Yesterday I posted about nettle in the mint. Had several comments singing the praise of nettle. Then some thing started to happen in my brain. Not quite bells or sirens–more like an unsettled feeling. That subtle itch that tells me I had better re-think or re-examine my positions, thoughts, actions or words. I had said that nettle was growing in my mint and lemon balm. Yes. That’s what I said. But did I really know for sure it was nettle? I thought I did but upon further examination, this morning as soon as it was light enough to see, I realized I didn’t really know what I was talking about.
The plant I called common nettle is actually horse nettle and apparently a different species all together. And although I had no intention of eating its fruit–mainly because I didn’t see any–its fruit, I read, is poisonous. And I find no reference to horse nettle having cloth dyeing properties.
So because I could not let this go by the way, I’m posting a pic here of the leaf–with the complete acknowledge that Euell Gibbons I am NOT. And noticing for certain that books were so much cheaper in 1962.
note to self: remember the words of my philosophical son when he said to me, at the age of 3, and only slightly confusing the use of language, “you don’t know anything. I know nothing.”