Springtime for Horta
You can’t tell what’s in this bag from looking, but this weekend I went to the front garden and collected a ton of wild edibles that had taken up residence (“volunteered” in horticulture parlance). There’s some nipplewort, some bittercress (both covered in the first volume of our ebook, WILD FLAVOR), some daisy greens, some dandelion leaves. No chickweed yet — still too early, but I did toss in a few collard leaves from some of the plants that had overwintered in our lovely, mild, Pacific Northwest climate.
I feel super lucky this year to live in a bioregion where spring greens *really do* show up around the beginning of February. It adds a lot of cachet to the idea of the celebration of midwinter (Imbolc, Candlemas, St. Brigid’s Day, Groundhog’s Day), and to the growing regard I have for marking the seasons via sensory, organoleptic experience.
There is very little that’s more miraculous and worth celebrating than the ability to go for a short walk and harvest a bagful of healthful ingredients that required essentially no input from me. Talk about a gift!
There’s also the tradition of doing divination at this time of year (thus Punxatawney Phil and his shadow, or lack thereof). I have to wonder whether the presence of spring greens has something to do with this: more rosettes of green peeking out from the ground portend a fertile spring ahead, blackberry leaf shoots sauteed in olive oil, maple blossom relish, nettle gnocchi and miner’s lettuce.
In the Mediterranean, a tradition of foraging for spring greens manifests in almost every culture, from Greek horta to Sicilian scacce. My bag of greens is getting the spanakopita treatment — they’ll be cleaned, seasoned, mixed with feta and stuffed into filo dough (don’t worry, I’ll post the recipe). I’ll savor their tangy, slightly bitter chewiness and thank the plants for everything they provide.
Whatever way you choose to celebrate this time of year, may your path be lined with gifts and your future with abundance.
