Chickweed is one of those quiet plants that most people overlook. Soft, sprawling, almost shy—yet it’s been feeding us for centuries.
Farming folk across Europe and Asia once gathered it not just for flavour, but for nourishment. Boiled gently like spinach, chickweed was a welcome green when little else was growing. A kitchen staple, simmered into stews and broths, it asked for little and gave much.
But it doesn’t need to be cooked. The leaves are delicate, almost melting on the tongue. Try them raw—tossed into a salad, layered in a sandwich, stirred through soup right at the end. You can chop them into omelettes or fold them into stuffing. Expect a softer, cooler note. It’s subtle. A whisper rather than a shout.
There’s nourishment here, too—real nourishment. Chickweed holds a quiet abundance: vitamin C, of course, but also vitamin A, some of the Bs, essential fatty acids, and minerals drawn up through its tiny roots. It doesn’t trumpet its benefits. It just is—a wild green humming with life, close to the soil, close to the heart.
Gathering chickweed invites a slower kind of attention. One rooted in presence. You’ll need to get low, to notice its threadlike stems, its star-shaped flowers. It’s not just about harvesting a wild salad—it’s about being still enough to receive what the land is offering.
A practice.
A pause.
A way of listening.
That’s Domei.