Edible, medicinal, and aggressive, nettle is one of my favorite plants, now that I have established a relationship with it.
If you brush against the hairs on the stem of a nettle plant, they inject formic acid into the skin, causing a painful burning sensation. If, however, you grasp the stem firmly, the hairs fold over, and you don’t get stung. It takes a lot of concentration to reach your hand through the leaves without touching their undersides, which also bear stinging hairs. Therefore, when you work carefully, paying full attention to the movement of your hand among the leaves and pinching the stem deliberately, you may harvest with impunity. If your awareness falters, the plant lets you know. You may harvest nettles with gloves, but I like to do it bare-handed because I like how the plant communicates with me, providing feedback on my mental state.
The first time I tasted nettle tea, I didn’t particularly like its spinachy flaor, but it felt deeply nourishing when I swallowed. Although my taste buds did not crave more, the rest of my body did. I drank strongly brewed nettle tea several times a week for almost five years. It built up my blood when I was trying to conceive a child (a process that took a year and a half), it fed my growing baby when I was pregnant, and it helped keep up my milk supply when I was nursing. Instead of taking those constipating little iron pills during pregnancy, I drank nettles and took yellow dock tincture, both good sources of iron. My hematocrit, the scale that measures iron in the blood, was plenty high.
With this history, it’s no wonder I have a tender feeling toward the plant that many people consider a scourge because of its aggressive tendencies. You just have to work out a relationship with some plants in order to understand their good side.
See also the article Stinging Nettle.
