Summer is prime time for gathering and baking camas across the Pacific Northwest. Native people usually harvest – then bake - the plant’s bulbs, as part of their First Foods menu.
And there was even a “bake-off” held outside Eugene, recently.
With shovels and digging sticks, members of the Traditional Ecological Inquiry Program unearthed dozens of camas bulbs from a former ash tree forest on the outskirts of west Eugene. Operated through the Long Tom Watershed Council, TEIP educates young Native people on traditional practices, which includes First Foods.
14-year-old Daniel Morrison said TEIP leader Joe Scott had already shared some things about camas.
“Joe told me it’s supposed to be called like the Native potato. And he said it tastes really good.”
When asked about his expectations about the camas bake, Morrison said he hoped it went really well, “and that we don’t charcoal them.”
The heartbreak of “charcoaled” camas is crushing, given the time, labor, and mystery of what happens inside the oven’s sealed layers.
The group met the next day to assemble their camas ovens: shallow pits in the ground, where fire-heated rocks are strewn.
TEIP leader and Siletz tribal member Joe Scott described how he’ll layer his packets of leaf-wrapped camas bulbs.
“Here’s what I’m gonna do…I’m gonna throw the wet sword ferns on top of this, bunch of water, like a couple buckets of water after the maple leaves, and then a layer of skunk cabbage leaves,” he said, observing various piles of materials. “Put the packets on top of that, and then the alder and the ferns and then all the stuff right here.”
Oh, and there’s mugwort, hazel, and bracken ferns in Scott’s recipe, too. The whole oven hissed with steam once the water hit the hot rocks.
Nearby, the TEIP’s senior intern – who happens to be my kid, Samuel Bull of the Nez Perce tribe - assembled the second oven with mom's help. This was mostly ferns, maple leaves, and camas bundled in skunk cabbage leaves…with some carrots and potatoes thrown in for experimentation’s sake, all under canvas and four buckets of water.
“Okay, do you think that’s good?” Samuel asked his mom, Margaret.
“Yes, I would put the camas closer to the middle.”
Flash forward to 24 hours later. Bull’s group peeled back the canvas to reveal glistening and translucent camas bulbs.
“Looks good!” grinned Scott, as others oohed and aahed at the sight.
“Ohhh, look at those beauties!” said Samuel’s mom.
When asked to provide some flavor notes, Sam described the cooked camas as really soft, sweet, and starchy.
“I’m so happy. Wow.”
And yes, Bull’s potatoes and carrots came out well, too.
Scott’s batch baked for nearly 26 hours, and had a small fire burning atop his oven for part of that time. At first there was a little concern as a few bulbs are hardened and dark…but then when the rest were unearthed…
“They’re…perfect,” nodded Scott, with a smile of relief. “They’re like a sweet gumdrop.”
The longer bake means Scott’s camas came out more caramelized and sweeter. But at the end of the day, Scott said the real success of the event was creating community.
“None of these things happen in isolation,” he told the TEIP crowd. “There are just so many caring, loving, passionate, compassionate people who come together to make things like this happen.
“Hopefully people will be coming here in a hundred years making camas, and being like, ‘I heard the story of when they used to come and do this, and they would just turn it into briquets.’”
So no charred, rock-hard camas from this bake-off. Just relief, good memories, and the continued practice of a Native tradition that goes back generations.
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