Ramps are the first green things to show their heads in spring in the Appalachian woodlands. They taste somewhat like an onion and smell somewhat like a skunk. They add a little life to a plate after a long dull winter of dried beans and wrinkled potatoes and wildlife.

Note the presidential dinnerware.

Fired bologna, fried potatoes, scrambled eggs and RAMPS--

Thank you, momma!

If your momma cooks ramps for you, she's a good woman.

If your girl friend likes ramps, marry her.

If you want to be excused from class for the whole day, eat a few raw ramps on your way to school as you hike through the woods.

Don't eat too many ramps if you are going on your first date. But if she says she doesn't like you--blame it on the ramps and you didn't need her anyway.

Don't leave a bucket full of fresh-dug ramps sit in the trunk of your momma's car for too long on a warm sunny day.

Above the surface, they look more like Lily-of-the-valley than an onion. Onions have round tube-shape leaves while ramps have flat leaves. But below the surface, they have a bulb like an onion. Eat the whole thing.

Richwood, West Virginia, which is a couple hollers away, is the ramp capitol. Check out their Feast of the Ramson, which occurs in March or April.

You have to know where and when to look for ramps. They hide in the woods and poke through the leaves in early spring. People who know where they grow will hide their patch like an old hippy guarding his marijuana plants or Guy hiding his 'shine still.

Plants that survive produce seeds each year. The seeds may hide for several years before germinating. They have learned to outsmart hunters who will go back to the same spot next year.