across them on their homeward trail and found them tasty. Some people call them pawpaws.”

Tim tasted the pawpaw and made a face. “I don’t like it.”

“You will cultivate a taste,” I said. “Were there green ones up in the tree?”

“I think so. I saw clusters of something there.”

“We’ll have to gather some green ones, as well as the ripe ones on the ground. Then we’ll have a supply that will last for weeks.”

Our most precious find, however, was the beechnuts. Mindful of my father’s admonition to seek fat at every opportunity, I remembered that nuts were rich in essential oil, which was the same thing. We kept our eyes peeled for walnuts, hickory nuts, even acorns, and found a few. But the squirrels had beaten us to most of those. It was Tim’s discovery of a small grove of beech trees that gave us our first ample supply of nuts. The trees were almost a mile from camp, so I didn’t go there until near the end of our stay. But one morning, when we had waked to find the ground and tree branches covered with a glistening white frost, Tim set off on his morning hunt and returned with his pockets crammed with soft round burrs. They were easily opened. Within were two heart-shaped brown nut morsels.

“The frost must have brought them down,” Tim said, “I went by there yesterday and didn’t notice a single nut.”

“Are there more?” I asked.

“Hundreds. But the birds and the squirrels are already at work.”

I gave him my extra shirt. “Use this as a sack. Fill it up as fast as you can. Those nuts on the ground will not last long. Hurry!”

He departed, and I limped off to gather pigweed for soup.

Yes, for the time we lived at the spring in the forest, we had nothing to complain about in the way of food.