The cats were delighted when I called for them to come hike on the mountain with me this morning. They always are. It’s been a difficult year and a half on our mountain since the hurricane, but a warm day and a walk in the woods still feel like a small celebration.
Early spring foraging is a bit of a yearly contest for me: how soon can I gather enough wild food for a meal? I can usually begin eating from the mountain sometime in March, but exactly when varies from year to year.
Today was the day.
Along the path I noticed peanut shells scattered in the woods and laughed to myself. I’ve been putting peanuts — and sometimes raisins — out on the deck railing all winter for the crows. Apparently some of their snacks have been carried off and eaten in quieter places.
The holler was full of sound: the wild, echoing calls of a pileated woodpecker somewhere deeper in the trees. When I crossed the stream we call Big Sister, I could see that the passage through the slough still needs rebuilding. Hurricane Helene tore through this mountain and destroyed many things. Some of them we’ve repaired. Some are waiting their turn.
It took longer than usual today to gather enough greens for a meal. Early March can be stingy. But slowly my foraging bag began to fill.
I went out specifically looking for hairy bittercress (Cardamine hirsuta), which is almost always the first edible plant I harvest each year. Despite the name, it’s never bitter in the spring. The plants grow in neat little rosettes, and after a rain or snowmelt they pull easily from the soft ground roots and all. I’m technically fine with eating the roots, but they tend to hold onto mud with determination, so once I get them home I usually snip off the rootball with kitchen scissors during the first wash.
While gathering bittercress I also looked for chickweed, one of my favorite early greens. Chickweed is sweet, crisp, and plentiful — but in our holler it grows tightly mixed with fringed phacelia, which is not edible. Once both plants bloom, telling them apart is simple, but it’s far too early for flowers. After years of foraging here, though, I know a few spots close to the house where phacelia rarely grows, and from there I carefully harvested a small handful of chickweed.
Near the fire pit I found several clusters of dandelions. The leaves are still tiny — none bigger than my fingers — but they looked tender and perfect. Dandelions seem not to mind the slightly more alkaline soil created by wood ash, and they are famously full of vitamins and minerals. Actually, most of the plants I harvest in these woods are.
Finally, I added a few young Rumex leaves to the bag. Depending on the species and conditions they can be pleasantly sour, and the larger they grow the tougher they become, so I pick them young and choose only the most tender leaves. In a salad they’re especially pretty, with their purple midribs.
When I got home I scrubbed out the sink and gave everything several baths of cool water to rinse away the mud and grit. In the photo below you can see my harvest: Rumex leaves at the top, then (moving right) dandelion greens, chickweed, and bittercress.
If you look closely — in the middle of the plate — you might notice a single tiny purple bloom from a stem of dead nettle I picked. I had hoped to find more of those — or even a few spring beauties — but today they were nowhere to be found.
Soon, though.
I tossed my clean mountain greens with some tomatoes, black olives, and sunflower seeds, added a drizzle of avocado oil and lemon juice, and carried the bowl outside.
My first mountain salad of the year.
Today, I might be the luckiest woman on the planet.
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