A welcome spring tonic

It’s been soooooo cold; record low temperatures, frost as recent as last night!  The weather is a fickle partner in the garden this spring but an unwitting friend to those of us in the midst of major horticultural mayhem – that is, yet another backyard do-over.

Just about a year ago we learned that the 1+ acre of carefully tended gardens anchored by a lovely Victorian homesteaded at the turn of the last century on the steep hillside behind our little West Seattle Cape was about to become an “urban infill neighborhood”.   The project, slated to commence this May, would see the development of 5 houses, an instant neighborhood; urban density with a “green” footprint.  While I didn’t look forward to the process, the noise and the upheaval, in my city heart I know that this is the path to containing sprawl.  Looking around at other projects in the neighborhood I knew we were lucky to have the environmental consciousness and considered aesthetic of this particular developer – no Mediterranean McMansions in my backyard, thank you very much!

But I would miss the beautiful trees and established landscaping which were to be sacrificed in the execution of the project; of course, since the death of the garden’s master some years ago the weeds had definitely gained the upper hand on this formerly lovingly tended patch of Eden.  These days, Himalayan blackberries, morning glory, out-of-control bamboo and weeds threatened the neighborhood at large while providing habitat to a considerable population of “urban wildlife” – read: RATS!  That I wouldn’t miss in the least and so I set about revising my back garden to accommodate the five new neighbors I was about to get surrounding and peering down into my little slice of heaven.  Conscientious garden professional that I am (!), I knew that the softest blow to my many plants about to be relocated called for careful advance preparation and planning.  And so last fall found me root-pruning, digging, heeling in and establishing a nursery bed in  anticipation of some serious botanical musical chairs.

Imagine my chagrin when, in the wake of the great housing bubble burst of ’07-’08, the entire development project was put on hold and new tenants received a 15 month lease!  My poor destroyed backyard haven – so much for advance preparation€¦  Gamely, I decided to proceed with my plans for the altered back garden – what else could I do, I had destroyed the existing landscape – and set about making my changes.

Out came our beloved “raft”, (really a tiny ground level wooden deck adrift in a tangled sea of ornamental grasses), home to many a relaxing cocktail and quiet conversation accompanied only by birdsong and a lazy cat lolling in the sun.  Ancient 12×12 timbers were carved out of the retained lower level to make room for a firepit and gabion bench seating area.  My husband and I labored, dug and hauled away debris in an attempt to organize an environment that would shelter us from the future neighbors and still provide the outdoor living space we had come to love; “despair” was a word often on my lips.

Cool days and plenty of rain has gentled the impact of this upheaval on my poor collection of now motley plants; really, the large smoke bush and espaliered apple tree didn’t ask to be summarily yanked out and relocated across the yard.  In the midst of the “work area” tarps lay covered in clumps of freshly dug perennials and clots of bulbs (maybe the ‘Globemaster’ Alliums won’t notice that they’ve spent the last week in a plastic crate tucked under a shrub!).

Don’t get me wrong, I’m very excited by the prospect of the new landscape – crackling midsummer evening fires,  my new enlarged vegetable garden – we even made room for an even tinier “raft” set in the midst of a garden with a simplified plant palette that promises fewer garden chores and even more relaxation.  But let me tell you, in the meantime this is a lot of work and we sorely feel the protest of our out-of-shape, middle aged, winter-soften muscles.   So, in a fit of urban foraging and in an attempt to shore up our beaten bodies I carefully harvested the latest bumper crop of stinging nettles from the tangled weedy lot that is still next door and after some searching found a delicious recipe for a spring tonic nettle soup.  Rich in vitamins and minerals, nettles are said to be a nutritional powerhouse, just the thing to break winter’s bleak hold on body and spirit – although you have to wonder who discovered the culinary virtues beyond the angry sting of their prickly leaves and stems.  One sip of the steaming, emerald green, velvety goodness in our bowls at dinner immediately began to restore our good humor.

Today, the sun is out and the coming week promises (please, oh please) to bring some welcome warmth.   Time to post this and make some nursery visits -  I’m on the hunt for Sunshine Blue Blueberries and a beautiful, big clump of Rhubarb!  And, it’s time to plant Fava Beans!!!

Spring Tonic Stinging Nettle Soup
1 large paper bag of carefully harvested spring nettles*
2 T butter
1 small onion, minced
1 stalk celery, minced
1 medium potato
3 cups or so chicken or vegetable broth
1/2 small lemon

Melt butter in a large skillet and saute onion and celery until tender but not browned.  Dice potato and add to skillet to soften thoroughly.  Taking good care with tongs and gloves, add washed nettle leaves to the softened vegetables and gently stir until wilted.  Add broth and simmer for 15 minutes.

Working in small batches liquefy the soup in a blender to a smooth velvety texture and return to a saucepan to reheat.  Season to taste with salt and pepper and brighten the flavor with a generous squeeze of fresh lemon juice.  Serve garnished with sour cream, chopped herbs, and/or toasted croutons.

* Armed with long sleeves and garden gloves and a pair of scissors, snip the top 6-8″ of the tender new spring growth of stinging nettles, dropping them immediately into the paper bag.  CAUTION: They don’t call them “stinging” nettles for nothing!  Until the greens have been blanched or cooked in some way the tiny hairs that cover the plants cause a very painful irritation.