My Great Aunt Esther: The Original Roadside Forager

My Great Aunt Esther didn’t just drive a car—she commanded it like a treasure-hunting pirate ship on wheels. Forget fancy purses or emergency makeup bags. In the trunk of her sedan? A shovel, a bucket, and a pair of mud-stained boots. That’s it. That’s the kit.

If you were ever her passenger, you knew to brace yourself. Because without warning, the car could lurch toward the ditch like a horse spotting home at feeding time. Brakes slammed, trunk popped, and out she went—boots on, shovel in hand, bucket swinging—straight into the hedgerow or some unsuspecting farmer’s forgotten field.

She wasn’t hunting for treasure chests or buried gold. No, Aunt Esther was after plants. The kind of plants other people overlooked but she treated like royalty. Have you ever noticed a patch of trees or odd flowers smack dab in the middle of a field? That’s not random—it means a house once stood there. Aunt Ester knew that was prime digging ground for daylilies, daffodils, rhododendrons, and any other “orphaned” beauty that needed rescuing.

And berries? Don’t get me started. She practically had a GPS in her head for blackberries, blueberries, elderberries, and raspberries. Only problem? An elderberry bush in bloom is easy to spot in spring, but by midsummer it blends in like camouflage. So what did she do? Left markers. The woman was running a personal berry treasure map across half the county.

And it wasn’t just about filling her pantry. Aunt Esther was basically the Martha Stewart of roadside décor long before Pinterest boards were a thing. Bittersweet berries for autumn wreaths? Check. Winterberries and holly for Christmas centerpieces? You bet. If it bloomed, fruited, or looked halfway decent in a mason jar, it was fair game.

So the next time you’re driving a back road and see a random clump of flowers or shrubs standing proud in a field, tip your hat. Someone like Aunt Esther probably stomped through there once upon a time, boots caked in mud, bucket brimming with whatever treasure she yanked from the earth.

Because that’s the thing—possibility is everywhere. A ditch can hold your next bouquet, an abandoned homesite can be your secret perennial nursery, and a tangle of weeds might just be tomorrow’s pie filling. And I have taken after her too. The rose bush in my flower garden I sourced from a large hedge in front of a store where I worked nearly 20 years ago. I took a new green shoot, dipped it in rooting power and planted it. The day lilies I have were planted at the foot of a tree at the edge of our property when we moved here. I dug those up and put them in my flower garden and that is where they have been ever since. I found ferns in the woods and planted them along the base of the foundation in the front of the house. And I was given just a few vinca minor from a friends patch and now 20 years later it stretches under the huge maple trees in the front yard. And the coolest thing is that I have shared those things. A young woman who just moved to town posted she was trying to find plants and I gave her a volunteer rose bush and a volunteer azalea too.

So maybe toss a “forager’s kit” in your own trunk—shovel, bucket, boots. Who knows? You might just find your own version of Aunt Esther magic waiting on the side of the road.