It's the very essence of spring.

Little seeds poking through damp soil, opening up their first tiny leaves, is as sure a sign of the growing season as budding trees and the first yellow dandelion popping open in your lawn. For us die-hard gardeners who are happiest with damp-kneed jeans and dirt on our hands, multiple moisture-laden storms rolling through made it difficult to scratch the garden itch that grew more pronounced with each passing day.

Finally, one pleasant afternoon before the garden was quite dry enough for planting, I nudged out two little rows in the soil of a patio planter and dribbled in a handful of radish seeds. In another small row between went something more long-term, the first herb planting of the season.

In that miniscule middle row was parsley, a kitchen staple of frequent use in our kitchen. Last year's attempt performed poorly, probably a negative combination of old seed and lack of rain. For the first time in many years, I had no fresh parsley plant wintering over to use for fresh herb snipping.

Oh, sure, there was a jar of dried parsley in the cupboard, from more abundant yields of earlier seasons. But its volume is quickly shrinking and, besides, fresh is still nicer for many uses. By the time the radishes have vanished in salads, the parsley seedlings should be just about the proper size for transplanting.

My mother would admonish me for such a thought. Parsley in her garden stayed where it germinated. When a family death occurred

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years ago about the time she had transplanted some parsley, it reinforced in her an old superstition that transplanting parsley resulted in planting a loved one "into the ground."

But, if all the parsley seeds I dumped into that little row come up, they'll need other homes. Guess I'll have to take my chances with old superstitions or dry some of the seedlings sooner than later.

Basil is another herb favorite that is easy to grow and great for flavoring all sorts of tomato-related dishes. Both the large green type as well as the colorful, purple-leafed variety grow quickly. Their leaves, fresh and dried, have a wonderful, pungent aroma that seems to repel insects as much as it adds tasty flavor to cooked dishes.

Oregano joins the basil in a savory dried mix I simply label "Italian herbs." An oregano plant wintered over in the greenhouse is a descendant of one small seedling purchased years ago. It's thick with new growth that will both root easily and rebound fast when trimmed for use.

Dill has become a volunteer herb, reseeding itself in the flower border each year. It's ferny foliage is not only pretty but releases its distinct scent when brushed against. While I rarely preserve pickles, a small bit of dill, chopped fine, adds a delicious flavor to cucumber salad, the cukes sliced thin with a bit of onion, and dressed with a few spoonfuls of vinegar, sugar, mayo, salt and pepper.

For a bit of onion-like taste and extra color on salads, soups and casseroles, the chive clumps get a trimming. Bulbs in our old, original planting grew so thick they ceased to produce their pretty, purple bloom heads until I dug them up and transplanted some to other locations.

Most abundant of the herbs that grow -- and volunteer -- here are the various sorts of teas, including peppermint, spearmint, catmint, red-stemmed and lemon balm. Beware of teas; it doesn't take much to turn tea from a cultivated specimen into a weed.

Catmint -- or catnip as we've always called it -- grows so rampantly here that it will live happily where just about nothing else thrives. It roots readily, practically transplants itself, and the cats do enjoy it. When I yanked a few top leaves off one plant last week, Butch, our big tame tiger cat, began rubbing his wide, furry face against the aromatic stem ends, a look of kitty-contentment from whisker to whisker.

Informed at a garden center last year that catmint was the "plant of the year," I helplessly -- and no doubt rudely -- burst out laughing. Maybe we're missing a merchandising opportunity here?
For the return they give, herbs cost little, are easy to grow, produce interesting foliage and flowers, have few pests and thrive under varied conditions.

In the quest for "new," showy, costly, sometimes-mediocre-performing plants, herbs are probably way undervalued.

Joyce Bupp is a Seven Valleys farmer. Her column appears Sundays.