Hi, I am Mrs Nettle.
You probably do not know much about me yet. But I am here. My kind and I have always been here, for as long as I can remember. Hiding, not bothering anyone, living our lives.
Our lives might be similar to yours, only perhaps a bit slower. You see, we do not rush. We observe. We are present in the moment. I think you should try it. I think it would be good for you. Or at least, I think it would be, from observing your kind.
Oops. Did I just confess my guilty pleasure of watching you?
But do not worry, I do not mean anything bad by it. I really, really wish you all the best. Truly. This is why I decided to write to you. I hope that is all right. I just wanted you to know that we, you may call us Nettlekind, really do care about you and your kind. Because although you might sometimes think you are not important, you really are. You make an impact on the world without even knowing it.
But I will touch on that some other time. Maybe a few letters down the lane. You just wait. For now, I will simply talk about us, since you are only finding out about us this very minute. Believing that we exist is another matter, but anyway.
We are tiny beings, which is why it is so easy for us to hide. We are about 10 to 13 cm tall. We have a community here, and everyone has their place. Everyone is important, and we could not live without each other.
I think the same might be true for you, but then again, let us talk about that another time.
So let this first letter begin where most good things begin: outside, in the grass, with a basket in hand, and no particular hurry.
I do love going outside and letting my mind travel far and wide while I walk among the trees.
First, I observe the plants. Their textures, their little leaves, the way they lean, curl, stretch, and appear. Then, sooner or later, I notice my common companion: the dandelion.
This cheerful flower always brings me joy. It pops up almost anywhere, really, wherever it is needed most. Dandelion loves being useful, though I am not sure it understands just how practical and resilient it really is. It has long been known for its healing ways, but it does other quiet work too. Its strong root makes a way in the soil for air, water, and other roots to follow.
Today, I picked only the flowers into my basket.
They gleamed like sunshine and released a sweet, bitter scent. A little like your cup of coffee, perhaps, with a pastry on the side. All right, not quite the same, but the experience is similar.
I hurried back to my tree stump home with my basket full of gold. This is the only time you might see me rushing, actually, when I rush out of anticipation.
As soon as I got home, I tipped everything onto my wooden kitchen counter. I washed the flowers with spring water, only lightly, without disturbing too much of their pollen dust. Then I placed them into my pot and poured in another jug of spring water.
I fired up the stove with dried fir needles, which always seem to spark a little magic into my cooking. I put the pot over the fire, covered it with a lid, and let the flowers simmer for about an hour or so.
This is when I paused and let my mind wander for a bit.
And this is how my dandelion syrup ritual begins: with dreams, steam, and a sweet, bitter aroma.
Hmm.
After a while, I strained the wonderful golden decoction and put the flowers into my compost. Then I added sugar crystals traded from the ants.
This is the only time I borrow man-made sugar. Spring honey belongs to the bees, and at this time of year they are only just recovering from winter.
The ants, however, are always open to negotiation. Or at least they pretend not to be, which is almost the same thing.
I cooked the syrup for another hour and wondered whether it might be time to pull out the grass-weaving project I had started the other day. I debated this for a while, but then a little bird stole my attention.
The melody he created left me quietly in awe. I thought he really should join the chorus, but then I remembered he once told me he is already in the band as it is.
Anyhow, I poured rhubarb juice into the pot and removed it from the fire. Then I let it sit, watching it thicken and slowly turn into something almost like honey.
And yes, it is a little like honey.
When I tried some, hope filled my heart, because summer suddenly felt a little nearer. It was sweet, rich, slightly tangy, and golden.
A little like Mr Dandelion, if I am honest.
If you are curious to make forest dandelion honey yourself, here is the recipe adapted for your use. The amounts are much, much bigger, simply because my own version would not even fill one of your jars.
Forest Dandelion Honey
You will need:
350g dandelion flowers
juice of 1 lemon
1kg sugar
1 litre water
Use only the yellow petals if you would like a gentler, less bitter syrup.
Follow the instructions from my story above. Simmer the flowers in water first, then strain the golden decoction. Add the sugar and cook again until the syrup begins to thicken.
To test whether it is ready, drizzle a little onto a plate that has been chilled in the freezer. If it settles and thickens to something like runny honey, it is ready.
You do not have to wait a day for it to cool as I do. For your kitchens, I would pour the syrup into sterilised jars while it is still hot, then seal them carefully. Once opened, keep the jar in the fridge.
This goes very nicely on toast.
With warmth,
Mrs Nettle
