Finding wild ramps (I think) on a strange and beautiful hike

We stood at the top of a steep hill, just off an abandoned railroad track. This was the spot. I had noticed it from the road and had a feeling we'd find ramps here. I looked around: no pines (ramps dislike the acidic soil pines grow in). A corroded pipe jutted out from the embankment near the street, allowing a stream to pass underneath and into the tiny valley. Ramps grow in such moist soil.

Paddy and I climbed down, digging our heels in with each step. Once down, we had to cross a bridge made by a fallen tree to get to the other side of the stream. It was about six feet up and Paddy carefully balanced his way across, while I followed behind.

On the other side, we began to roam.

Paddy found an uprooted oak tree and I told him that some people believe such roots are the best place to look for rare rocks and long-ago buried treasures. He went to work poking his hand into the roots, searching for his treasure.

We soon continued on and I noticed some light green leaves, in a small patch, poking from the ground. I immediately knew they were ramps. I snapped one at the root and smelled. Ramps are a wild leek and they smell like onions. I smelled onion.

I looked around and saw a few other patches. I dug up a few plants in each, careful to leave enough to go to seed, so they could produce more later on. I stuffed the ramps in my backpack next to some garlic mustard I had already picked and we moved on towards the culvert that Paddy wanted to check out.

The ramps were the climax of a strange hike, marked by beautiful and weird sights, like a miniature forest of tiny white flowers ...

and a root that looked like a giant snake ...

and the abandoned house crushed by a tree, set right in the middle of the woods ...

and a sea of mesmerizing plants growing from the leaf litter ...

Finding ramps would have been a perfect finish and I had big plans. I wanted to pickle them with some fiddleheads I plan to pick in a couple of days. We quickly headed home, with Paddy in the lead.

My plans lasted the whole way, until we reached home. This was when I called out to Lisa.

"I found ramps!"

She was on the couch with Gabo sleeping on her chest. I brought her in one to smell.

"Smells like onion, right?"

"I don't smell onion," she said.

What did she mean? How could she not smell onion?

I smelled it again. The scent was not as pronounced as when I picked it in the woods, but I smelled onion.

But now, I needed to be sure. Lily of the Valley looks like ramps and is poisonous. I read online that sometimes when you pick ramps with garlic mustard, the onion scent is from the garlic mustard, not the ramps. "So be careful" was the message.

I wasn't so sure anymore.

I grabbed one of my books. It said that ramps have a red or purple color at the base. Mine were pure white; it was not looking good. I decided to bag the "ramps" for the day. Tomorrow, I would bring them to my father-in-law, Thom Smith, a nature writer who lives in Pittsfield. He'd know.

To be continued ...