wood sorrel

When I was a little girl I would take my books and journals into the woods. There was this magical spot with wild grapes, thick vines, blackberries, and a mossy floor to lie upon. I didn't need much more that this setting and words on a page. In this spot, I could be anywhere, in any time. Sometimes I was an Indian (I had not learned to say "Native American" yet) living off the land and other times I was Laura Ingalls Wilder searching the prairie for beauty. I had a creek for water and it was filled with crawfish. I would pop the wild grapes and berries into my mouth as I read about things like drying meat for pemmican.

Sometimes I made fairy salad with bits of things I knew were edible. Violet flowers, mint leaves, dandelion, and what I called "fairy bells", but now know as wood sorrel. It's a delicate yet decadent mix while on a mossy carpet with a daisy crown upon your head.

The Fresh Cut at Kimball House

I no longer live near the magical spot but the taste of wood sorrel always reminds me of carefree days of unbridled imagination where I made bouquets of lilacs, daisies, and violets. So yesterday when Miles Macquarrie handed me a chartreuse-colored cocktail with pureed sorrel called The Fresh Cut, I became Laura Ingalls and squealed "sorrel tastes like springtime!"

Wood sorrel is of the genus Oxalis, meaning "sour." A first nibble of wood sorrel tastes pleasantly tart and lemony with a slight feeling of what I call "spinach tongue," that sticky, weird feeling caused by oxalic acid. Raw or cooked, wood sorrel is bright and fresh.

Wood sorrel grows from mid-spring to fall in shady areas of undergrowth. It consists of three heart-shaped leaves on a slim stem and is often confused with clover, which has oval-shaped leaves. The leaves can be green, red, or purple but always grow three to a stem. Flowers can be yellow, white, or pink. The creeping perennial is dainty with long, slender stems that only fully extend in the shade. Sorrel is so delicate that the leaves fold in when in direct sunlight or during storms and the leaves and flowers close up when it is dark.

All parts of wood sorrel are edible: leaves, stems, flowers, and seed pods (which I called "fairy bananas" as a child). There are no poisonous look-alikes but those with kidney problems or gout should avoid eating because of the high oxalic acid content. Wood sorrel is high in vitamin c, potassium, and a great source of iron. Many have sojourned into the woods for sorrel to cleanse their bodies of heavy metals. I just think it tastes delicious. It is great raw in salads, almost eliminating the need for dressing with its zing. The leaves are wonderful in smoothies or as a pot herb. To make a lemony tea: pour boiling water over leaves and flowers and let steep for a few minutes. Mmm spring.

"A year is made up of a certain series and number of sensations and thoughts which have their language in nature. Now I am ice, now I am sorrel."

                                                     - Henry David Thoreau, Journal, June, 1857

The smell of rain

Petrichor is the sensation that hit me as I walked outside today. I stood tall and breathed in the air with purpose. Just a few weeks ago I came across this magical word on a piece of mixed media art and googled it. It filled me with joy to find that there is a word in the English language for something that evokes such strong emotion within me. I have been saying it aloud and repeating it in my mind in order to preserve it. Petrichor, petrichor... The revelation of this word is akin to finding out there is a word for the scent of an infant's head or your first love's scent. Petrichor is as much a feeling as a smell, a sixth sense. Smell evokes much deeper memories for me than other senses.

A smell/feeling is like a taste/feeling. When I have a bite of strawberry pie, I am not just tasting. Suddenly I am in a diner with my dad on a warm summer night after he says "let's go get strawberry pie." The memory and the taste cannot be separated. This is why I enjoy the arrival of spring and the foods it brings. They remind me of moments like shucking peas with my grandmother or hunting mushrooms as we camped in the mountains.

The smell of rain is an awakening of my soul. It reminds me to be grateful and be present.

From Henry David Thoreau's Walden: "A single gentle rain makes the grass many shades greener. So our prospects brighten on the influx of better thoughts. We should be blessed if we lived in the present always, and took advantage of every accident that befell us, like the grass which confesses the influence of the slightest dew that falls on it; and did not spend our time in atoning for the neglect of past opportunities, which we call doing our duty. We loiter in winter while it is already spring. In a pleasant spring morning all men's sins are forgiven."

That mossy earthy smell in a primeval way reminds me of my connection to the earth, my smallness. It conjures up moments of my childhood, the free days of wandering the woods and discovering its wonders. We take for granted the simple pleasures of stopping to catch crawfish or settling on a patch of moss to read a few chapters of a book. The smell of rain makes me olfactorily richer. It forces me to take pause and for a moment be enchanted.