drying nettles

The moment to forage for stinging nettles is early spring, while the tops are young and fresh. Heavy gloves and great respect for the plants are required. A friend on a nearby farm harvested some nettles to help me as I was convalescing after an illness, and later on we gathered a huge batch together. Infusions full of minerals are just the thing to give me strength. The old-timers would take bitters at this time of year, and wild stinging nettles grow just at the moment when we really need some good greens.

sun-dried-nettles

To preserve the nettles, I shake them out onto a cookie tray (to keep from getting stung), put my oven on its lowest temperature with the fan on, and pull them out when crispy-dry. Once dried or cooked the sting is removed, happily. Or, if you catch a good sunny day, you can lay them out on a clean sheet and turn them now and then til they are crisp.

Fully dry in a glass jar they will keep for a lot longer than any of them ever last at our house, certainly past the brief autumn harvest and through to the following spring. You can make fresh nettle soup and nettle tinctures too. Foraging and preserving nettles for high-mineral wild infusions and medicinal tisanes is a very old practice. I’m ever so fond of it.

dried-nettles

elderberrying

Whenever I become familiar with a plant I begin to see it everywhere, ubiquitous, like the name of a star who appears everywhere you look. Each year the elderberry eluded me. I never knew it like I know the wild blackberry, sure of its stages, and though we knew where to find elders from gathering elderflower in the spring, we’d return each summer to England long past berry season. This summer we were resolute. On a sunny afternoon the children and I called on the first plants we’d collected flowers from, along an old greenway near our old flat in London, where nettles grow tall and rich and blackberries line the path.

 elderberries © elisa rathje 2011

Abundance.

 elderberries © elisa rathje 2011

I was warned that elderberries are a bit poisonous raw, and so we still only imagine their flavour, though we’ve since heard that’s only the unripe ones. The bucketful we’ve picked are bound for a medicinal cordial, but may not make it past us to flu season. While the berries on the sunny side of the path were glorious black, in the shade there are green ones, there’s time yet to return for more elderberrying.

 elderberries © elisa rathje 2011

The elders grow tormentingly tall along our path, but we made a couple of friends, building at the end of a garden, who emerged with the perfect berry snips, and helped us forage a few extra umbels. Ever so kind! I spotted what I thought were plums high up, out of reach, and I’m delighted to hear they are likely damsons. My first glimpse of them. This is wild fruit I’ve only dreamt of in deep winter whilst poring over my copy of Hedgerow.

mirabelles © elisa rathje 2011

Our friends confirmed that we’d found a wild plum. Probably mirabelles, if Mark, the head gardener at River Cottage, can be trusted. He did just write their latest handbook, Fruit, which I must wrestle away from my tall girl so I can read it myself.

hawthorn berries © elisa rathje 2011

Our small girl was enchanted with the hawthorn berries and wanted to collect them. I’m hoping they will keep on the trees until we’re back in the countryside with our trugs and our preserving jars. I’ll be back soon to show you what I’m doing with all the wild food!

Before you go, subscribe to the appleturnover postcards, which will commence with this autumn’s equinox, in celebration of a year of homemade stories. I’ll be marking the anniversary with a gloriously delicious project that tells the story of how appleturnover came to be. Get the postcards to your inbox for a peek at what I’m plotting to learn to make in the coming months and to catch singular homemade projects appearing in the impending appleturnovershop.

salmonberries

Cold, wet spring pushed the berry season back, so the salmonberries are abundant for early summer.

salmonberry picking, animation, © elisa rathje 2008

Rubus spectabilis. They glow ruby and golden all through the lush pacific forests. Our walks are slowed to a berrying pace. When we lived here I drew them, I think they are such luminous wild things. It pleases me that they’ve never really been cultivated. Some say that they are named for their resemblance to salmon eggs. An important first berry of the year to indigenous people here, they fruit just ahead of red huckleberries. I’d love to know more about wild plants here, if I am very fortunate I can persuade my herbalist friend to take us on a foraging walk. Wish me luck.

salmonberry picking, animation, © elisa rathje 2008

Salmonberries are a childhood food to me, and I’ve never grown into preserving them as I have many other foraged foods. Yet. I’ve heard that they make a delicate jam, wine, or liqueur, perhaps like their relation, rubus chamaemorus, the cloudberry. (Oh! I didn’t realise that the cloudberry grows in Canada! I always think of it as distinctly Northern European. We adore the Finnish Lakka liqueur.) We were astonished to find the pink florets blooming along a lake near our cottage in Sussex, and so had the unexpected pleasure of following my Canadian coastal childhood practice of plucking off the petals and sipping the nectar, like so many hummingbirds.

wild garlic

We found something delicious growing in the old woodland. This is our favourite kind of walk, an edible one.

wild-garlic.jpg

Wild garlic.

garlic-meadow

An enormous patch of it. I’d never encountered it before, our dear friend recognised it. Early in the spring is the best time for it. Mind that it smells of garlic when crushed! You don’t want to eat Lily of the Valley or some other poisonous thing. We gathered a bundle, took it home, rinsed, chopped and threw it into some rice along with mushrooms and greens from the farm, sautéed in butter, garlic and lemon. Marvelous.

Now we’re familiar, I’ve spotted some growing in the garden. (We were also astonished to discover Salmonberries vibrantly in flower! Fellow Canadian!) We learned to recognise wild strawberry. Always lovely to have a forager along with us. Or a good book, we’ll bring River Cottage Hedgerow with us when we’re on our own. There’s a recommendation in it for Wild Garlic Pesto. I should think so.

nettle infusions

Our little one has a cold. I’m pleased to have the rosehip cordial around for her, and some homeopathic pulsatilla, and it’s excellent timing for some very cosy organic cotton pajamas to have shown up in the post for her today. Tomorrow I hope to pick up a whole chicken to make a broth, but for now, I’m making nettle infusions. Luckily our children like them. This is a great way to get vitamins and minerals, and very inexpensive – free if you harvest the nettles yourself. I tend toward the anemic side, so nettles are an excellent herb for me.

We put on heavy gloves in the spring or early autumn to gather the fresh new leaves of the stinging nettle. I lay them out on a tray and pop them in a low oven after we’ve finished baking something else. They dry quickly and lose their sting. Then we crush them into a jar to keep for infusing later. I put a cupful of dry nettles in a jar, and pour a few cups of boiling water over them, cover with glass or ceramic, and leave to infuse at least twelve hours, usually twenty-four. The infusion should be a very dark green. I love how blood-strengthening foods announce themselves with their dark colours.

nettles.jpg

Strain and drink it cool, or heat it up on a chilly day like this frosty one we’re having. It’s nice with lemon and a bit of sweetener, we use stevia. I sometimes use a french press for these kinds of infusions. My grandmother used to make nettle soup, and friends make nettle tortellini. Do you use nettles?

nettle-glass.jpg