A sting in the tale: we really do need nettles

THE soil is beginning to warm up and it tempted me out to prepare a bed in the vegetable garden for sowing scallion seed.

I was weeding away, absent-mindedly, when I felt that familiar prickling, burning sensation.

I spend a lot of time outdoors.

I’ve done so all my life, so I’ve suffered more nettle stings than most people.

I located the nasty little seedling, grasped it firmly by the stem and pulled it out of the ground. It was followed by a remarkably large mass of bright yellow roots and rhizomes. Nettles are unusual among weeds, because they’re fussy about where they grow. They demand moist soil, rich in nitrogen and phosphate. An organic vegetable bed with compost and manure it suits them fine. Nettles like to be around humans — this is a one-way attraction.

Clumps of nettles can be used to identify abandoned habitation sites in the countryside. The nutrients from animal and human wastes, at these sites, persists in the soil for a long time. In Scotland, clumps of nettles have been used to locate the sites of crofts razed to the ground during the Highland Clearances — and they were around 200 years ago.

The nettle is a hairy plant and some of these hairs are modified, so if something brushes against them the tip comes off, revealing a spine like a tiny hypodermic needle that injects venom into skin. Some believe the venom is formic acid, the active ingredient in ant and bee stings. In fact, it’s a complex mix of chemicals, and scientists don’t agree about the significance of formic acid in the unpleasant cocktail.

There is a folk belief that dock leaves act as an antidote to nettle stings. This is because docks like the same soil conditions as nettles. People believed that God, in his goodness, when he created such a vicious plant as the stinging nettle must have created a cure for the sting nearby. There is no scientific basis, at all, for this notion.

Rubbing anything juicy on a nettle sting may appear to give a little temporary relief, but it’s really only a placebo affect.

Another widespread folk belief is that eating nettles in the spring has a tonic effect. In Ireland, in the past, brach neantog was a porridge made by stewing nettles with oatmeal. This belief has a very sound scientific basis, because nettles are packed with a range of vitamins and minerals.

They also contain a remarkable amount of protein, which makes them especially valuable to vegetarians. In the past, people had a restricted diet in winter and were often deficient in these things by the time spring arrived.

But you should only eat young nettles. Once the plant flowers and starts to set seed, it develops gritty particles, called cystoliths, in its tissue. Not only are these unpleasant to eat, they can cause urinary tract irritation. Luckily, young nettles freeze well, particularly as a soup or puree.

The sting of the nettle is designed to repel grazing animals and leaf-eating birds. My hens won’t touch them, and they devour practically everything else that’s green. This makes a clump of nettles a sanctuary for invertebrates.

The caterpillars of several of our more spectacular native butterflies have adapted to use nettles as a food plant. They include the small tortoiseshell, the peacock, and the red admiral, along with an even longer list of moth species.

So, nettles are universally unpopular, but they do have a role to play. They have a place in the wildlife garden and can contribute to a healthy diet.

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