A contemporary inventory of gathered wild food plants in Liguria and Piedmont (NW Italy) and its implications for the in-situ conservation of plant genetic resources
This study integrates ethnobotanical data from Liguria and Piedmont to demonstrate that the erosion of foraging knowledge threatens the in-situ conservation of crop wild relatives, arguing that ethnobotanical surveys should be routinely incorporated into national inventories of plant genetic resources.
Original paper licensed under CC BY 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). This is an AI-generated explanation of the paper below. It is not written or endorsed by the authors. For technical accuracy, refer to the original paper. Read full disclaimer
Imagine the natural world as a massive, ancient library. For decades, scientists have been busy cataloging the books on the shelves, creating detailed maps of where every species lives. They know exactly which "books" (plants) exist in the wild and where to find them. This is the work of conservationists who study Crop Wild Relatives (CWR). Think of these wild plants as the original, unedited drafts of our modern crops. Just as a writer might go back to an old draft to find a better plot twist or a stronger character, plant breeders look to these wild relatives to find genes that can help our food survive diseases, droughts, or changing climates.
However, there is a missing piece in this library story. Knowing a book exists on a shelf doesn't tell you if anyone is actually reading it. For a long time, scientists knew where a wild plant grew, but they didn't know if local people still knew how to find it, recognize it, or use it. This is where ethnobotany comes in. It's the study of how people interact with plants—what they eat, what they medicine, and what stories they tell about them. The big question is: If the people who know how to find these "genetic drafts" stop gathering them, do those plants still matter? And if the knowledge of how to use them disappears, do we lose the plants themselves, or just the recipe?
This paper, written by researchers Ajmal Khan Manduzai and Andrea Pieroni, dives into the hills and valleys of Northwest Italy (Liguria and Piedmont) to answer these questions. They didn't just look at maps; they talked to 48 people, from elderly farmers to young chefs, to see what wild plants are still being picked today. They found that while the "library" of wild plants is still there, the "readers" are disappearing fast. But here is the twist: the plants that are being saved aren't the ones being forgotten. The wild plants that are closest to our modern crops are the ones that are actually gaining popularity, while the truly "wild" ones are fading away. It turns out that the best way to protect these genetic treasures might not be a fence around a forest, but a market stall selling a salad mix called Preboggion.
The Great Italian Plant Hunt
The researchers gathered data from four distinct areas: the Chierese (near Turin), the province of Cuneo (with its high Alpine valleys), the Monferrato hills, and the Genoese area in Liguria. They interviewed 48 people aged 24 to 89, asking them about the wild greens they pick, how they cook them, and whether they are teaching the next generation.
The result was a list of 63 different wild plants. But the real story isn't just the list; it's the pattern behind it. The researchers discovered that 70% of the plants people are still gathering are actually Crop Wild Relatives. In fact, 46% of them are the exact same species as our farm crops, just growing wild. For example, the wild sea beet (Beta vulgaris subsp. maritima) is the ancestor of all the beets we eat today, and it is a core ingredient in the famous Ligurian wild-greens mix, Preboggion.
Here is the most surprising finding: Every single plant whose use is growing or staying strong is a Crop Wild Relative. Not one plant that has no cultivated cousin is gaining ground. The plants that are disappearing are the ones that are truly "wild" and have no connection to our dinner tables.
The "Ghost" of Knowledge
The paper paints a picture of a tradition that is fading like a ghost. In the past, children learned to pick wild greens by walking in the fields with their grandparents. Today, that chain is broken. In the Genoese area, for instance, the knowledge of how to identify wild greens has dropped from 100% in the older generation to just 45% in the younger one. People are afraid to pick plants because they don't want to make a mistake.
However, the plants themselves aren't dying out. The Preboggion mix is still sold in Genoa's markets, and the wild hop shoots (Luvertin) in Piedmont are still being gathered in huge quantities. Why? Because they have a name and a market.
- Preboggion is a specific, named dish. You can buy it ready-made.
- Luvertin (wild hop shoots) is a specific ingredient for pasta and risotto.
The researchers found that when a plant becomes part of a named product or a commercial dish, it survives. When a plant is just "something edible you might find," it gets forgotten. The market is keeping the plants alive, but it's doing a strange job: it's saving the product while the knowledge of how to find the plants in the wild is vanishing.
The Three Anchors of Survival
The study suggests that for a wild plant to survive the modern world, it needs one of three things:
- A Name: It must be part of a famous dish (like Preboggion) or a liqueur (like Genepì).
- Safety: It must be easy to recognize so people aren't afraid to pick it (like the distinct shape of hop shoots).
- A Market: There must be a way to sell it, whether at a farmers' market, a restaurant, or a distillery.
Plants that lack these anchors—like the poppy rosettes or the wild salsify—are the ones being left behind. They are the "orphan" plants of the genetic library.
The "Double-Edged Sword" of Commercialization
The paper warns that while the market is saving these plants, it's a risky strategy. When people buy a bag of Preboggion at the market, they get the greens, but they don't learn how to find them. The "skill" of foraging is being outsourced to vendors. This means that while the plants are still being harvested, the local knowledge of where they grow and how to distinguish them is disappearing.
The researchers also found that the plants that are doing well are often the ones that are easy to find near human activity—like the edges of vineyards or roadsides. The plants that are disappearing are often the ones that require a long hike up a mountain or a deep knowledge of specific meadows. The "experts" who know these remote plants are getting older (many are over 75), and if they don't pass the knowledge on, those specific populations of plants might lose their guardians.
What This Means for the Future
The authors argue that we need to change how we protect plant genetic resources. Instead of just making maps of where plants grow, we should look at who is using them. If a community is still gathering a plant, that plant is being "managed" by humans, even if they aren't farming it.
The paper suggests that ethnobotany (the study of human-plant relationships) should be a standard part of conservation plans. We need to know not just that a wild beet exists, but that a specific group of people in Genoa knows exactly where to find it and picks it every week. That human connection is what keeps the plant's genetic diversity alive and monitored.
In short, the wild plants of Italy are not in danger of vanishing from the earth, but they are in danger of vanishing from our culture. The plants that are tied to our food, our markets, and our names are the ones that will survive. The rest? They might become just dots on a map, waiting for someone to remember how to read them.
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