There is a particular sort of morning in late March — not quite winter's end, not yet spring's real commotion — when you step outside and the whole garden seems to be holding its breath. Then you look down. The cleavers have been threading themselves through the dead stems for weeks already, with that cheerful velcro impertinence. The violets are flaring purple in the lawn. At the base of what looked like bare soil a fortnight ago, the first crinkled leaves of lemon balm are unfurling like small green hands.
This is the moment the old herbalists lived for. Not July's lush abundance when everything clamors for attention — but this quieter, more urgent season when the first medicines arrive tender and potent, with a narrow window to meet them properly.
I have spent the past week with all three of these plants — watching the cleavers and taking enough for now and leaving much more to mature, picking violet flowers for drying, and noting where the lemon balm is pushing back up. (It has a habit of wandering, you know…)
Here is what I what I want to share about them – and what I am doing with mine.