After summer’s heat, the change in both daylight hours and temperature comes as an unwelcome shock. This year’s abundant harvest brings an added workload and also joy from the riot of colours flooding the land.
I use a lot of hawthorn products during the year, making tinctures from flowers with vodka and haws with brandy. The brandy is a useful aid with motherwort tincture for unexpected heart palpitations. I gather ripe berries wherever I am, from trees along my field edges in the Cotswolds or my garden hedge in Solihull and this year I’ve been gifted with berries from Shropshire. Today I’ve been making hedgerow cordial and tomorrow I shall be experimenting with a new recipe for hawthorn ketchup.
Rosehips are an annual joy. These days, I rarely take the time to process the hips before drying. You should cut them in half with a sharp knife, then thoroughly deseed before putting to dry in a warm, airy place. The seeds and tiny hairs are very effective itching powder, but I usually dry my hips whole, so don’t have to worry about them. The only time I process is when I make a rosehip honey, which is truly delicious and worth all the extra trouble. This year, the hips are larger than I’ve ever seen them before, which makes picking a shorter task than normal.
Another red comes from apples. The harvest this year has been truly prodigious. The trees were pruned two years ago and have responded with larger fruit and incredible sweetness. It’s been a time for chutneys and jellies to store up for winter.
St John’s wort oil is another bright red influence on my life over the summer, sitting on the kitchen window ledge beaming scarlet rays when sun shines. The beginning of October is time to strain the flowers out of the oil and put it all away in a cold larder. The hot weather affected the amount of flowers I was able to pick this summer but thankfully, there is one jar of oil already strained, another in the windowsill, a small jar of mullein flowers infused with the St John’s wort flowers to make an effective ear ache oil and a small bottle of tincture in the larder.
Sunsets are
an unexpected source of joy at this time of year. The blush of pink as the
golden disk disappears over the horizon can deepen to many shades of red over breath-taking
moments as we stand mesmerised by the glorious colours. If we are very lucky, a
short time later, the brilliant white of moonlight shines down to bless the
earth from the opposite direction.
The other major colour of autumn is black: blackberries, elderberries and the deep black/purple lustre of a copious sloe harvest hiding behind the thorns of the blackthorn trees. Both blackberries and elderberries ripened in early August. Every year they appear weeks and now months before their normal harvest time and we have to rush to harvest and process before they disappear for another year.
We usually think of blackberries as something to put in desserts, either pies or puddings, but blackberries, like rosehips, are a good source of Vitamin C and can also act as an astringent along with cinnamon if you’re suffering with loose bowels that won’t respond to usual treatments. They make a delightful tea with other herbs such as Echinacea and elderberry, a pleasant immune enhancer to ward off any lurking virus. I’ve made two batches of blackberry vinegar this year, which is an ancient remedy for winter coughs and sore throats.
I continue to wax lyrical about elderberry and its anti-viral properties. Our favourite recipe is Elderberry Elixir is made with brandy and honey, taking at least two months to mature. I also freeze several boxes of elderberries if I can use for workshops or extra syrup if necessary. This year I’ve made a hedgerow cordial with the leftovers from strained elderberry elixir and freshly picked haws, hips and new spices. The result is very tasty and makes a good non-alcoholic alternative to mulled wine.
We should never forget gold and orange. Calendula flowers are prolific rays of sunshine to cheer everyone up after constant rain. Someone once told me she was convinced calendula was helpful in combating her winter blues and judging by the delight the flowers bring to everyone who sees them, I totally agree with her. The softness of the petals makes them a joy to harvest, while the resin coating your hands afterwards reminds you what you’ve been picking.
Many herb flowers take a long time to dry; the processing itself is an exercise in patience. It can take an entire October weekend to process herbs I’ve dried during the summer. This includes taking petals off all calendula flowers, spending up to two hours sitting at the kitchen table balancing a bowl on my lap before pouring them into their glass jars and hiding them from the light in paper bags. The prize is using the dried petals for tea during the darkest days, warding off infections and bringing enjoyment with every sip. They also make a fabulous double infused oil to add to homemade moisturising salves along with horse chestnut and marshmallow.
Gold is also found in the most unexpected places, hidden in roots of some of our most helpful plants. Goldenseal, useful for its action supporting mucous membranes is known for its golden roots, but dyers woodruff roots also shine with gold before offering up a red colour to the dye. Nettles, too, have tangled golden roots which, when processed, offer support and treatment to aging prostate glands.
Finally, there is always green. When the marshmallow in my garden starts to seed, I go down with my basket and strip stems of as many soft, green leaves and pale green seeds as I can. These make dark-green, silky oil to use for lubricating dry or diabetic skin and other hidden places. The dried leaves are kept for teas to sooth irritated bowels or dry lungs.
Violet leaves grow profusely during most of the year. Infused oil can be made with either fresh or dried. The oil comes out dark and green with no distinctive smell. This is another moisturising oil useful for chapped winter skin.
Every season has its own unique array of colours, shapes and scents. As sun sets to bring evening dusk, so brilliant colours of Autumn lead us towards both quiet and chaos of winter.
