Image © Kaitlynn Copithorne
A month ago the first shoots began to churn and pierce the crust of the winter earth. By now, the land is a plush carpet of fresh green, and I have stopped buying vegetables.
In another month there will be dozens of species to forage every day, but at the start of April just a few of the most beloved plants still account for most of my foraging. These are perennials whose tall stems died back last winter and were at last snapped and cleared by the winds, but whose roots and rhizomes reserve a little energy from last summer’s sun beneath the frosts, and put out secret subterranean buds before that frost has broken. From each hidden crown these species make spreading patches on the woodland floor, growing towards one another until together they fill the space, like a repeating pattern in a print.
The first plant I ever foraged was nettle. In places where, later in the year, it will make formidable stinging brakes (a "brake" is an impenetrable thicket, which puts the brakes on foragers), it is now young and soft, mostly fresh green but on some slopes tipped with the rich brown of a furry creature. The metamorphosis to mature plant happens quickly – and brings with it the development of gritty particles of calcium carbonate which some say irritate the kidneys – so the scramble to make the most of the young plants feels like a race against spring, and brings home how fast it can gallop onwards.
Nettles have one of the most extensive histories as a medicinal and food plant in Europe, being part of the old English Nine Herb Charm, and commonly used for lactation, inflammation and to ‘cleanse the blood’. The plant is an exceptional source of plant protein, as well as iron and vitamin c, and as such has been in continuous use as a food plant in the British isles, becoming particularly important in times of food scarcity. Nettles are planted in memorials to the Irish famine and are said (with some justification) to appear first on St Patrick’s day – picking them as a young child we sung the rebel song “Down by the Glenside” – “I met an old woman/A-plucking young nettles…” Gloves are needed if you hate the stings, though only the thickest will really protect you, and the young shoots can be carefully picked with bare fingers and scissors.
Next comes ground elder, which grows in woods and hedgerows. Its leaves look not only like those of the (unrelated) elder bush, but also like low-growing celery, to which the plant and its flavour is related. It was probably introduced by the Romans, was cultivated by monks and nuns – giving rise to another of its common names, bishopsweed - and is often found near monastic ruins. It has been used to treat gout and arthritis, earning it the names “goutweed” and “herbgerard” – St Gerard being the patron saint of gout sufferers. It is a common plant in any place with an unbroken history of uncultivation, including hedges, margins and commons. It should be identified by its leaf, and not its pretty lacy flower, which are similar to that of its deadly poisonous relations. I eat ground elder all year round, but it’s best in spring when it’s tender raw as well as cooked.
Another plant at its best in early spring is common hogweed, which will eventually be too tough and tall to eat whole (its robust hollow stems are used as peashooters and toy swords). It is one of the most important plants for pollinators in the UK – its broad flat flower heads, known as ‘gypsies’ lace’, make feeding tables where beetles, hover-flies and other insects jostle and debauch themselves on warm summer evenings. To attract such swarms, the flowers produce a scent with base notes of putrefaction, and this adds a shadow to the plant’s reputation – it is one of many flowers known as mother-die, thought unlucky to bring inside the home. No such beliefs have ever touched the consumption of the leaves: the word ‘borscht’, now so widely applied to many kind of vegetable soup, comes from the Slavic word for hogweed. All parts of the plant can cause photosensitivity, though I have never experienced this, and the threat is not on the scale of its notorious introduced relation giant hogweed. Pick in the evening, or use gloves, if concerned. It is not eaten raw without first fermenting. I add the leaves to most things I cook, but the furry young stalks, and later the unfurling flower heads, are particularly delicious steamed whole.
Amongst all these, where I live, grow both wild garlic and the introduced three-cornered leek which is outcompeting it in many habitats. Both plants add an onion and garlic-like flavour to any recipe where alliums are required, and eating the leeks where they compete with garlic is a positive ecological intervention.
Buckwheat and Nettle risotto with hogweed tips
Something like this variation of risotto occurs in some parts of northern Italy. The earthy flavours of the buckwheat, nettle and hogweed go brilliantly together.
You’ll need:
One onion
Olive oil
A handful of ground elder
500g toasted buckwheat, or alternatively pearl barley or brown risotto rice
Two pints seasoned stock or water
Three compressed pints of nettle tops
A couple of handfuls of hogweed shoots
Nutritional yeast (optional)
Toasted hazelnuts (optional)
Dice an onion and chop the ground elder. Put a large pan on on a medium heat and add a drizzle of olive oil. Soften the onion and add the ground elder.
When the onion is translucent, add the buckwheat to the pan and let it toast a little. Before it starts to burn, add vegetable stock, enough to cover the buckwheat over half its depth. Simmer on a low heat with the lid on, stirring occasionally, and add more stock or water if all becomes absorbed.
When the buckwheat is tender, throw in the nettles bit by bit until they are all wilted into the grains. Add more stock, making a channel for some to flow down to the bottom of the pan, and scatter the hogweed shoots over the top, replacing the lid and letting them steam until fully wilted and tender.
Serve with nutritional yeast flakes or toasted hazelnuts if you have any, and another drizzle of high polyphenol olive oil for still more earthy intensity.
Spring green sauce
I use this as a sauce for pasta, and it is also excellent over falafel in pitta bread, or anywhere you might use aioli.
You’ll need:
One block of tofu
One squashed-down pint of nettles
Half a squashed-down pint of wild garlic or wild leeks
Half a squashed-down pint of ground elder
20 ml robust olive oil
A handful of sorrel or a spoon of lemon juice
A pinch of coarse salt
A squeeze of lemon juice (optional)
Blend the tofu and olive oil and lemon juice if using.
Add the leaves little by little – add a splash water if the mixture is too thick (depending on how juicy the leaves are).
I make enough for a two or three days – freeze if you make too much to use in this time.
Wild herb tabbouleh
Here is a great dish to celebrate days that at last feel warm enough for salad.
You’ll need:
250g bulgar, quinoa or couscous prepared according to the packet (cooking time depends on the cut of the wheat).
Four medium diced tomatoes
Five chopped spring onion, or a fist full of wild garlic or wild leek
Large bunch of ground elder - hand-chopped or lightly blended
½ cup lemon juice or bunch of wild sorrel
½ cup high polyphenol/wild harvested olive oil
Salt and pepper
Gorse flowers, to garnish
Stir everything together, adding more lemon or olive oil to taste.
Chickpeas, tofu or cashew feta can be added to make a full meal. Sprinkle the serving bowl with gorse, or use it to garnish individual helpings.
Dr Brigid Lowe writes about myth and nature, particularly plants, in fiction and prose. Her novel The Bloody Branch, based on the Welsh myth of a woman made of flowers, was published in 2026 by Vintage. Shiver, her memoir of starting a new life swimimg through 1000 lochs, will be published by Elliott and Thomson in September 2026.