When my daughter was 2 years old, she and I would walk through the winter woods and she learned the trees by their bark. In the spring, she learned the birds by their calls. Throughout the green seasons she learned the plants by their flowers, and – most important to Eva – she learned which plants she could eat. I have a photo of her from the early summer of that year, picking sheep sorrel leaves with a look of intense concentration.
These lessons were always playful, following Eva’s curiosity about the plants and animals living around us. I remember feeling a certain wonder at how quickly and easily she recognized the patterns of the plant world: leaves and thorns, petals and stems, roots and rhizomes. And like most young foragers I have known, the tart flavor of sheep sorrel (Rumex acetosella) was one of her favorites.
Sheep sorrel is actually a dock, a fact that becomes most apparent when it matures and grows branching clusters of green and reddish, short-stalked flowers on a stem 1 or 2 feet high. These blooms can be hard to recognize as flowers because they are so coarse and so tiny. Much more recognizable are the slender, long-stalked, spear-shaped leaves. They are entire (having smooth edges) save for two flanges or lobes, one on each side, that stick out from the base of the leaves like ears.
Once you recognize it, sheep sorrel is easy to find. It grows anywhere it can get enough sun and where soils have been disturbed. Look for it in so-called waste areas, lawns, and roadsides. But I think the best places to seek out sheep sorrel are gardens where the soil is moist, plants are well spaced, and gardeners will eye it with chagrin. There, sheep sorrel will be considered a noxious weed, and no one will mind if you help yourself to some generous handfuls. These will also be places where sheep sorrel grows the biggest. Drier, more crowded habitats still yield lots of sheep sorrel, but the stressful conditions lead to smaller, tougher plants that bolt quickly and aren’t as fun to gather or eat.
When gathering, I look for plants that haven’t started to grow a flower stalk yet and where most of the leaves crowd out from a little rosette-like clump from the soil. Bigger leaves are easier to harvest and often more tender. I tend to be a lazy forager, not doing much more processing than I have to, but I find it well worth the effort to remove the leaf blades from their long, fibrous, chewy petioles (leafstalks).
The tart, puckery flavor of sheep sorrel greens reminds me of a cross between rhubarb and lemon. Some gardeners may be familiar with sheep sorrel’s cultivated cousin, French or garden sorrel (R. acetosa), and if you are, you’ll know just how to use this plant in the kitchen. It makes a great addition to salads. I mix it in with milder greens so that the sorrel leaves make up about one-quarter of the mix. It makes an outstanding condiment for sandwiches, pureed or whole leaf. My favorite use, however, is in rich cream soups where the acid of the pureed greens lends the soup a dark olive color and piquant flavor. It stir-fries well, but be warned: the greens cook down a surprising amount, so you’ll need to gather lots of them.
My daughter is now 13 and no longer needs me to guide her woodsy rambles. Much of the time, she goes off on her own. She is a talented tracker and navigator. She loves the forest and knows it intimately. She still eats sheep sorrel greens. These days there is much hand-wringing concern about how to help future generations feel some kind of kinship and connection with the natural world. I think that sheep sorrel greens might be the perfect place to start.