"That's sorrel," my mother said. "Wood sorrel. The Indians ate it. Soldiers chewed it for scurvy."
"Go on," she said, plucking a single leaf and holding it to my lips. "It won't bite." tasting mothers bush
I nodded, not knowing what scurvy was, but feeling suddenly important, as if I had been let in on a secret that the rest of the world had forgotten. "That's sorrel," my mother said