Slightly Sooty Salad: First taste of spring

Before the long, dark New York winter, it’s advised to take some bits of the warmth and joy of summer and fall and stash them away. The winter comes, and joy doesn’t disappear, but it spends too much time indoors, or it gets bundled up in many layers to protect it against the biting wind. You can take out the little, soiled kernels of your buried joy and nibble on them from time to time when it’s necessary. But by the time March arrives, stores are running low and you’re scraping around in the corners for a kernel. Is that a kernel, or is it a crusty crumb from last week’s dinner?

It’s a Tuesday in the second half of March, 30 degrees with a stiff wind carrying the harbor’s white-capped waters to my doorstep, and even the crusty crumbs have been cleared from their corners. I’m forced to go looking around outside for sustenance. It looks to me like everything is still dead, but I shuffle through the gates of Green-Wood Cemetery with a small, bundled-up hope that I might find something to chew on and write about.

Things change quickly once I’m inside. Apparently, when the ground is made almost entirely of soil and plant material, and the soil and plants are not trod upon relentlessly by passing people, bikes, and dogs, the opportunities for survival and growth are much greater. Even with high temperatures still in the thirties, there are early spring specialists that have somehow already been able to push out new green leaves, and others that have crouched low and inconspicuous through the winter and remain green.

I enter the cemetery at Fourth Avenue and 35th Street and walk east. About two thirds of the way toward Fifth Avenue from the entrance, there’s a row of short, squat yarrow plants next to the sidewalk, about four inches tall at this point in the year. The leaves of yarrow are very distinctive, each one like a miniature, narrow, feathery fern frond. From what I have read, yarrow is mostly thought of as a medicinal herb, but I think the flavor is interesting enough to warrant an exploratory taste. I think the strength of the flavor varies depending on where on the plant the leaves come from, the time of year, as well as the particular plant or growing conditions. These statements are probably true for many green plants. The flavor of yarrow reminds me somewhat of fennel but is stronger, sometimes a little bitter. The Forager Chef website has an interesting recipe for penne pasta with chopped yarrow, chili, and garlic. I graze on a couple sprigs and pocket a few more to brew a cup of tea. It didn’t taste like much. I think I needed a few more leaves.

As I continue on my way east, passing underneath Fifth Avenue, I head toward the hills overlooking the southern edge of Green-Wood’s largest pond, named Sylvan Water. I am greeted there by a migrating American woodcock. I haven’t ever seen one before, and I’m struck by its strangeness and beauty. The bird is on the other side of a large tree trunk and watches me closely with large eyes over its oversized, unique beak. It waddles around the tree trunk to keep the tree trunk between it and me, as I try to get a better look. I trust that the birds know when spring has come. This feels like a sign that I am in the right place at the right time.

At the crest of the hill there, I find what looks like chives growing out of the ground. I know they are edible from past experience but can’t remember if the plant is chives, wild onion, or something else. I eat them and they are tasty, kind of a green, slightly sweet, garlic taste. My phone identification app says it’s wild garlic. Given the shape of the leaves — tubular and hollow as opposed to flat and solid — I can rule out wild onion. The only other possibility would be chives. Chives would have a milder onion flavor, as opposed to the garlic bite I experienced, so I’m confident in the wild garlic identification.

I stroll on, following the woodcock as it flits from one section to the next with remarkable speed. I sample dandelion and plantain rosettes under a tree, newly hatched ivy-leaved speedwell, and then cleavers, the surprise favorite considering their tiny, hooked bristles. By the time it was over, I was happy enough to claim to be thankful for the changing seasons.