Once upon a time (as all good stories begin), I was walking along the headlands at Land’s End in southern England. The hedgerows were rich with hawthorn, blackthorn, hazel, holly, and a lanky, leafy, weedy-looking plant that looked, I thought, just like stinging nettle. Just like in my backyard at home! I heedlessly grabbed a handful, and sure enough—stinging nettle. The more I walked along, nursing my poor hand, the more nettle I saw in the understory. It had sprung up everywhere in the fertile, moist soil.
It’s a wonderful weed, really: rich in nutrients, effective for a wide range of maladies, delicious in soups, stews, salads, wherever you might use spinach, once you soak off or strip off the vicious little spines that inject you with histamines, formic acid,…