A New Year and New Apprentices

 At the last festival in September, my arm was twisted to re-start the Springfield Sanctuary Apprenticeship. Eight people applied and we had our first workshop in my kitchen last Saturday. As always, it was great fun and the participants learned about five different barks, then went out into the garden, tasted chickweed and bittercress and dug up two mullein florets to make their own tinctures for straightening spines.

The wonderful thing about herbwifery is its intense practicality. There are books to read and issues to discuss, but it is all about getting out, digging and making herbal preparations from whatever it is you have harvested.

Mullein florets are a perfect example. Their leaves are so soft and beautifully coloured. It’s no wonder they were used as toilet paper in ancient times. They also absorb a lot of moisture, so several tea towels were used to dry them off.

The roots were scrubbed and chopped before being divided into five parts so everyone could make a mixed root and leaf tincture. It will be interesting to see what happens because, ordinarily, the leaves precipitate too much mucilage when alcohol is added, but I suspect these will be fine because of the amount of water they held which will dilute the vodka to a suitable level.

I thought I would share one of the tasks I set new apprentices each month. In January, they are asked to walk around their local area looking for certain trees/bushes to map – hawthorn, elder, wild cherry and dog rose.

The aim of the exercise is to become aware of your surroundings. Even in the middle of a city, there will still be plants and trees growing on the roadside or in the pavement cracks. When I had to walk through central Sheffield on a regular basis, I found an elder tree growing out of a derelict building and would monitor its growth cycles for six years.

If you look hard enough there will be fragments of field hedges and the odd ditch where hazel catkins are starting to wave in the breeze.

Maybe some of you reading this blog might like to map your locality along with the apprentices. Take pictures of what you find and make sure you know where the useful plants and trees can be found.

I have put the dates for all the monthly workshops on the relevant page and if anyone would like to join us, you'd be most welcome.

 

Digging for winter health

“What can I forage now?” someone asked recently.

My response was all about roots. This time of year, dandelions tubers swell from seasonal photosynthesis, summer sweetness locked within their fibres. First year burdock, mullein and angelica can be harvested for drying or tincturing. It’s too late if you gather the remains of plants which have already flowered, the roots have sent up all their “goodness/virtue” into flowers and seeds.

Seeds can be gathered as long as they are black and ripe. Mullein seeds are tiny. It’s best to put the whole flowering stalk inside a paper bag and shake vigorously if you want to keep them or maybe spread them on the ground to encourage another harvest in two years’ time.

Burdock seeds are an investment. The seed pods are guarded by sharp thorns. They are best approached with heavy gloves and when you’ve gathered enough, find a sheltered place out of the wind, a sharp stick or chopstick to poke inside the large pod and a bowl to pour the seeds into. The seeds are both nutritional and medicinal. They are best ground daily if you’re intending to eat them or used whole  in a decoction which can be divided in three parts and drunk during the day.

Burdock, like nettles, is a blood cleanser. It can be used for eczema, psoriasis, gout, liver and kidney support etc. The root is the only part not bitter, but it is diuretic. If you chew a piece of root, be prepared to find a toilet within twenty minutes. The root is also helpful in exciting a lethargic appetite, especially one dulled by a long-lasting virus. Chop the clean root into small pieces, possibly inside a muslin bag and cook it as part of a stock, soup or stew. Remove before serving.

My next planned harvest will be nettle roots. I don’t gather the golden goodness very often, but searching the larder shelves this week for another bottle of tincture to add to my husband’s daily tonic proved fruitless, so this month I shall be attacking several clumps with a garden fork. The roots are stunning. I would never have guessed their colour. It glows in autumn sunlight, providing another aspect to nettle’s cornucopia.

I learned from a former apprentice about nettle root as a powder providing extra nutritional oomph to a diet. I’ve always used it to support the prostate gland. There have been studies undertaken which show that nettle root can keep the prostate stable for many years. It seems a useful ally for all men, especially those in middle age.

Prostate cancer is as widespread as lung and breast, so every man and women who care for them need to be alert for any danger signals and seek medical advice as soon as possible.

My other root harvests are from my garden rather than the field or hedgerow. Elecampane flowers are long gone, their long stalks brown and brittle, the huge green leaves mere husks of their former green profusion. I removed all the aerial parts yesterday to fill my green bin but their roots are safe for the moment. I still have large amounts of infused honey and tincture from last year and I suspect, if I search, there will be another full jar of dried root slices to add to cough elixirs or syrups.

The honey can be given to children over two years as a prophylactic to prevent constant winter coughing. The root smells and tastes of commercial scent but it is one of the most effective cough remedy. Like mullein leaf, it drags up debris from the depths, resolving deep rooted lung infections.

Although the frost whispered on the fringes of the lawn last week, there has been nothing to prompt me to dig up the ashwagandha roots. I’m still holding on to a vain hope there may be ripe cherries in the future but I’m not holding my breath.

Roots mean hard work scrubbing with lots of water changes. I never powder them until the time that powder is needed. Powders go off quicker than anything else but properly dried and sliced roots will last for more than two years if stored in a dark place.

Although I grow marshmallow, I don’t harvest the root. The leaves are sufficient for my needs and I value my plants. The downy stems are almost bare now so I may cut them down before the solstice, rather than afterwards.

There is one root I buy. Astralagus (astralagus membranaceous) has been on my list of immune-enhancing herbs for a very long time but I’ve only been working with it for the past five or so years. It’s a native of Mongolia and China and has been used in Chinese Traditional Medicine for centuries. I’ve never seen a plant growing so I guess it may be on my list to try one of these years.

The commercial packs are full of tiny discs with an earthy smell which is not endearing but the taste doesn’t adversely affect anything to which it is added. The roots are well known immune enhancers, antiviral and antibacterial. They can be used prophylactically against colds and upper respiratory infections.

For the past few winters, I have been adding a tablespoon of it to all my stocks, soups and stews along with homemade green powder to bring our immune systems to the maximum efficiency. Along with other herbal roots, astralagus roots need to be removed before serving as they don’t break down and can’t be chewed as part of the meal. I usually place them inside a large muslin teabag which is easy take out of the liquid.

My friend, Lynne Tynan Cashmore gave me a recipe for immune-enhancing tea which is very pleasant.

1tsp dried haws

1tsp dried hips

1-2tsps dried astralagus root

Infuse for 15-20 minutes then drink.

Lynne recommends drinking a mugful of tea every day during the winter to ward off the lurgies. If you were using fresh hips and haws then you would need 1 tablespoons of each, so it is probably more efficient to dry them before use as tea, depending on how much you have been able to forage and store. 

Spring Equinox: Lessons from the land

Life is a continual journey along the wheel of time. In winter our footsteps drag along the frozen road, stopping to watch our breath rise into the pale sky. It is harder to notice new experiences because we are so busy contemplating and assimilating what has gone before.

Now, as light pushes back the dark, we feel a spring in our step and wish to begin adventures in the fresher air. Adventures emerge from our surroundings when we open our eyes and focus, interpreting experiences with both intuition and knowledge, enabling us to grow and move along our chosen path.

I have chosen to recall the sights, animals and birds which crossed my path during this week leading up to Spring Equinox.

The adventure started in the Cotswolds. First was a rabbit, hiding between the front door and the crate when I went to bring in bottles of milk. He ran off slowly, showing the extent of his final illness. The following morning, he was crouching in sunshine beyond daffodils, hardly able to move. To let him suffer further would be cruel, so he was dispatched with a blessing.

Rabbits normally represent abundance, comfort and vulnerability. They can also bring hidden teachings and intuitive messages. To me, this wild brown rabbit embodied the ending of winter; slow, sluggish and diseased seeking the warmth of the sun and a swift passage through the veil. In the evening, we sat and watched his warren mates running up and down the boundary walls, a firm reminder of continuing life and health.

At midday, a hawk came and sat on the electricity wire in the middle of the field. We are used to seeing birds of prey but it was the first time I’d seen a hawk this size. The hawk enables you to see your life in perspective, freeing you from unnecessary baggage and connecting you to ancestral roots. He seemed to continue the rabbit’s message to release the detritus of winter and seek inspiration from the new season.

Part of our spring tasks is to clean. I began to tackle the greenhouse, rubbing off mould and fungus built up over the past ten years of neglect to reveal a transparent surface for sun’s rays to traverse.

The glass extracted a toll from my fingers. I saw yarrow growing in a corner but let the blood flow, seeking instead small crosses of plantain to chew into a drawing poultice, confident it would remove anything which did not need to be there. Plantain talks about strength and healing. No matter how much it is trodden on, it will always spring up and provide help to soothe raw places until all is well.

We drank nettle in tea and soup as we gathered together. Nettle teaches transmutation and integration of painful experiences, helping us learn and grow from our winter lessons. Its strong, golden roots a living sun amongst the dark earth.

Primroses taught us many things, not only about its innate abilities to soothe both nerves and respiratory tracts but also about new beginnings, new opportunities and a rise in creativity after the void of winter.

I planted a new bed of six mullein rosettes. These scattered children of a single plant could not remain in the lawn where they geminated to grow their yellow spikes of summer, they needed a safer home. Mullein instils courage, preventing approach of both unwanted wild animals and evil spirits. On a physical plane, it takes away ear ache and brings up the deepest infection from our lungs. These young rosettes could be sacrificed to help re-align unbalanced spines. It is a powerful plant.

Thinking to clear a bed of unwanted growth, couch grass reminded me not to discard such mass without proper consideration. It has much to offer those whose urinary tracts become inflamed, the slender rhizomes retaining their shining purity amongst the soil.

Looking up from my labours into a clear, blue sky, I was amazed to see six buzzards soaring overheard, quartering the fields in their daily search for food. One pair have flown this land for decades, sometimes with one young but to see six together was an amazing sight. I wondered what this might mean and then I realised. Six is the number of balance, of the equinox.

I had been given six in both earth and sky, how fitting for a number which connects above and below! It also signifies reconciliation, intellectual creativity, discrimination, union, love and perfection. It shows the ability to use imagination and the intellect combined whilst taking responsibility for choices.

As the week progressed I returned to Warwickshire, driving home along narrow country roads. Bright eyes in my headlights showed another rabbit followed by my totem companion, the badger. He is the strong, deep healer. Daring to go where others fear to discover the root of dis-ease. He is also the keeper of stories reminding us that we might change the details but the core of any tale remains the same.

Next were two foxes. They pointed out the need for diplomacy and sometimes cunning; to be seen but of times to be silent or disappear from view. Their wildness cannot be tamed.

Lastly was a tiny stoat, skittering across my path, disappearing into the undergrowth. This silent creature has many lessons to share. Their powers of observation are keen and their energy helps us watch what others are doing and realise the hidden meanings behind actions. We can observe who or what needs attention, or a solution, and offer assistance in our own quiet or discreet way.

So much to see, so much to learn. No matter the blackthorn has called back the cold mantle of winter, we know our spring adventures have just begun.