Lament for a missed Indian Summer

September is usually a beautiful, busy month. While the sun shines with diminishing warmth I am usually to be found scurrying around hedgerows and my garden, harvesting the last of flowers, fruits and seeds.

This year feels different. After a dry summer which has caused the ground in the Sanctuary to crack and the two minor springs to stop running entirely, the rain has now come to ease our water problems but temperatures have plummeted. Although I’m grateful, this now brings an added worry of whether the tomatoes will ripen or will I lose my significant crop to rot? As it is, I’m now picking every day or alternate days and using any damaged tomatoes in soup.  

Two nettle roots growing next to the tomatoes are constantly sending up new shoots, so these are my autumn bounty for green minerals.

Spiced Tomato and Basil soup

1lb tomatoes (or an amount you have to use)

2 medium potatoes

2 carrots

A large handful of ripped basil leaves

One medium onion

1 red chilli (adding the seeds will produce a fiery soup!)

Peel, dice and sweat the onion with the chopped chill until soft. Peel and slice the potato and carrots and chop the tomatoes. Add vegetables to the cooked onions and cover with 3 pints of cold water. Bring to the boil, adding seasoning and basil (or any other favourite herbs). Simmer for half an hour with the saucepan lid on until everything is cooked. Blend or liquidise, then strain through a sieve to remove tomato skins.

Nettle, sweet potato and tomato soup

1 colander full of fresh young nettles

1 large sweet potato

1lb tomatoes (or any amount you have to use)

2 carrots

4 cloves of garlic

8” length of lovage stem

1 medium onion

1” fresh root ginger

Peel and crush the garlic and leave for fifteen minutes before cooking. Peel and dice the onion and root ginger and sweat in a large saucepan with the crushed garlic for five minutes in your oil of choice.  Peel and slice the sweet potato and carrots. Slice or chop the tomatoes. Wash the nettles if necessary. Add everything to the saucepan and cover with 3 pints cold water. Bring to the boil adding the chopped lovage and seasoning. Simmer for half an hour until everything is cooked. Blend and sieve to remove tomato skins and any stringy bits from the nettles.

September is also the time of year to think about storing anti-virals and vitamin C ready for the winter. My favourite method is elderberry elixir or cordial and gathering as many rosehips as I can find and store.

Fire cider vinegar is another staple in my household. You can follow Rosemary Gladstar’s original recipe of equal parts of fresh garlic, root ginger and horseradish root but add in whatever spice you fancy. I always add rosehips for vitamin C but if you have any fresh chillis they are good to complement the turmeric powder. If you wanted to increase the mineral content of the vinegar you could add nettle seed or fresh young nettle leaves or shoots if you have any.

Don’t forget another autumn harvest, honey. Many beekeepers are collecting their golden treasure this month, so if you have any near you, it is worth asking if they will sell you a few pounds of fresh honey to last you over the winter.

Think what you might want to add to this honey. Elderberries taste divine but make sure you infuse it in the fridge if you don’t want purple overflow everywhere from fermenting berries. Rosehip honey is another favourite but does involve hours of cutting and scooping out the stones and hairs before blending the flesh with the honey. It is worth waiting until after the first frost when the hips become soft so you can squeeze out the centre without ending up with itching thumbs.

Don’t forget your honeyed roots. Angelica and elecampane are two roots which produce an interestingly flavoured infused honey which may be more palatable in this form rather than in tea. You may want to experiment with sweet calamas root in the same way if you have some to harvest. Don’t be surprised if your infused honey is thinner than the original runny honey. This is the result of osmosis whereby the honey pulls liquid from the fresh roots. It should store for several years but keep an eye on it.

It looks as if this year will be another good apple year. Windfalls from my tree are producing many boxes of frozen applesauce and there are new jars of apple and red currant jelly on the larder shelves. If you are looking for something different to add to your complement of bitters, try rowan/mountain ash or crampbark/Guelder rose berry and apple jelly. They will complement any rich meat but also get your digestive juices flowing. Bitter jellies are an acquired taste, so less is more when you try it for the first time.

One of the most exciting things I heard at our festival was Fred Gillam talking about his comfrey bath bombs for serious bruising following accidents and the news that a London herbalist is experimenting with Crampbark flower and berry tinctures to treat muscle cramps on different energetic levels.

Guess what I’m going to be experimenting with this autumn!

Herbal updates

Anyone trying to discover what I was up to by following my blog this summer would have been sorely disappointed. A dearth of posts resulted from a plethora of stress, knitting and gales (although not necessarily in that order!). Now the autumn equinox has passed and life has quietened just a little I can look backwards and forwards to various herbal exploits.

The weather has been atrocious. There is no other word for it. No sun, no warmth and almost continuous rain. I really thought I would not be gathering anything but I was wrong. It may be small and not as rich as I’d like but there is a harvest and I am grateful.

I have gathered rose petals whenever and wherever I can. There are jars of rose elixir, rose vinegar and rose honey infusing in the larder and two large jars stuffed full of dried petals waiting for autumn or winter inspiration. I also discovered a beautiful bag full of apothecary’s rosebuds dried to perfection. I’d picked them after one of the summer workshops when I felt sure I’d lose the entire crop because of the rain. They smell amazing and I’m looking forward to using them in some ashwagandha milk over the winter.

The calendula crop was initially disappointing. I blamed myself for not supervising the apprentices who sowed the seed then I blamed the weather. I picked yellow and orange flowers and began to be grateful for the limited bounty I was able to gather. We even made a double infused oil from wet flowers – something I never thought I’d do – and yes, it was paler than usual, but not without merit. You have to use what you have when you can.

I was also incredibly grateful for the self -seeded row of plants which offered a rich and healthy crop of flowers without any thought or effort from me. When I went down to the Sanctuary last Tuesday, both calendula beds were looking the best I’d seen them all year and I was able to pick a large basketful of flowers and a whole pile of seeds for next spring.

One of the things I’ve tried to do this year is not panic. Ok, there were very few St John’s wort flowers in my garden. I have given away so many plants, the marjoram has completely overwhelmed the few I have left.  Bees adore the marjoram. Luckily there have been plenty of flowers at the Sanctuary and, even more exciting; I found a real sufficiency of small wild plants when I was foraging in Cornwall. There were enough blossoms to dry for our German friend who can’t use alcohol. They grew next to ragwort, so you really had to be able to identify your plants to wildcraft in safety.

The St John’s wort oil is not as crimson this year as others but that’s ok. I still have loads left from other years so I don’t think I’ll run out and there’s always next year.

There have been a lot of plants I have not harvested this year, ladies mantle and agrimony being but two. I don’t know either of them well enough, so maybe next year I shall choose a new ally to get up close and personal with. Anne MacIntyre’s comments about agrimony’s digestive properties have already got me thinking. I’d like to be able to tie them in with its energetic properties and Matthew Wood’s use for pain where there is tightness/contraction.

Even when I was so miserable and frustrated because of the weather and my mother’s deterioration, the Sanctuary still held me and gave me hope. 

I was picking St John’s wort flowers in a howling gale one August afternoon, thinking how dreadful everywhere looked because we hadn’t been able to mow or weed.The hops completely sheltered me from the wind and the message in my head was, “Never be ashamed of what you have.” 

It made me realise I don’t have to compare myself with other herbalists. Just because they have stunningly beautiful, manicured gardens with easily identified and labelled herbs, it doesn’t mean my piece of land is any less valuable or beautiful, it’s just different.

It was one of those days when nothing went right, but when I touched one of the oak trees it told me to “remain steadfast”. I don’t spend enough time talking to my trees but they are always generous with their support and advice when I do listen.

It’s sad to see branches so bare this Autumn. Oak trees covered with knopper galls instead of acorns. Apple, plum, pear, meddler and quince trees devoid of fruit. Even the sloes, damsons and haws are scarce. I guess the trees are resting after last year’s bumper crops but it’s still difficult to see empty spaces in the freezer and know they won’t be filled anytime soon. I’m grateful for our Autumn raspberries which are cropping for the first time this year – not enough for jam but a real dessert delight mixed with natural yoghurt and honey.

I’ve already wildcrafted two baskets of windfall apples in public spaces this year, one in Cornwall and one locally and I can see me hunting for more in the coming weeks to turn into jams or jellies. It’s frustrating that none of the rosehips I’ve found are ripe yet as I want to restock my dried hips this year. I’ve already made one batch of elderberry and blackberry cordial from fruit leftover after my festival workshop and a muslin bag of “hedgerow juice (sloes, blackberries and elderberries)” is currently dripping quietly into a bowl over the cooker top as I type. Tomorrow I shall turn it into jelly to add to our growing stock of preserves.

The hot cupboard in the kitchen is still full to the brim with paper bags drying herbs and seeds plus a few infusing vinegars. It has taken weeks to process dried herbs from bags into glass jars on my larder shelves but the kitchen table is finally clear. Only one of my ashwagandha plants has produced the familiar red cherries this year but there will be plenty of seed for next spring. I also managed to save lettuce seed from plants which bolted; the first time I’ve done this.

As I was looking at my French beans flowering in the new raised beds today, I noticed chickweed was growing again to be added to autumnal salads. There are still bright green nettle seeds to harvest and dry towering over the mint and raspberry canes and fresh nettles are taunting me to make soup from underneath the patio.

Everywhere I look there is something to gladden my heart and prompt gratitude. It would not be real life if bounty were not balanced by lean times. It is all part of the cycle of life and death and rebirth. We could not learn if we did not experience and could not grow if those experiences did not feed us and grant us riches. We do not always appreciate the lessons we are offered but they make us who we are.

The Frost Place and leaves

One of the aims of this holiday was to experience glorious autumn colours as we travelled along. There was very little change as we drove down into New York state until the road began to climb into the Adirondack mountains. Then came the yellows, golds and a touch of heart-stopping red.

We see very little red in our UK colours each year. Apparently it has more to do with the amount of sugars in the leaf rather than the species of tree, so the better the summer, the more reds will be seen. It does depend to some extent on the tree. Crampbark has beautiful red leaves in the autumn, yet is almost unknown as a UK tree. I was fascinated to learn that it is now included in new woods being planted with UK deciduous species, so hopefully soon we shall see the distinctive crimson trees begin to make their mark during September and October.

The tree everyone associates with red leaves is the maple. It is native to the American East Coast with long established harvests of spring sap to turn into maple syrup - a long and laborious process resulting in a scrumptious sugar treat.

One of my favourite Grandma Moses paintings is "Sugaring off". She is my inspiration for developing a new creative career when you are in your eighties. She started to paint when arthritis in her hands made quilting impossible. She finished her last painting, a beautiful rainbow, at the age of 101, a week before she died. I was very fortunate to see an exhibition of her paintings when I was in Portland, Oregon several years ago and was blown away by the beauty and vibrancy of her work.

We loved the colours and calm of the location of our hotel, The Woods Inn, which was situated on the shores of a mirror-lake surrounded by turning trees. We weren't appreciative of a complete lack of welcome when we arrived and having to walk up three long flights of stairs to find our room. Poor Jacce, who is arachnophobic, had a terrible time with the myriad of spiders inside and outside the hotel, but their verandah and view provided some compensation.

The following day we crossed from New York State to Vermont over Lake Champlain. Talking to the elderly lady manning the gift shop about the beautiful colours in the hills behind,

"You haven't seen anything until you see Vermont," she said.

Unfortunately, the trees in the Burlington valley had yet to change and the only thing of note was the wealth of fraternity and sorority houses we passed in the university town while waiting for rush hour traffic lights to change.

The following day it rained. Heavily. Driving through Vermont was not a pleasant experience until we stopped at a diner in Franconia, New Hampshire. Herb tea and a pleasant lunch made everything seem more bearable.

As Peter turned the car to pull back onto the freeway, I suddenly caught sight of a sign to The Frost Museum. My plaintive cry from the back seat to follow the sign was actually heard and we drove off in the opposite direction.

It seemed strange to find a museum in the middle of a winding road filled with ordinary houses and the house and barn we eventually stopped at was nondescript and humble except for the sign which said, "The Frost Place and Poetry Centre".

Robert Frost's poem, "Driving through the woods on a snowy evening" has always been a part of my life. I can't remember when I first read it - probably at school, when I read hundreds of poems. It's different now. I read few and write fewer.

The lady who welcomed me was lovely. Pete and Jacce stayed to watch a video of Robert Frost's life while Chris settled himself on the house porch capturing white wraiths of cloud wrapping themselves around the opposite mountains with his camera.

I toured the house. I knew nothing of the poet's life beforehand. I'd always thought him a Victorian Englishman - a lack of knowledge understandable since his success as a poet came from two years he spent in England, but now seeing his home and letters written in his own hand brought him that bit closer. Brought up by his widowed teacher mother and mostly homeschooled after his father's early death from TB, Frost wanted to farm, but ultimately gave himself up to a career as a poet.

The best part for me of the The Frost Place was the poetry walk - a quarter mile colour-strewn leaf path through trees with Frost's poems clearly printed every so often for the pilgrim to read and enjoy. He is an "easy" poet. His phrases talk of simple things painting clear, accessible pictures for the reader. We are given a window into his world - whether it is apple picking, haymaking or watching birch trees bend in a strong wind.

It was a wonderful visit - a place to feed the soul whilst others rested. I saw milkweed shedding seeds, ripe red raspberries on wild canes and wet,red apples glinting in the afternoon sunshine. I was so pleased we turned and followed the sign.

The Frost Place
Your woods I walked today
Red apples shimmering in the sun
Birch and fir tall sentinels
Maple and alder lining the ground with red and gold.

Fat raindrops fell glistening from branches
White stoles wrapped themselves around mountains
As we sat on your porch
Edged with purple aster
Four years of your life laid out within the modest home.

You found it too cold to grow
In dark, New Hampshire winters
Forty four acres not enough
To feed your growing family

You thought to farm
Bur your successful pen brought better fruit
Sat beside the fire
Writing of bending birch
Discarded apples on trees
Your arms and shoulders aching from their picking.

Yet you knew your fields
Sweet whispers of scythes
Penned for your posterity
You left the hay to make itself
Hopeful of summer's heat

As we stood
Grateful for sun,
A welcome respite from torrential rain
Allowing us to walk in your woods
Share in your works
Drinking the colours of fall
Amidst white mountains.

11.15am 3/10/11.