Exciting times in November!

 In an uncertain world, I am holding on to a spark of light, the publication of my first novel. 

As you can imagine, there are herbs and holy wells and drama and uncertainty but also positive steps and hope for the future.

The following tells you a little about the story and some very kind words from some who have read it prior to publication.

My debut novel, A Necessary Blessing, releases on 19 November this year and my publisher, Heretic Publications, has just put out a call for book bloggers who may be interested. It is available on request on NetGalley at the moment.

This is the blurb and some recent reviews.

“A novel of family secrets, ancient magic and healing, perfect for fans of Barbara Erskine and Christina Courtenay.”

Ruth Turner has a unique ability. She can walk through time, seeing the village, religious community and inhabitants as they used to be. Abandoned by her philandering husband, she makes new friends amongst village leaders, Greg Iles, the village blacksmith, Granny Compson, a retired farmer’s wife and Lord Peter Brazington, the prickly Earl of Haverliegh, owner of Roelswick Estate. 

As Ruth learns more about village history, she uncovers many secrets, which change her life and affect her closest friends, putting her at the centre of ghostly retribution. Can she use her new knowledge to unravel the cause of all the trouble before her community is torn apart again? 

A Necessary Blessing is the first book in the Roeslwick Chronicles by Sarah Head. Set deep in the heart of the Cotswolds, it charts the story of a rural village where modern and ancient practice work side by side.

Where past beliefs inform present customs, promoting future action, we understand how water is a necessary blessing to us all.

Praise for A Necessary Blessing

“A Necessary Blessing is a lovely, gentle story, unusual and intriguing, and steeped in folklore, druidic practices and supernatural abilities. The village setting is engaging and almost timeless. Although the heroine is downtrodden and abused at first, her fellow villagers unexpectedly come to her rescue and she begins to turn her life around. I very much enjoyed watching her find her place in the world and grow in confidence, and I willed her on to defeat evil in all its guises.”  Christina Courtenay

"A gem of a book"

“Well rounded, memorable characters make this book come to life, put together with a fast changing plot, the past and the present meet with an outcome well worth the read.”

It is an amazing and exciting process from holding a place and its characters in your imagination to seeing them appear in words and pictures, then to be cast out into the real world for others to experience. The beautiful cover and other illustrations have been provided by the wonderful, Charlie Farrow. There are plans to produce an audiobook to complement the Kindle and paperback editions currently available to pre-order.

If you are wondering what I'm working on next, a sequel has been started but that has been put on hold while I discover the stories of more villagers whose lives enrich the Chronicles of Roelswick.

Making your own: Green Powder

Several years ago, we were sitting in the summerhouse at the Sanctuary eating our lunch and one of my apprentices started talking about green powder. I’d never heard the term before but apparently it was something sold in health food shops for large sums of money. The shop variety contained spirulina and other green “superfoods” and the idea was to add it to your daily smoothie along with other nutritious fruits or vegetables.

Later the same year, my friend and herbalist, Lynne Tynan-Cashmore presented me with a jar of homemade green powder which she added to soups, stocks and stews during the winter to boost the immune system and keep everyone as well as possible. I began to do the same. Every time I made spaghetti bolognaise sauce, fish stew, sausage stew or impossible quiche, I sprinkled in a scoop of green powder. I also added it to bones when making stock.

The powder disappeared into the food but definitely added a richness and flavour. I was completely sold on the idea that green powder enhances whatever you are cooking and helps stave off winter lurgies.

There was no way I was going to spend money in a shop when this was something I could easily make at home. What plants would be suitable?

The first thing to do when making something for the first time is to wander around your harvesting area and decide what is there. Whether this is your garden or a local park, canal side or woodland, you need to be certain you can identify the plant correctly to ensure it is edible before you pick it. If you’re in a public space you also need to have permission of the landowner (if you’re on farmland) and make sure the plants aren’t contaminated by dogs, cats, foxes, rats or pesticides.

My basic ingredients for green powder are ground elder and nettles. Ground elder is a major invasive weed introduced to the UK by the Romans to provide a green vegetable during the hunger gap in springtime. You must only pick the young shoots as older plant parts will give you the “runs”. It is chock full of vitamin C and minerals.

Nettles also have to be picked early before they produce their strings of flowers in late May (earlier if the weather is hot). I tend to pick the top four leaves to eat in spring, then do a major harvest of vibrant green leaves to dry in early May. These get stored in jars for nettle chai and other drinks or for adding to soups and stews.

The more you pick nettles, the more new growth you will produce and the longer you will be able to harvest. Nettles are also packed full of minerals and vitamins and are invaluable both as food and medicine.

Other useful green leaves which grow in my garden are sweet violets (plants introduced from the farm) and sea holly (a plant bought specially because the young leaves can be eaten in salad in the spring). You could add fresh hawthorn leaves as those have been eaten as they emerge throughout history. Later in the year, I will dry nasturtium leaves as these, too are packed with minerals and have anti-viral properties. You could add herb Robert leaves, since those also boost the immune system, but not too many as the scent could be overpowering and they are quite difficult to dry.

My favourite herbs to add to the mix are marjoram (because I have loads growing in the garden and it spreads like a weed!) and lovage because I love the flavour. If I had enough parsley, that would go in the mix and small amounts of rosemary. Sage would be good too, but I tend to use all my purple sage in cough elixir and I don’t like it in cooking. Similarly, I prefer to use mint and lemon balm fresh in egg mayonnaise rather than stews. You could add it to tagines, but I find my homemade harissa mix enough.

If you like aniseed flavours or wanted to make an aniseed dominated green powder to use for fish or chicken, then adding fennel, tarragon, sweet Cecily and dill to the background of other green leaves would work.

If you have plants like chard, kale, sorrel, spinach, they can be dried too, but be mindful of only using small amounts if you or someone you feed is prone to producing bladder or kidney stones.

How to make green powder

Gather a basketful of green leaves and herbs. Make sure they are clean and wash in cold water if necessary, drying on a tea towel or air drying outside if the weather is warm, covering with a muslin cloth to stop them blowing away. 

Place in a dehydrator at 40 degrees C for one or two days until completely dry. If you don’t have a dehydrator, place in a paper bag and dry in a warm place for several weeks until brittle to touch. Remove any obvious stalks from nettle leaves.

Pound the dried plant material into a powder using a coffee or spice grinder or a pestle and mortar. Pour the powder into a glass jar with a lid. Label and date. 

Store in a cool dark place. Should keep for at least one year. If the powder loses colour and scent, you know it will no longer be any good and should be consigned to the compost heap. Add one heaped tablespoon to any meal during cooking.

Weeds – cultivating a different perspective

I've been thinking about weeds a great deal recently as I’ve been wielding my garden fork in the Cotswolds or running my fingers deep into my Warwickshire-garden raised beds to wrestle an errant root. I have a tendency towards deep despair whenever I return to my herb beds and see them covered in creeping buttercup once again and notice how high the hogweed and docks have grown in just a few weeks. Then there is the guilt when I remove plants growing amongst other plants which I know are useful but I don't have the time or inclination to do anything with at that point in time.

If left alone, ground will return to forest. We've seen trees self- seeding and growing in our fields when they were rented out and set aside for several years. My beds are always screaming “I’m a field, not a pampered garden” if I leave them alone for a month or more.

Becoming an emotional wreck over weeding is not terribly helpful, so I feel it's more productive to learn how to identify your "so-called weeds" as you come across them and ask yourself the following questions.

Can they go on the compost or should they be recycled in a green bin system? E.g. dock seeds and bindweed roots and bits of trees if you don't have a shredder.

Are they poisonous? E.g. buttercups are poisonous i.e can't be eaten by humans or made into anything medicinal but compost well

Can you use them for something? E.g. willowherb is good for prostate, dandelions have numerous uses, docks can be used as tonics and for other things if they have a golden root, chickweed can be eaten raw and is high in Vitamin C, nettles can be eaten when young etc. etc.

Can you make anything from them? E.g. dandelion syrup, dandelion flower salve, chickweed oil for itching)

Can you replant seedlings elsewhere or grow them for sale/barter/gifting? In my garden borage, marjoram, evening primrose, tree spinach, milk thistle, lemon balm, and other herbs self- seed everywhere and I’m constantly wondering if I should be relocating rather than composting

Obviously I only know my own weeds;  some I loathe (hogweed) and some I love and feel guilty removing.  I don't know the relationship you have with your local weeds. You can just hoe them from the plants you are trying to grow and never think about them but I find it helpful to ask one last question

What can your weeds teach you about your garden and yourself?

Personal Herbalism: Doing my own thing (and sharing it!)

This blog post is part of the UK Herbarium June Blog Party hosted by Ali English on Eldrum Musings. You can find a list of other party entries on her blog. The theme is personal herbalism – what makes your herbalism personal to you and what is it that you do that makes your herbalism uniquely yours?

As with life itself, everyone’s herbal journey and identity is unique. We all start from a different place, learn similar things in a different way or learn different things in a similar way. It is a continuing journey which does not end. What we do affects others and this influence and legacy provides a never ending and evolving story.  

What you read below is part of my personal journey.

When I first wondered about herbs back in 1995, it was purely from a research perspective. The character I was writing about would only have herbs to heal her wounded warriors. I needed to know what she would have found and grown around her.

I joined the Herb Society as the organisation’s title seemed to imply I would find what I was looking for.  It didn’t. Maybe I wasn’t asking the right questions, but no-one else seemed interested in the medicinal uses. Such knowledge was for qualified herbalists who went to university or undertook distance learning. They talked to each other using Latin names and terms I only half understood. I can nod and smile with the best of them, but I felt a fraud. It reminded me of my day job where I translated between doctors and patients when things went wrong.

I started reading books and growing herbs at home. I understood a little more, but it was still very much looking at one herb for a particular condition. I read about making oils and tinctures and vinegars, but felt this wasn’t something I could do at home.  I mean, you don’t make medicines in your kitchen, do you? It has to be clean and sterile and titrated down to the nearest drop.

It was Judith Bergner in her book, Herbal Rituals (a Christmas present from my co-writer in Oregon) who gave me the confidence to make tinctures and vinegars.  I had a jam jar with a screw top lid and a chopstick in my kitchen drawer but, more importantly, I understood her instructions and when I carried them out, it worked. I knew what they looked like, smelled like and had an inkling of the taste.

I did try making herbal oils following David Hoffman’s pictures. I bought a double saucepan specially. Oils were fun. They were mostly green, but sometimes their colours and frangrances amazed me. Calendula gave me an essence of sunshine, friends who offered massage raved about angelica’s aroma and subtle healing skills and St John’s wort took my breath away. How could a yellow flower deliver a stunning crimson oil from immersion in sunflower oil on my kitchen windowsill?

My confidence was cemented by escaping to the Chelsea Physic Garden one Saturday on the train. Travelling to an unfamiliar part of London, I sat for three hours listening spellbound to the stories of Christopher Hedley as he made double infused rosemary oil as he talked about his past, his patients and his healing.

By this time I had more land on which to grow herbs thanks to my father. I spent long hours going through Poyntzfield Herb Nursery’s catalogue deciding what to buy and how much I could spend.  This was only a hobby and Chris was constantly telling me we didn’t have much spare cash. With three children and school fees to pay, there wasn’t much left over to fritter away.

I’d joined Henriette Kress’ email discussion list and was soon able to discern who knew what they were talking about and who knew less than I did. After several years of watching plant life cycles I knew what they looked like, where they liked to grow, which parts I needed and how long I had to wait until I could harvest.

Life sent me lessons; simple ones to begin with. Slowly I began to build up herbal stories of my own rather than relying on the stories others told. The most difficult lesson I learned was that everyone has their own journey. Even when I believed herbs could help and support them through difficult times, it was their decision whether or not to use them. It was not up to me.

I took the decision very early on not to train as a medical herbalist. It was too expensive both in time and money and I could not afford either. After much thought I realised I did not want to be totally responsible for a stranger’s care; friends and family yes, but others no. There was too much hassle involved with exams, insurance, setting up a practice and trying to make a living in a hostile world.

What I did want to do was share my passion for herbs. I wanted people to recognise the hedgerow and field plants growing all around them; to know what they could help with and how to prepare them safely. I wanted to encourage them to make their own remedies, to experiment and enjoy what they were playing with.

I came across other herbalists in distant countries who shared their knowledge freely and inspired me. Their passion re-ignited my own.

It was the plants themselves who shared the most complex knowledge. They taught me to be still, watch, smell and listen. They helped me to interpret concepts explained by others so in turn I could share this information with those around me. I learned to stop trying and to relax.

I began to have faith in the parcel of land gifted me by my parents. I called it Springfield Sanctuary after the three springs which flow there. The initial workshops I offered were prepared and structured around a single topic, but I was less successful in keeping to the subject at hand when it came to the actual day.

It was pointed out to me by a friend that rigid structures were unnecessary. Visitors had their own agendas. If we could communicate and meet individual needs, this would constitute success. I learned to believe not in numbers attending, but that the people who needed to be there would arrive.

We always walk around the herb beds identifying a proportion of the herbs. I try not to do too many because there is only so long anyone can stand and listen, especially if there is a cold wind blowing. We always make something depending on what herb is available in suitable quantities in the correct season.  I encourage people to do it themselves. Newcomers collect easily identifiable herbs and make a tea, others might be sent to harvest blossom, while someone with limited mobility or energy might be invited to sieve nettle seed or transfer dried herbs into suitable containers.

What I have noticed is how people change during their herbal day with me. They may arrive bowed down with cares and worries but within a short time I watch them chat and smile and hug. They may ask questions for themselves, family members or friends and together we think about which plants might offer suitable support for different situations.

It is relatively easy to think of plantain if you have a splinter, but more challenging when a complex emotional situation has arisen. The energetic side of herbs was something which terrified me when I first started my journey. It seemed so complex and ethereal and I had no wish to complicate my studies when there was so much else to consider and absorb. 

Several years later, thanks to Non Shaw’s lovely book on Flower Remedies and my spiritual development as an energy healer, it seemed simple both to make my own and to sit with a plant and see what it might tell me. Recognising my initial reluctance helps me to understand when others find it difficult to walk along this path. Everyone sees things differently and has different skills and strengths which make them unique.

If I look back over the past seventeen years, I can see how herbs have become an integral part of my life. I think about them, touch them or use them every single day and I cannot imagine being without them. I know I share this passion with many people across the globe but I also realise others in my community and country have no interest or knowledge. They do not believe they have any part to play in their own health, nor any inkling of how much they could do to help themselves using the plants around them.

I want to offer them the opportunity to change.

You could say I am a herbal evangelist and I have been guilty of evangelising in my early years. I have been known to lecture complete strangers on the benefits of nettles without their consent but I hope I am learning a different way to pass on such knowledge. I aim to be a herbal facilitator, to ease the relationship between humans and plants so individuals can take back the knowledge which was so familiar to our ancestors and grow in confidence of their own herbal skills.

When I was very young I wanted to be a doctor, specifically to take away the dreadful pain my parents suffered from various conditions. That was not to be but I’ve been shown there are other ways to relieve pain. I am a healer and my relationship with herbs as a kitchen herbwife is what makes my herbalism unique.

Colours of autumn

I'm currently in the process of revising my CV/resume as part of my search for new work opportunities. I'm including all my published articles and thought I would post all the herb ones here.

Colours of Autumn first appeared in the October edition of The Essential Herb Magazine in 2008.



As nights draw in and the sun’s warmth diminishes, colours of harvest flood the land. Amongst hedgerows, reds of rosehip and haw shine brightly with subtle shades from bright red to deep crimson. High above, vermillion rowan berries hang in tantalising bunches. Single crimson leaves from cramp bark branches, thrust colour into fading grass.

I use a lot of hawthorn products during the year, making tinctures from flowers with vodka and haws with brandy. I gather ripe berries wherever I am - from trees along my field edges in the Cotswolds, my garden hedge in Solihull and trees from as far apart as Yorkshire or Bristol, depending on my travels. I’ve also made hawthorn vinegar, so people who don’t like to use alcohol, can have an alternative format to choose from.

I rarely collect rosehips. The problem is the time it takes 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 are very effective itching powder. My long-suffering husband, when offering to help, soon complains his t-shirt is uncomfortable and his hands itch. I don’t suffer quite as badly, but holding the individual hips make my thumb joints ache, so very few get put to dry. The majority lie abandoned in a bowl to shrivel into hardness in their own time until I can pour them into a glass jar to use in syrups and decoctions throughout the winter.

Another red comes from apples. Usually the wild crabapple goes from green to yellow once it is ripe and falls from the trees. Along one Cotswold wall is a red crabapple tree, its fruit shining above green brambles and speckled stone.

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 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.

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 continue to wax lyrical about elderberry and its anti-viral properties. My parents help collect large amounts of berries so we can try new recipes. Elderberry Elixir is made with brandy and honey, taking at least two months to mature. I also put up several jars of elderberry tincture and make elderberry syrup using leftover elderberries. There are elderberries waiting in the freezer to be made into more syrup when the need arises.

Sloe gin is not something I make every year, but when juicy, purple, blushing sloes beg to be picked, I acquiesce, buying enough gin to make up a bottle and a half of liqueur to sit in the hot cupboard in my kitchen beside infusing vinegars of motherwort and sage to be ready for Christmas.

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. We have been able to make a fresh flower tincture while sun shone and on less bright days, the golden heads dry by the kitchen stove.

All 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.

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.

Vervain grows profusely during most of the year. Infused oil can be made with either fresh or dried aerial parts. The oil comes out dark and green with no distinctive smell. This is an anointing oil to help assist an understanding of the passing of the year, allowing us time to rest before growth begins again.

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.

Three weeks left!

Only three weeks until the Springfield Sanctuary Herb Festival 9-11 September. Come and join us for two fun-filled days of herbs, kites, stories and songs! Learn how to dye your own wool from natural dyes harvested from the Sanctuary in Kristina's magical dyeing glade. Join the Sanctuary Apprentices to make your own medicine and Denise Fiddaman for herb walks. If you want to gather your own wild foods, Ian will help you identify what is available at this time of year.

Lucinda Warner and Ali English will be furthering our knowledge of using herbs externally and making tonics from local herbs. If you want to know more about propogating herbs, Sam and Louise from Garden Organic will show you how to do it.

Sky Symphony Kite team will be displaying four times over the weekend. Check the online programme to make sure you don't miss their stunning new kite ballet.

The field will be open for camping and to set up stalls from 3pm on Friday and the festival will kick off with an open mic at 7.30pm.

We're trying to keep costs at a minimum, but we'd welcome your donations to help us pay for the loos and cover expenses. Suggested donations are £40 for the weekend and £20 per day. Email sarah at headology dot co do uk for more details and directions to the venue.

More rushing around!

After trips to Rotherham, Sheffield, Doncaster, Sandwell and Warrington over the past few weeks, we spent a wonderful weekend at the Festival at the Edge indulging in storytelling and folk singers. Monday was spent in London followed by two days at the Cruse conference held at the University of Warwick. Tomorrow we're off to Warwick Folk Festival to stay in the grounds of Stephen's old school and listen to lots of great singers, bands, morris sides and other amazing happenings. I shall still be working in my Birmingham office, but travelling to and from the caravan on Thursday, Friday and Monday.

Does such dashing around allow any time for herbs? Well, we had a glorious workshop on July 10th where we harvested nettle seed, white horehound, SJW, scullcap, lemon balm, sage, ox-eye daises, yarrow, meadowsweet, plantain and betony.

Since then I've put up some tinctures, made meadowsweet and plantain oils and given two herbal talks on roses (to the Mercian Herb Group) and summer herbs (to a residential home for older adults). The rain has reduced my picking to the odd sojourne with the garden SJW - adding to the oil infusing on the windowledge and a small jar of tincture tonight.

The ashwaghanda seedlings are maturing nicely in their pots. I know the online advice says they should be planted straight into the ground, but I dont' trust the slugs in my garden so I have ten plants in pots here and a further 6 in the Sanctuary main bed.

One of the interesting happenings this year has been the appearance of a strange root. I thought I'd inadvertantly dug up a marshmallow root, so I put it in a pot and forgot about it. When it started to grow in spring, it didn't look like anything I'd grown before, so I left it alone and watered it occassionally. It was really exciting when I realised that the root was actually butterfly weed or pleurisy root (Asclepias tuberosa). I first saw this plant growing in California two years ago and although I ordered two plants in two separate years, they'd both seemed to disappear. I'm really glad one has decided to re-appear and is flowering beautifully!

Summer is always a busy time, but soon we'll be off to Cornwall for a well-earned rest! Maybe then I'll have time to put together some new blog posts and prepare for the Herb Festival in September

If you're interested in collaborative poetry, check out my latest posting at Mercian Muse

Celebrating a Herbal Springtime

This post is part of the Herbwifery Forum April blog party hosted by Cory Su on her blog Aquarian Bath

Spring evaded us for longer this year. Now the waiting is over as suddenly my garden is swathed in yellow. Forsythia blossoms hang from the naked cherry tree like a sunshine waterfall. Daffodils, primroses and cowslips offer yellow beacons amidst the dark brown earth, while a solitary primula promises red flowers in the near future.

Gooseberry and blackcurrant bushes have already unfurled their vibrant green leaves. Red currants and raspberry canes will not be far behind. I can see leaf buds swelling on the hawthorn hedge like a grey/green mist as I check the new plum trees for signs of contentment with their new home.

Spring brings bursts of new energy. Friday night saw me collecting nettles, garlic mustard, spinach and sorrel from the garden for my workshop soup. Already their different shades of green are painting a new palate together with the stalwarts of winter – holly, ivy, laurel, rosemary and yew.

Early fronds of St John’s wort have been growing for several months now, their lemony tang a burst of flavour on my tongue. Sea holly shoots are blue/green compared with their shiny green golden rod neighbours. A touch of red nearby reveals new rhubarb stalks, their green curled leaves waiting to explode against the hedge.

In the shade of the laurel hedge, violet flowers offer a swathe of colour amidst the green. Early rosettes of other herbs are beginning to make their mark – lemon balm, mint, vervain, valerian, while yarrow fronds wave at me as I step outside the back door. Their roots run deep beneath the paving slabs, but they grow straight and tall if left alone.

Underneath the bench a tiny elder tree hides, grown from an escaped berry two or three years ago. It cannot stay where it is, but neither can I move it without re-arranging the terrace. It may be safe for one more year, but then, who knows!

Spring can also bring sacrifices. This year it was angelica. Last year it grew happily behind the Mexican orange bush, but that has gone to make way for summer vegetables. If the angelica stayed, it would shade smaller plants and make the bed more difficult to manage.

It was a sturdy plant, defying the frosts and snow of winter, returning to full strength as temperatures rose and daylight lengthened. We tasted her leaves, bathing ourselves in her fragrance. She was photographed before being dug, then carefully washed and taken indoors to be swathed in honey and vinegar; her essence transferring to different mediums to nourish others.

Over the weekend, a single buff-tailed bumblebee buzzed her way around the garden. I watched her resting on the white patio door while I washed newly dug dandelions on the patio table, noting their difference from Cotswold cousins. The leaves were immersed in vinegar. Half the roots were chopped and roasted in the oven before joining their fresh counterparts, together with grated ginger root, dried orange peel and a pinch of ground black cardamom to be covered with vodka for a bitter tonic.

These are my first medicines of spring. Tonight they will be shared with another group, opening their hearts and minds to the endless possibilities of nature – food and medicines close at hand in their own gardens.

Sweet Memories of Summer

I have to thank, Kiva Rose, our host for the August Herbwifery Forum blog party, for introducing me to the delights of mixing herbs with honey and encouraging my alcohol purchasing to include brandy as well as vodka.

Three years ago Kiva talked about making elderberry elixir. I experimented. It was wonderful. Everyone who tried it experienced a moment of bliss as they savoured and swallowed a tiny dropperful.

“Do I have to be ill to drink this?” they asked. I just smiled and told them it was up to them.

Last year my bergamot (monada didyma) and wild bergamot (monada fistulosa) danced over the herb bed in red and purple profusion. Kiva talked about making infused honeys with these herbs so I made some. They were so beautiful and smelled so wonderful, I haven’t had the heart to eat them. They sit in the cupboard and are brought out during workshops and talks for people to smell and taste (and drool over!).

Interestingly, the first herbal honey I made was sage, way back in the late 1990s. I really didn’t like the flavour and it sat in the larder for a long while before I threw it out. I know now, I didn’t put enough plant material with the honey. I’m waiting to harvest from my aunt’s huge sage plants and try making the honey again. I can think of nothing better than sage honey with sage vinegar as a winter drink when sore throats threaten.

I’ve noticed that herbs alter the consistency and the sweetness of honey. Using fresh herbs makes the honey far more runny and the bergamot/rose/evening primrose combination is much less sweet. My elderberry honey started growing mould when I tried to infuse it in the hot cupboard, but is fine, twelve months later in the fridge. My husband complained about berries floating around in his drink, but it didn’t stop him using it when he was feeling under the weather.

Everyone thought I was mad mixing grated horseradish with honey until they tried it. The result is a perfect accompaniment to fire cider vinegar.

I make my honeys the same way I do everything else – fill a glass jar full of plant material and cover with honey. I then screw on the lid tightly, label and date and leave it for 3-4 weeks. Most of them go in the warm cupboard to infuse, but I keep a close eye on them, in case they need to infuse in a cold place, like the elderberries.

The plant material always travels to the top of the honey and I don’t bother to strain it before use. If you don’t like bits of leaf or petal or grated root floating around in your drink or on your porridge, then it is advisable to strain the honey after a suitable infusion time.

The wonderful extension to herbal honeys is an elixir. Kiva has said that any aromatic plant can be used, especially those of the mint family. This information gave me permission to play with combinations and it has been such fun creating an elixir from whatever happens to be flowering in the garden around me.

So far I have created four different elixirs:-
Respiratory: flowering thyme, purple sage leaves and fennel
Uplifting: St Johns wort flowers, rose petals, lemon balm leaves, violet leaves, alpine strawberry leaves, heartease aerial parts.
Cooling: red bergamot leaves and flowers, marigold flowers, flowering thyme
Colds/coughs: peppermint, flowering thyme, sage leaves (purple & green), yarrow leaves, rose petals, self-heal.

I can’t wait to taste them, but suspect they won’t be ready until we return from holiday towards the end of August.

My method is to gather a basketful of different herbs, cut them up into inch or so pieces with scissors until they half fill a two pound glass jar. I then cover them with a jar full of honey. It used to be 1lb, but the jars are now smaller since honey is more expensive and they’ve gone to metric measures. When all air bubbles have been removed from the mixture with a chopstick, I fill the jar to the brim with brandy, then stir again, refilling if necessary. When the lid is firmly screwed on, the jar is labelled and dated then put away in a cool, dark place for 4-6 weeks.

We made the “Cooling” elixir during my last workshop. Everyone took turns stirring the mixture to remove air bubbles. The scent was amazing with the combination of bergamot, thyme and honey and again when brandy was added. You could see people delighting in the pleasure they received from their senses as they worked together.

Cordials are another delicious way of preserving a herbal harvest. Not only are they a pleasure to drink, but they are a wonderful ambassador for herbs when you have a sceptical audience. For the past two years, I’ve been giving talks about herbs to older people who live in sheltered housing or residential homes owned by an organisation my employer has a relationship with. As employees, we are allowed time to give talks, help with gardening or decoration or activity sessions.

The residents were not at all sure when I talked about nettles and hawthorn berries, but they were very enthusiastic about elderflower cordial and my spiced hedgerow cordial. There are lots of recipes for cordials. I have already written several articles about elder. You can read them here and here

These are other cordials and syrups I’ve been very pleased with. Although syrups are generally thicker than cordials, I tend to use them in the same way, making them into drinks as well as adding them to porridge or rice pudding. You could also make savoury versions, like haw-sin sauce, and use them as a dipping sauce for meat or vegetables. Recipes for two more rose syrups can be found here.

Blackberry cordial
1lb blackberries
1oz cinnamon (in sticks or powdered)
1oz cloves (whole or powdered)
1 inch root ginger (grated)
1lb honey/sugar
¼ pt alcohol
Cover blackberries with smallest amount of water. Add prepared spices and simmer for 20 minutes. Mash blackberries, strain and measure liquid (should be around 1pint). Clean saucepan, pour liquid back into saucepan together with 1lb honey or sugar per pint of liquid. Heat gently, stirring until honey is dissolved. Add 1/4pint of alcohol of choice. Pour into hot, sterile bottles, seal. Label and date.

Elderflower Cordial
20 elderflower heads (I forgot to keep counting and used half of the basketful I’d gathered)
4 lemons
2 oranges
1.8 kg granulated sugar
1.2l water
Place the sugar in the water in a saucepan and bring to the boil, stirring until all the sugar is dissolved. While the water is heating, place the elderflowers in a large bowl and cut the zest off the oranges and lemons and add to elderflowers. Cut the ends off the citrus fruit and discard, then slice and add to contents of bowl. Pour the boiling sugar syrup over the elderflowers and citrus fruits. Cover the bowl and place in a cool place for 24 hours. I put a plate on the top of the bowl to keep the citrus fruit submerged in the syrup. After 24 hours strain (eat the orange slices – they are amazing!). Strain twice more using either muslin or kitchen paper. Makes 4 pints of cordial. Pour into sterilized glass jars or plastic jars and freeze. Keep in the fridge and dilute to taste. It tastes good with fizzy water. Serve in glass jugs with slices of lemon and a sprig of mint.

Spiced Hedgerow Cordial
Small bowl of blackberries and rosehips
1 inch of fresh ginger root peeled and chopped (or you could grate it whole)
3/4 nutmeg grated
1 cinnamon stick broken up
4 cloves
runny honey
Juice of a lemon
alcohol of your choice (brandy, sherry, a good whiskey, vodka etc)
Wash the blackberries and rosehips. Place in a heavy bottomed saucepan and cover with water. Simmer over a low heat for half an hour. Mash the blackberries and rosehips to a pulp with a potato masher and cook on the lowest heat for another 15-30 minutes. Strain the liquid through a plastic sieve and measure the volume. Wash out the saucepan. Return the liquid to the pan together with a lb of runny honey for every pint of liquid. Heat gently until honey is dissolved. Add juice of a lemon. This can now be poured into clean, sterile bottles and sealed and kept in the fridge to use with children and anyone who doesn't like/can't have alcohol. To preserve the syrup without keeping in fridge (but in a cold place) add alcohol to taste. I had a pint of liquid originally to which I added a lb of honey which gave around 2 pints of syrup so I poured out one jar then added about 1/2 pint of Madeira to the remaining syrup. I probably could have added less. Both taste wonderful!


Derbyshire Delight
Pick an amount of fresh dandelions, red clover flowers and stalks and hawthorn flowers. Remove the dandelion petals and centres from any green bits. Place in a saucepan and cover with cold water. Bring to the boil and simmer gently for 20 minutes. Strain and measure liquid. Clean saucepan. Return liquid to the pan and simmer with the lid off until the liquid is reduced by 7/8s. Add honey in the ratio of 1pint to1lb honey. Stir gently until honey is dissolved. Pour into heated, sterilized bottles. Seal when cold. Label and date.

Haw-sin Sauce
375g haws (hawthorn berries)
200g runny honey
250ml water
250ml cider vinegar
Salt
Freshly ground pepper
Wash haws in cold water and remove stalks. Cook in saucepan with water and cider vinegar for 45 minutes until soft. Sieve through metal sieve pushing through as much softened material as possible. Measure liquid. Clean saucepan. Return liquid to saucepan adding honey to liquid in equal volume (100ml:100g). Heat gently while stirring with wooden spoon until honey is dissolved. Add salt and freshly ground pepper to taste. Cook for a further 5-10 minutes if you wish to reduce the amount of liquid and thicken the syup. Pour into hot, sterile bottles. Seal, label and date.

Herbs can be made into wonderful liqueurs. I use Christina Stapley’s basic recipe to invent my own combinations.

Melissa Liqueur
1 75cl bottle of vodka
1/2 cup of lemon balm leaves
7 cloves (or less, the original recipe uses 1 tsp)
1 tsp coriander seeds
1/2 tsp carraway seeds
2 tsps grated lemon or orange rind
3 tsps marjoram leaves
Wash and chop the herb leaves, adding the spirit with the pounded seeds and cloves and grated lemon rind. The cloves should be measured whole, but ground before adding. Leave to steep in a tightly closed jar in a warm dark place, swirling daily for 6-7 weeks. Filter and sweeten to taste with approximately 1/2-1 cup of sugar or honey before labelling in the original bottle and maturing for at least a year. A soothing liqueur for troubled spirits.

Hawthorn Liqueur
To a jar full of infused hawthorn berry brandy, add 1 grated nutmeg, one cinnamon stick (crumbled), the chopped peel of one orange, 4 cloves and ½-1 cup full of sugar or honey. Seal the jar with a screw top lid, place in a warm, dark place for 8 weeks shaking regularly, then strain and pour into a sterile bottle. Seal the bottle with a screw top lid or cork and leave in a cold dark place to mature for as long as possible (at least two years).

The wonderful thing about preserving your herbal harvest with honey is that it makes you smile. You smile when you’re creating it, you smile when you taste and you smile as you gently sip when the heat of summer has gone.

Of canals and herons

A heron perched on roof tiles of a school building at the bottom of our garden last Saturday morning as we were eating breakfast. It was still very frosty and he fluffed up his feathers so they resembled a ragged blue skirt over his lower white plumage. This was the second time I’d seen him perch there recently. I suspect he uses it as a vantage point between the two patches of water in Robin Hood Golf Course and Olton Mere.

The Mere was built in the late eighteenth century as a holding tank for water from Hazel Brook to feed the local section of the Warwick to Birmingham canal. Now it’s owned by a private sailing club with no access for the public unless they are willing to pay annually for the privilege. You catch tantalising glimpses of open water from the train as it rushes past on its way from Olton to Solihull station.

Canals often provide me with a means of escape from city or suburban life. When the sun shines I disappear from the office towards the Convention Centre situated at the heart of the restored Birmingham Canal system. If I walk towards Wolverhampton I can check on shepherds purse, plantain, horseradish, nettles, blackberries, rosehips and, my favourite, elder trees.

Occasionally I turn left rather than right and walk towards the university. It was along this path I discovered wild rue and mugwort while a guardian heron slept on one leg on top of a brick wall next to a new block of flats.

It always makes me curious when a new animal or bird crosses my path more than once. I wonder what their presence might teach me. If you search the internet, herons are mainly described while they are standing in deep water, yet my encounters with them have mainly been perching on high places either on tall trees or walls/roofs.

Herons are often associated with balance and harmony, knowing when to connect and when to stand on your own. They teach active patience, learning to wait until what you need comes to you and then spearing it, grabbing opportunities when they arise.

Their slate blue feathers can be associated with the “third-eye”, the energy centre situated in the middle of the brow/forehead. This centre helps with intuitive perception, the “gut feeling” you learn to rely on or, in my case, the sudden understanding about why a person is acting a certain way without any prior knowledge or information. I call it “reading the silence”. It doesn’t happen very often, but when it does, the insight is profound.

The really good thing about finding a heron near a canal means there must be fish living in the water. Herons are the curse of every fishpond owner as they can clear a garden pond within a few minutes. I remember one eating all the trout in the Sanctuary pond before I left school in the mid-70s and we’ve never had fish there since.

I don’t know a great deal about fish, but someone I met by the Olton canal last October said there was a wide variety of fish living there including a large pike!

What did surprise me during my canal walk was the variety of herbs and trees. As well as elder, hawthorn and horse chestnut trees, there were hazel, holly and sycamore - all mature trees with lots of undisturbed saplings growing up in any available space.

On the banks were dog rose and blackberry briars with plantain, garlic mustard (jack by the hedge), false alkenet, coltsfoot and nettles on the lower slopes. What surprised me was the large bed of alpine strawberries. I wondered if they were wild or escaped from a nearby garden.

Despite the traffic travelling over intermittent bridges, the towpath itself was blissfully quiet; the only noise a gentle splash from moorhens and mallards swimming on the surface of the water.

It was not long after the Autumn Equinox when I walked along the canal basking in the peace and sunshine and thinking about the Irish navvies who created both the canal and the railway which runs alongside. There is still another month before the Spring Equinox. Although days are definitely longer now, I am curbing any impatience to be up and doing. The heron brings a timely lesson - it is enough to be resting, watching and waiting for a few weeks more.

Harvesting, Flowers and Weather

This time last year I remember driving along a darkened Fosse Way on the Friday night before my July herb workshop during torrential rain wondering if I would make it through deep pools of water threatening to flood the entire road. I remember feelings of frustration and despair because my father was unable to mow down to the Sanctuary. The constant rain made it impossible to cut the fields for hay, so grass was sodden and almost impenetrable.

It was with a sense of déjà vu I travelled along the same road on the same evening of the year with rain again beating against the windscreen in torrents. This time it was Chris who was prevented by weather from doing any tidying up in the Sanctuary. I anticipated finding a total wilderness as I traipsed down the just discernable path with water coating my boots and overtrousers. Despite the damp and cold, my journey was accompanied by dancing butterflies seeking nectar from waterlogged red clover and bright yellow ladies bedstraw blooms beside the path.

As I opened the Sanctuary gate, I was met by a glorious surprise. A huge mass of lilac and white goats rue flowers were waiting for me by the summerhouse veranda, towering over the stately white plumes of the comfrey. Bumblebees were diving inside the flowers at their usual languid pace as if the previous downpour had never happened.

Inside the summerhouse it was still comfortably warm. I was able to gather up all the dried herbs into paper bags – elderflower, red clover, apothecary’s rose petals and lemon balm. I didn’t have time to take the leaves off the lemon balm just then. Gillian kindly completed the task for me during the workshop the following day.

Although the light was poor, I tried to take photos of all the beautiful flowers – motherwort’s pink, scullcap’s blue, calendula’s orange, valerian and heliotrope’s pink-tinged white, the huge canopy of yellow from dyer’s greenweed, even the deep crimson of the apothecary’s rose. Unfortunately, the flash washed out much of the colours, making the photos unusable.

It was still a wonderful experience to be down in the heart of the Sanctuary as the rain fell gently. I took shelter under the trees, searching around the edge of the pond for the small spotted orchid. I only found two blooms but know there must be more hiding. There was little sign of the meadowsweet either. I could see the leaves and the deep red stems, but there was no sign of flowers. Maybe they are late blooming because of the shade from the overhanging branches or maybe something has eaten the flower stalks!

Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny – such a contrast from the previous day! The workshop was great fun. I even managed to pick a basketful of young nettles before they were trampled on. I was hoping to repeat the harvest on Sunday morning since the new steps were totally covered by young nettles, but I was too tired after harvesting everything else. It’s still good to know I have some young nettles drying for the winter.

On Sunday morning, I knew I had about two and a half hours to harvest everything I needed. I cut the flowering stems of the broadleaved thyme growing in the bungalow garden before I left to go down to the Sanctuary. Rock rose grows intertwined with the thyme, so I picked the yellow flowers as well, leaving them to dry on newspaper after the sun had dried the initial dampness.

I began my harvest by taking photographs to show what the plants looked like in all their glory. This time it was the brightness of full sunlight which made exposure difficult.

Skullcap was the first abundant plant I came across. I divided the harvest in half, leaving some to dry and the rest to take home and tincture. I wanted to make lots of motherwort vinegar this year since I’ve used up the one bottle I made last year, so I gathered great armfuls of the tall stems, taking care not to scratch my bare arms on the stiff flower prickles.

It was wonderful to see the white horehound in flower and know I would have plenty to make a new cough syrup this autumn. The hyssop wasn’t quite in flower, so I weeded between the plants to give them some access to sunlight.

The heartsease was beautiful, but I left them to bring joy to the garden. Betony flowers were few and had to be searched for amidst the jungle of solomon’s seal, joe pye weed and lemon balm. Luckily I have bottles of tincture left from the Cornish betony I gathered last year and we’ll be returning there next year so I can gather again.

The first few calendula flowers were out, but most were very rain damaged. The mint was tall and impressive. The reaction to mint tea made with this chocolate mint has been so favourable, I gathered a huge armful to dry. Applemint is really nice dried as well as fresh, so I’m hoping the chocolate mint will be the same.

Other stately plants were the agrimony with their long, yellow, flower stalks, while the blue star flowers of the borage made me feel happy just to look at it. The deep pink cups of the Himalayan balsam were gorgeous, but any plants growing within the herb borders were ruthlessly culled.

I keep meaning to work more closely with agrimony. Maybe this is the year I will do so. I love the fresh taste and smell of both borage tincture and vinegar. Many people don’t use this plant any more because of the potential harm it might cause to the liver, but I still value it.

I also uncovered the ladies mantle, their long strings of yellow flowers trailing across the ground. I made some fresh tincture last year and haven’t used it, so decided not to gather at the moment. I did take three long stalks of fennel to make a syrup for heartburn along with meadowsweet.

The real stars of the herb garden were the huge red blooms of the bergamot blazing amongst the green immature tansy and lemon balm. Their colour is much more vibrant than last year, which was their first flowering, so I’m hopeful they will produce many more blooms throughout the summer. I tinctured the aerial parts last year, so this year I have left them to dry for teas.

The heat was intense while I was picking and weeding, not helped by the constant swarms of flies which objected to being disturbed from their nectar source! It was wonderful to see two copper butterflies hanging together from a New England Aster leaf in the top garden. I also managed to gather enough St John’s wort flowers to fill up the 1lb honey jar in my parent’s kitchen. They picked half a jar full two weeks ago before the rain set in and were impressed how quickly the oil went dark.

Before I left, we picked raspberries and blackcurrants from the garden and I gathered more plantain – both ribwort and greater – to make some more oil, along with a few stalks of yarrow.

On my way home I stopped to wildcraft some beautiful, searing white yarrow from the grass verge and a large bunch of meadowsweet. Two herbs from two different counties – Gloucestershire and Warwickshire, both of which provide my roots back into pre-history.

It is really difficult to know whether to wildcraft from road sides or not. I know the dangers of pollution, but neither road was constantly busy, both plants were newly grown and I didn’t have anywhere else to harvest at that moment and needed them both.

Back at home, I picked some more St John’s wort flowers to make up the beginnings of a new jar of oil (this will be the third) and some more raspberries- red and yellow, alpine strawberries and a few redcurrants.

I managed to make both the plantain double infused oil and the meadowsweet and fennel syrup as well as put up two jars of motherwort vinegar during the evening, but I did spend two hours watching the TV on the sofa as well. The trouble with harvesting is you forget how exhausting it can be! The rest of the harvest will have to wait until tomorrow night when I have no other commitments and can give them my undivided attention.