Picking Spring Greens

By Susan M. Thigpen © 1984-2012

Issue: March, 1984

If you have country or mountain roots, the chances are that packed back among your memories are some of “picking spring greens.” Willard Gayheart grew up in rural Kentucky, but now resides in Galax, Virginia. He wrote “The Salet Song” from his memories. (The song is recorded and available by writing to Heritage Records, Route 3, Box 278, Galax, Virginia. They have a wide range of musicians and styles, specializing in the traditional music of the Blue Ridge Mountains.)

The Salet Song

As the first breath of spring
Stirs a warm breeze
On the hills and valleys
Of my youth
And the first signs of life
Lays a green hue amid
The meadows on the valley floor.
For a time my mind goes back
To scenes of my childhood,
A bright event
That happens every year,
Of the women in the lowlands
And the old fields picking
Salet in preparation for
The evening meal.

So pick that salet Mariah,
Fill your apron once again
From that favorite spot
Down at the bottom that’s
Nestled along the river bend.

Oh, the years have gone by
But I’ve not forgot
The memories and the good
Times of the past
And as each season passes
I’m reminded of the one event
That makes that season last.
For a time a time my mind goes back
To scenes of my childhood
A bright event
That happens every year,
Of the women in the lowlands
And the old fields picking
Salet in preparation for
For the evening meal.

The “greens” picked differed from area to area. My childhood was spent in North Carolina, and there, we picked “cressy greens”. They grew wild in cornfields and bottom lands. It was a small plant with one large tap root. It grew flat, spreading out in a circle from the center, close to the ground. The plants were small and you had to collect a lot of them because they wilted down to about half their raw size when cooked. “Pickin’ Day” was an annual event. My mother, sister and I would go out with dish pans and each of us would have a small sharp knife (you always cut them, always left the roots, never pulled them). Because we cut our plants right at the ground, our hands got so dirty. By the time we got back to the house, our rubber boots would be caked with mud. Looking back, I guess it was so muddy because mother chose “pickin’ day” as soon as possible after the spring thaw and a few days of bright sunshine.

It seems spring greens were one thing the whole country must have had in common. I have read the Pennsylvania Dutch picked and ate new violet leaves. People in other parts of America gathered poke salet, wild turnip greens, water cress, dandelion greens and many others.

There was one extra benefit from “Spring Greens Pickin’s.” It was another activity shared by most family members, another “chore” made into an enjoyable outing because it was shared, and another tradition of togetherness.