Spring Herbs I
My Grandfather's Garden
— and what spring herbs actually do for your body
Parsley, mint, chives, dill, rosemary — and one herb that will surprise you. The science behind the plants your grandmother already knew.
You could smell it before you saw it. That is the thing I remember most. You didn't need to walk through the gate to know where you were — the garden announced itself long before you arrived. The mint hit you first, green and sharp and cool even in the heat of a Turkish spring. Then the dill, soft and sweet and a little anise-like, drifting over the wall. Then parsley, earthy and alive. And underneath all of it, rosemary — that deep, resinous warmth that always made me feel like something ancient was happening.
My grandfather's garden in Turkey was, for the little girl I was when I visited, an entire world. I grew up across multiple countries, surrounded by multiple cultures and their customs, their kitchens, their relationship with the land. But that garden was something specific. Something that has stayed with me not as a memory exactly but as a feeling — the smell of herbs in full spring bloom, the way he would tear a sprig of something and hand it to me without explanation, as if the herb itself would do the talking.
It was, I think, a garden of Eden. Not the grand, mythological kind. The small, personal kind. The kind that belongs to one person and their specific corner of the earth and the particular combination of things they chose to grow there. Tomatoes and peppers in pots along the wall. Fig trees that I was absolutely not supposed to climb but always did anyway. And herbs — everywhere, in every direction, each with its own smell, its own personality, its own place in his cooking and in his remedies and in his idea of what it meant to eat well and live well.
He knew something that I have spent years arriving at through research and reading and the frustrating process of learning things the long way: that these plants are not decorations. They are not garnishes. They are medicine in the most practical, everyday, accessible sense of the word. And spring, when they are fresh and new and at their most vibrant, is exactly the right time to be using them.
So let me tell you what the science says about the herbs my grandfather grew. What they contain, what they do in your body, and why the traditional knowledge embedded in cultures like his has been turning out, over and over again, to be completely right.
Before we get into the herbs: a word about what "science says" actually means here. Much of the research on medicinal plants is conducted in animal models or in vitro — in cells, in controlled laboratory settings — rather than in large-scale human trials. I will be clear about that distinction throughout this post, and I will not overstate what has been demonstrated in humans versus what has been observed in preclinical settings. The mechanisms are real and worth understanding. The direct human clinical evidence varies in strength from herb to herb. What is consistent across the research is that fresh culinary herbs contain measurable, bioactive compounds — flavonoids, polyphenols, essential oils, vitamins — that interact with the body's inflammatory, hormonal, and nervous systems in ways that are not trivial, and that align remarkably well with how these herbs have been used in traditional medicine for centuries.
This is Part I. Five herbs today, plus one surprise. Part II follows later this week with five more.
In my grandfather's garden, parsley was everywhere — flat-leaf, abundant, used in everything from the simplest salad to the most elaborate dolma filling. In the West, it tends to be treated as a garnish, which is one of the more spectacular undersells in all of food culture. Because parsley is, nutritionally and pharmacologically speaking, genuinely extraordinary.
It contains some of the highest concentrations of flavonoids — specifically apigenin, luteolin, and quercetin — of any commonly consumed herb. These compounds are potent antioxidants that neutralise free radicals, reduce oxidative stress in tissues, and directly suppress the production of pro-inflammatory cytokines including TNF-α and IL-1β. A 2024 systematic review confirmed parsley's significant anti-inflammatory properties through its flavonoid and essential oil content, noting that its compounds reduce inflammatory markers and modulate cytokine production in ways that protect against chronic inflammatory conditions [1].
For women specifically: parsley has long been used in traditional medicine for dysmenorrhea — painful periods — and as a diuretic during the luteal phase when fluid retention rises. These are not folk fictions. Parsley contains apiol and myristicin, essential oil compounds with documented antispasmodic and anti-inflammatory activity that support uterine muscle function. It is also exceptionally high in vitamin K and vitamin C, both essential for skin integrity, immune function, and iron absorption — the last of which is particularly relevant for women with iron deficiency [1].
Use it generously. In salads, in grain dishes, on eggs, blended into sauces, stirred into yogurt. The Turkish approach — which is to treat parsley as a vegetable rather than a garnish, using it by the handful — is, it turns out, the biochemically correct approach.
The mint in my grandfather's garden didn't politely stay in its corner. It escaped its bed and grew along the edges of paths, up walls, into whatever space it could find. Mint does this everywhere, and there is something appropriate about that. It is an expansive herb in every sense — its effects spread outward in multiple directions at once.
The key active compound in peppermint is menthol, a volatile aromatic that operates through a remarkable range of mechanisms. In the digestive system, menthol relaxes the smooth muscle of the gastrointestinal tract by inhibiting calcium influx, reducing spasm, cramping, bloating, and the uncomfortable motility patterns associated with irritable bowel syndrome. It simultaneously activates GABA receptors in the nervous system — the same receptors targeted by anti-anxiety medications — contributing to a documented calming effect on the central and peripheral nervous system [2].
A comprehensive review of Mentha species published in Molecules found that mint exhibits anti-inflammatory, antioxidant, anti-diabetic, anti-obesity, and cardioprotective properties, with phenolic compounds including rosmarinic acid and multiple flavonoids driving much of the activity [2]. Emerging research has also identified neuroprotective effects — menthol and related compounds appear to support cognitive function and may have a role in protecting against neurodegeneration, though human trials are still developing.
For women: mint has a long history of use for relief of menstrual cramps and PMS symptoms, and research supports its antispasmodic mechanisms. A cup of fresh mint tea in the days before your period is not merely a comfort measure — it is targeting the same prostaglandin-driven uterine spasm pathways as some over-the-counter pain medications, through a gentler route. Spearmint in particular has been studied for its mild anti-androgenic effects, making it relevant for women with hormonal acne or polycystic ovary syndrome, though more clinical work is needed here.
Fresh mint bruised into water, steeped as tea, torn over a yogurt bowl, stirred into a spring salad with cucumber and feta. Its benefits are best accessed through the fresh herb, not through processed mint-flavoured products, which typically contain very little of the active compounds.
Chives are the most underestimated herb in this entire post. Small, delicate, easily overlooked — but a member of the Allium family, which means they share chemistry with garlic and onions, two of the most extensively studied medicinal plants in human history.
The bioactive compounds in chives include organosulfur compounds — allicin precursors, kaempferol, quercetin — that carry documented anti-inflammatory, antimicrobial, and cardiovascular-protective activity. The flavonoids in chives, particularly kaempferol and quercetin, belong to the same class of compounds that underpin the anti-inflammatory effects documented across multiple herb and plant studies [5]. Kaempferol specifically has been shown to inhibit NF-κB signalling — one of the central regulatory pathways of inflammatory gene expression — and to modulate estrogen receptor activity, making it relevant to hormonal health in women.
Chives are also one of the more meaningful dietary sources of vitamin K, folate, and vitamin C in a fresh herb form, nutrients that support bone health, cardiovascular function, and cellular repair. Their allium chemistry gives them mild prebiotic properties — supporting the growth of beneficial gut bacteria in a way that softer herbs don't.
Use them as a finishing herb on practically everything: scrambled eggs, soups, potato dishes, grain salads, smoked salmon. They lose their potency when cooked so they are best added at the end or raw. Spring is when they are at their most tender and their flavour is at its brightest — a moment not to waste.
Dill is a spring herb that smells like a memory. Soft, slightly anise-like, green and warm at the same time. In Turkish cooking it appears in everything — börek, meze, fish, yogurt, cucumber salads that are impossibly simple and impossibly good. It is an herb that has been used medicinally across the Middle East, Mediterranean, and South Asia for centuries, particularly for digestion and sleep.
The science behind dill's digestive reputation is well-founded. Its essential oils — carvone, limonene, and dill ether — are carminative, meaning they reduce gas formation in the gut and relax the smooth muscle of the gastrointestinal tract. Dill has documented antibacterial activity against gut pathogens and antispasmodic effects that make it genuinely useful for bloating, colic, and post-meal digestive discomfort. These are not coincidental folk uses — they reflect the chemistry of the herb working on the gut wall.
For women, dill is particularly interesting for its phytoestrogenic properties. It contains flavonoids including kaempferol and trans-anethole that interact with estrogen receptors, and research has documented effects on the hormonal axis including influence on progesterone levels and the estrous cycle [4]. The clinical picture in humans is still developing, and it is worth noting that these effects are dose-dependent and most pronounced in concentrated extracts rather than culinary amounts — but the mechanism is real, and it adds a layer of significance to the traditional use of dill in women's medicine across multiple cultures.
Dill also contains a notable amount of calcium, iron, and manganese — mineral density that makes it more than a flavouring. Use it generously on fish, in yogurt sauces, with cucumber, in egg dishes, and stirred into any soup where its feathery freshness can lighten a heavier base.
Of all the herbs in my grandfather's garden, rosemary is the one I associate most with him specifically. It grew by the gate — tall, woody at the base, silver-green at the tips. The smell of it is essentially the smell of a Mediterranean spring, and of every lamb dish his wife ever made in that kitchen. Rosemary is ancient, persistent, and extraordinarily well-studied for a culinary herb.
Its primary bioactive compounds — rosmarinic acid, carnosic acid, and carnosol — have been the subject of an expanding body of neurological research. Rosmarinic acid in particular is a polyphenol with significant neuroprotective, anti-inflammatory, antioxidant, and antidepressant properties. A comprehensive review of rosemary's effects on the nervous system found evidence supporting its activity in reducing anxiety, improving memory and cognitive function, modulating pain, and protecting against neurodegenerative processes — through mechanisms including inhibition of cholinesterase (the same enzyme targeted by Alzheimer's medications), activation of GABAergic pathways, and reduction of neuroinflammation [3].
For women: the intersection of rosemary with stress and mood is particularly relevant. Rosmarinic acid has been shown to inhibit the degradation of GABA in the brain, supporting a calming effect on the nervous system. It also has documented anti-inflammatory activity that operates through the same NF-κB and COX-2 pathways implicated in menstrual pain, PMS-related inflammation, and the low-grade chronic inflammation that underlies many of the hormonal symptoms women experience [3].
Beyond the nervous system: rosemary has documented effects on circulation, supporting blood flow to the periphery and the scalp (which is why rosemary oil has genuine evidence behind it for hair growth). It is a warming herb in the traditional sense, and in the biochemical sense — it activates and supports systems that tend to become sluggish.
Use it in cooking, obviously — on roasted vegetables, with chicken, in olive oil, in bread. But also consider a cup of rosemary tea in the afternoon when focus flags, or a rosemary-infused oil kept on the kitchen counter for drizzling over almost anything. The culinary dose may be smaller than clinical study doses, but regular, consistent use adds up.
My grandfather used to pick it from between the garden paving stones. It grew wild, uninvited, and he treated it with the same respect he gave to everything else he grew intentionally. In Turkish it is called semizotu — and in his kitchen, it appeared regularly in salads and stews, dressed simply with olive oil, lemon, and yogurt. I thought it was just a weed he'd found a use for. It is, in fact, one of the most nutrient-dense plants available to us.
Purslane is the richest known plant source of omega-3 fatty acids — specifically alpha-linolenic acid (ALA). This is remarkable for a leaf vegetable, and it gives purslane a genuine anti-inflammatory profile that most fresh herbs cannot match in terms of the omega-3 pathway specifically. It also contains high levels of vitamin E, vitamin C, beta-carotene, glutathione, and magnesium — a combination that makes it one of the most antioxidant-dense foods commonly available in spring [5].
For women: purslane's omega-3 content is directly relevant to inflammation, hormonal balance, and neurological health. Omega-3 fatty acids reduce the production of prostaglandins associated with menstrual pain, support the anti-inflammatory pathways that underpin mood regulation, and are essential for cell membrane integrity throughout the body. The fact that purslane provides this through a green leaf — rather than a supplement or fatty fish — makes it remarkably accessible.
It also contains melatonin — yes, in a fresh plant — at levels that may gently support sleep quality when eaten regularly in the evening. This has been observed in preliminary research and aligns with the traditional use of purslane-heavy diets in Mediterranean and Middle Eastern cultures where long sleep and late summer evenings go together.
Where to find it: farmers' markets and Turkish, Greek, or Middle Eastern grocers in spring. Some garden centres sell it as a microgreen. If you find it growing wild in your garden and you haven't sprayed it with anything — as my grandfather would say — it belongs on your plate, not in your bin.
The women who raised us knew something we are only now confirming in laboratories. These herbs are not decoration. They never were.
I think about my grandfather's garden differently now than I did when I was small and climbing his fig trees and being handed sprigs of things I didn't yet understand. Then, it was sensory — the smells, the colours, the particular temperature of a Turkish spring morning in a garden that felt like it had always been there and always would be.
Now I understand the chemistry behind what he knew instinctively — or what had been handed down to him through generations of people who paid attention to what their land produced and what it did to their bodies when they ate it. Cultures built around fresh herbs were not doing so purely for flavour. They were building something into their daily nutrition that modern food culture has systematically stripped out: proximity to bioactive plants, eaten fresh, eaten regularly, eaten in quantity.
The privilege of growing up across cultures gave me something I didn't fully appreciate until later. Not just different foods but different relationships with food — different philosophies about what eating is for, different ideas about the line between nourishment and medicine. My grandfather didn't need a research paper to know that parsley was good for his kidneys or that rosemary would clear his head. He had something better: a lifetime of observation and a garden that bloomed every spring without fail.
Part II is coming later this week. Basil, coriander, thyme, tarragon — and another surprise herb. The garden is not finished yet.
Eat the herbs. Your grandmother was right. ❤References
- Alobaidi, S. (2024). Renal health benefits and therapeutic effects of parsley (Petroselinum crispum): A review. Frontiers in Medicine, 11, 1494740. https://doi.org/10.3389/fmed.2024.1494740
- Tafrihi, M., Imran, M., Tufail, T., Gondal, T. A., Caruso, G., Sharma, S., Muzammil, H. S., Aslam, F., Kwak, J.-H., Sharifan, A., & Rebezov, M. (2021). The wonderful activities of the genus Mentha: Not only antioxidant properties. Molecules, 26(4), 1118. https://doi.org/10.3390/molecules26041118
- Habtemariam, S. (2020). Therapeutic effects of rosemary (Rosmarinus officinalis L.) and its active constituents on nervous system disorders. Iranian Journal of Medical Sciences, 9(2), 90–99. https://doi.org/10.22088/IJMCM.BUMS.9.2.90
- Canivenc-Lavier, M.-C., & Bennetau-Pelissero, C. (2023). Phytoestrogens and health effects. Nutrients, 15(2), 317. https://doi.org/10.3390/nu15020317
- Al-Khayri, J. M., Sahana, G. R., Nagella, P., Joseph, B. V., Alessa, F. M., & Al-Mssallem, M. Q. (2022). Flavonoids as potential anti-inflammatory molecules: A review. Molecules, 27(9), 2901. https://doi.org/10.3390/molecules27092901