A week in the life of a Herbwife

Winter stores are hard to quantify. I know in my head what lies on each larder shelf. There are two for oils, one for infused honeys, four for dried herbs, two for vinegars, half a shelf for flower essences, and the rest are tinctures, elixirs and liqueurs. Once upon a time, everything was in alphabetical order but that disappeared when space was at a premium or others helpfully returned jars to gaps rather than their homes. Most bottles and jars are labelled with a date of production but there are still a couple I have yet to either identify or throw out.

Some herbalists were talking recently about using the quiet time of winter to catch up on their herbal inventories. This has been one of my goals for many years but I doubt if it will be crossed off the list any time soon. My larder is full. The only way a new jar finds a place on a shelf is if another is removed. Any new preparation takes twice as long because something else must either be emptied, amalgamated or thrown away.

Saturday and Sunday were spent digging more roots. My long-suffering husband volunteered to do battle with nettle roots, which seemed only right as the prostate support medicine is for him. I attacked the first year angelica plants, removing six and leaving others to grow for another season. Then I tackled Solomon seal, quite a feat when the whole neglected bed is covered with nettles, hogweed and other unmentionables. I unearthed six roots, leaving the rest for another year.

One thing you notice when harvesting roots is the condition of the soil. The angelica was covered in a sticky, wet, dark brown, not surprising when the bed is below the spring line where clay meets limestone. The horseradish was in a completely different medium, the dry, light brown particles falling away from the stones as I dug down beside the wall.

Two hours spent removing four kinds of roots followed by another two on Monday scrubbing horseradish, Solomon seal and angelica before leaving it to air dry overnight.

The plan was to make tinctures with angelica, Solomon seal and nettle and a new batch of fire cider vinegar with the horseradish. I’d forgotten angelica needs overproof rum for its menstruum but luckily two bottles arrived back with the Monday shopping alongside more vodka. Anyone who didn’t know me would think I had a problem…!

Tuesday morning began with decanting two jars of hawthorn berry brandy and last year’s angelica root harvest. One of the  hawthorn jars contained quite a lot of gelatinous precipitate which I wasn’t expecting as the haws had been harvested before any whiff of frost. After discussion, it appears that hawthorn contains more pectin than either apples or lemons. So much so, the scientists are preparing to use it in developing new food preparations and drugs. (Take a look at the article here.)

To alleviate the problem, I washed the haws with extra brandy and added it to the tincture, which seems to have settled into liquid form. Hawthorn jelly is now on my list to make.

Every decanted tincture needs to be tasted. When you first start making medicines, this really helps to identify new tastes but it’s also helpful in deciding whether the season is a good one for that plant. This was my first ever batch of angelica root. It was possibly the worst tincture I’d ever tasted, probably not helped by leaving the roots in alcohol for a year. (We weren’t ill last year so I didn’t need it.) It was bitter, incredibly strong and tasted “black” with no discernible sweetness from the rum and not a great deal of the expected angelica scent. Interestingly, half an hour after swallowing the disgusting liquid, I realised my mouth was no longer burning and I really felt quite well!

A spare half-hour between piano lessons found me desperately scrubbing nettle roots in failing light wishing I could see better! Nevertheless, the amount I laid out to air dry on the kitchen table overnight was just enough to fill two large jars the following morning.

The final preparation from the weekend haul on Wednesday was a nasturtium leaf tincture, from a chance visit to my aunt and uncle the previous Friday. Nasturtiums have been very late growing this year and I only had one plant self-seed, which wasn’t enough to do anything with. Nasturtiums not only provide colour in a garden, peppery leaves for salads and seeds for false capers, they are a powerful anti-viral and have a special affinity for respiratory issues. My aunt had two plants curling their way along her beech hedge. She had no objections to my harvesting the hand-sized leaves which yielded enough to make a small jar of tincture.

Next on the list were ashwagandha roots from the garden. The forecast for the end of the week was very cold with the possibility of snow as well as frosts. Thursday sunshine dried the washing and threats of overnight rain decided me to grab a thick coat and wellingtons as light faded. The ashwagandha plants were happy to be removed. Those planted late into the middle raised bed were already leafless with small roots. They never grow as well in this cooler environment but even an inch of root provides a useful yield from thirty plants.

Most leaves of the plants in the large pots on the patio were still vibrantly green with secondary leaves already growing. Their roots were at least two inches long with a frenzy of rootlets. The cherry shells were nowhere near ripe, so those stems were cut to live in the kitchen window sill until they transform. Friends came to play with the model trains in the loft on Friday and they were more than happy to take part of the root harvest home with them.

A busy week beginning with roots and ending with spices when I prepared two curries from scratch for our Friday night meal. They all provide harvests to sustain us through the winter and hope to see us through the long, cold months ahead.

 

Autumn Recipes

As days become shorter and rain keeps falling during the night, it seems a good time to review some seasonal recipes. I had to smile last week when chef, Nigel Slater, went to his local green grocer to buy blackberries as part of his “Simple Cookery” series.  I don’t understand people who are fit and healthy buying blackberries from a shop when they are freely available from hedgerows. Even in the largest city, no-one is too far away from a canal or other open space where such fruit should abound.

Over the past month we’ve spent many hours picking blackberries and last weekend even the rosehips were finally ripe. I’ve discovered that blackberries cooked with sugar and cinnamon with a little water make the most wonderful sauce to add to natural yoghurt or eaten with other fruit and covered in cream. I’ve also made a hedgerow jelly using mainly blackberries.

Friary Jelly

Put whatever hedgerow fruits you have gathered and washed  into a large saucepan and just cover with water. (I had picked elderberries, blackberries, apples  and sloes. I chopped the apples into quarters/small chunks leaving the peel and pips.) Add a couple of sticks of cinnamon or cassia bark broken up or 2 tsps powdered cinnamon plus half a grated nutmeg.

Bring the fruit to the boil and simmer for half an hour until everything is very soft. Mash everything with a potato masher, then pour everything into a muslin strainer or jelly bag and leave to strain overnight. If you want a really clear jelly, don’t squeeze the bag but if you’re not bothered about having something cloudy (and because the jelly is going to be purple anyway), then squeeze the last drops of juice out and measure the volume.

Wash the saucepan and return the liquid into the pan. For every pint of liquid add 1lb sugar. Heat the mixture slowly until the sugar dissolves then bring it to a rolling boil for ten minutes or until the jelly has set. (Drop a tablespoon of hot jelly onto a pyrex saucer and put it in the freezer. Take another sample after 5 more minutes. If the first sample has a skin on it when you press the back of your forefinger nail through it, it has set. If it hasn’t, keep repeating every five minutes until it does.)

I had 2pints of liquid and it made 6 1/2lb jars of very tasty jelly.

I’ve also been adding blackberries to elderberry syrup and was interested to learn that one of the US Herb suppliers adds fresh blackberries to their St John’s wort tinctures macerated in grain alcohol and water to improve flavour and increase anti-oxidant levels.

One of my apprentices recently sent me some autumn recipes which I shall be trying out soon. I may use some of the elderberries frozen from last year to make this recipe for Elderberry Balsamic Vinegar from Eat Weeds. If you don’t already know the Eat Weeds website, it has some very interesting recipes including one for hawthorn jelly. I also like the sound of the BoxingDay chutney recipe which is available on Kirstie’s Homemade Christmas site from Chanel 4.

After our busy weekend at the farm, the last four days have been spent processing all the herbs I picked or dug. Solomons Seal Root is macerating in a jar of Overproof Rum (£24 from Tesco’s, ouch!). Dandelion roots are either tincturing or making Jim Macdonald’s bitter with cardamom and orange peel while the remainder dry in the cupboard.  Photos from the weekend can be found on Facebook 

All the aerial plant parts (marshmallow, ashwagandha, white horehound, New England Aster, chamomile and Calendula) are drying, along with some rosehips. The wild bergamot went into a tincture. This morning it was the turn of the ashwagandha roots to be vigorously scrubbed and are now air drying on the patio table in the warm wind and sunshine. The large bag of nettle roots, horseradish and the single Himalayan poke root are still waiting their turn which will probably come tomorrow.

I’ve also discovered another favourite soup recipe I thought I would share – very simple, hearty and frugal. es, it can take 2 days to cook, but it costs very little and tastes wonderful!

Pea and Ham Soup (for vegetarian and vegans, omit the ham)

1 pkt of green or yellow split peas

2 bay leaves

2 onions

2 carrots

2 sticks of celery

(Or 1 carrot, 2 parsnips and half a celeriac root)

4 ozs of chopped ham

Tip the packet of split peas into a large bowl and cover with lots of water.  (I usually fill a mixing bowl to the brim.) Leave to soak overnight. The next day, peel and chop the onions and sauté in a large saucepan (at least 5 pints) until soft. Peel and chop all the vegetables and add to the onions along with the bay leaves and strained split peas. Cover with around 3-4 pints of cold water. Season. Bring to the boil and either simmer for about 1hr until the split peas are soft or pour contents of saucepan into a cookpot and cook on high for one hour or so then on low for several hours until peas are soft. (Don’t remove lid from cookpot/slow cooker during cooking or you will increase the time by an hour or so.) Remove bay leaves. Return soup to the large saucepan and whizz using your favourite utensil until smooth. Add your diced ham and bring back to the boil. Serve with fresh bread. (Feeds 8-10 people).

The original recipe for this soup comes from the Good Housekeeping Cookbook. They use a smoked ham bone to make stock before you add the vegetables, but I haven’t been able to obtain a ham bone yet and if you did this, you couldn’t offer it to any non-carnivores.

Autumn is a busy time, but I’m looking forward to snuggling up with my many potions when winter comes.

More tales of Ashwagandha

I have come to the conclusion that if a plant wants to work with you, they come into your life and their relationship is an easy and fruitful one. This is certainly my experience with Ashwagandha. Being a native of the Indian subcontinent, you wouldn’t expect it to flourish in our relatively cold and wet climate, but for the past three years it has cheerfully grown to maturity, flowered and fruited despite dreadful summers with rain bringing constant soggy growing conditions.

My two original plants came from Debs Cook as seedlings in 2009. From their seeds I gave some away and grew a dozen or so more, but none of them flowered or fruited and although I tried to overwinter the plants, the severe weather conditions killed them all.

Luckily, one of my apprentices had more success with her plants and gave me three cherries. From those seeds I grew sixty plants over the summer and by October felt I could finally harvest and begin to work with the roots.

It was fascinating to see how different plants in different locations had matured in different ways. Those growing in straight lines in the new herb bed were taller, produced more fruit and their roots were twice the volume of their cousins planted in squares in the original herb bed. After washing and scrubbing of the soil, half the roots were tinctured and the remainder chopped up into thin, inch long pieces and dried in my hot cupboard in a paper bag.

The ashwagandha plant and fruit has no discernible smell. I purchased root powder from Baldwins a year or so ago and that too had no smell. My home grown roots smelled distinctive and earthy. In the four or so days between harvested and preparation, they filled the entire outhouse with their particular scent. The tincture tastes as the root smells, dominating other tinctures in my morning tonic and the dried roots also kept their smell when I finally transferred them from paper bag to glass jar last Friday (after nearly three months in the hot cupboard in a paper bag).

Last Saturday was my first workshop of the year. We were studying tonics, so it seemed a good opportunity to try some new ways of experiencing ashwagandha. The night before, I took 25g of purchased root (which was possibly twice as thick as my own) and covered it with cold water. On Saturday morning, the water was transformed into a noticeably more viscous liquid. The roots and fluid were divided into half. One half was simmered with milk and a small handful of three year old apothecary’s rose petals (which retained both colour and scent!) for 30 minutes and the same was done using almond milk with the other half.

Both groups who tasted the Ashwaganda milk commented on its distinctive, nourishing flavour. Everyone enjoyed it. I tasted the cow’s milk version and found it pleasant despite the noticeably bitter aftertaste on the very back of my tongue.

Both Kiva Rose Hardin and Gail Faith Edwards recommend using rose petals to counteract ashwagandha’s warming effects, rather than using the herb on its own. Kiva also suggests pairing it with milky oats for adrenal exhaustion or with nettle seed for those people who have absolutely no energy. In her wonderful article, she offers a useful formula of 2 parts Ashwagandha, 2 parts Nettle, 1 part Peach, and 1/2 part each Lemon Balm and Rose as her personal favourite treatment for adrenal exhaustion, but says, “This is very cooling and calming, and could be made a bit more stimulating and warming with the omission of the Peach and the addition of Rosemary in its stead and a 1/2 part fresh Ginger.”

I’ve not yet worked with Peach as my poor tree has been afflicted with leaf curl since I bought it nearly four years ago. We moved it to a more sunny and sheltered position by the barn wall last spring so I am hopefully it might begin to flourish one day!

There are still ten plants sitting either on windowsills or on the table in my garden summerhouse. Some leaves are dropping, but others are vibrant and green. I am watering them sparingly and have just installed a heater into the summerhouse as the forecast for this next week predicts frosts of several minus degrees centigrade.
The cherries this year were slow to turn from green to orange, so I have harvested the fruits in batches – discarding those which failed to mature and setting the bright orange ones to dry in paper bags and envelopes.

Ten cherries have been given to an apprentice whose ally this year is ashwagandha. She made the point of visiting the plants in the summerhouse as well as the one I’d brought down for the workshop attendees to admire and help themselves to a fruit to take home with them. She emailed me the following day saying, “I was affected deeply by my first real contact with her, so was left a bit dumbstruck.”

Ashwagandha does that to you. You watch her spring to life from a tiny seed, then grow to green maturity in four short months. Her lantern-like fruit pods hide the growing cherries and it is not until those lanterns turn from green to dry brown you notice her vibrant and truly amazing fruits. More months pass until those fruits become winkled and you can carefully peel off the scarlet covering to reveal the white seeds inside; seeds which can be planted to begin the circle once again.

She is a truly nourishing plant. Not only does she feed your depleted systems, she teaches and helps you to grow in so many different ways. Next year I shall try making a healing salve from her leaves and I look forward to another abundant harvest of roots and fruits.

Working with roots

It is not until you start working with roots that a sense of completion comes over you. Every root you dig or touch represents a life lost, a life offered. This plant will never grow again because you hold the means of its living in your hands.

It is a humbling experience which will, perhaps, enable you to wonder about the complexity of the living plant. How it anchors itself to the soil. How it lives for part of the year in darkness and solitude. How it knows when to grow forth into the light once again.

What is a root? In many plants the root is defined as the organ which grows beneath the soil, but some plants, such a mangrove trees, have roots growing up into the air or above water. These are called aerating roots, while roots which grow above the ground are known as aerial roots. The parts of a root are the xylem, the epidermis, the cortex, the root cap, the root hair, the phloem, and the cambium

The function of a root is to gather water from the soil and the minerals and nutrients it requires to flourish. These are drawn upwards from tiny root hairs to the rootlets or secondary roots into the main root system and from there into the plant stem where they are distributed via the xylem and phloem networks to where they are needed in the aerial parts – leaves, flowers, seeds etc.

Roots also anchor the body of the plant in the ground. A root system will often spread as wide as the plant canopy or beyond. They may also serve as the main reproductive part of the plant, sending up new shoots at every node. Herbs which have these extensive root systems are those like mint, nettle and bramble. They are adept at covering large masses of ground if left unchecked.

The roots of most vascular plant enter into symbiosis with certain fungi to form mycorrhizas, and a large range of other organisms including bacteria also closely associate with roots. Two plants which are grown specifically for this symbiotic relationship with nitrogen-fixing bacteria are runner beans and red clover. The large root nodules produce materials which enrich the soil.

A seed’s first root is called a radicle. It responds to gravity, growing downwards. This has caused substantial problems in trying to get seeds to germinate in space where there is no gravity, but has been overcome by increasing the light above the seed and reducing the amount below. There have been no problems growing seedlings in space which have been germinated on Earth.

A true root system is comprised of a primary root with secondary or lateral roots. Many root systems are diffuse with no primary root. Examples of herbs with these root systems are valerian, mullein, dyers woodruff and goldenseal.

Some plants have roots which emerge from the stem rather than from the primary root. Ivy, clover, strawberry and willow have adventitious roots, where roots originate from the stem, branches, leaves, or old woody roots.

Aerating roots of the mangroves have large breathing pores on their surfaces above the water to enable the exchange of gases, which would not be possible below.

Ivy also has completely aerial roots which held to anchor or prop the plant around the object it growing against.

Dandelion has a single, large primary root known as a tap root. It also has contractile roots which pull it further into the ground. The tap root stores sugars during the winter which enables the plant to survive. This is why roots pulled in spring or summer are more bitter than those pulled in autumn or during the winter.

Dandelion roots are fascinating and help to show the many different species which may grow in one locality. The roots I normally harvest in January from the field next to my parent’s bungalow have a hollow centre. Seemingly large roots are often the smaller roots of several plants which have twisted together over the growing season to form spirals. Roots dug from my main herb bed have single, large, solid tap roots with a very different consistency.

Burdock and comfrey also have deep tap roots which are difficult to harvest, especially when grown in rocky soil. Burdock root is very clever and instead of growing straight down, tends to veer off in a completely new direction after three to four inches. Roots like this are sometimes best harvested with a strong “digging stick” rather than a gardening fork.

Roots can be modified to store nutrients or act as an asexual means of reproduction. Potatoes are examples of stem tubers, while sweet potatoes are examples of root tubers or rhizomes.

Other examples of herbal root rhizomes are solomons seal, elecampane and angelica. All three have a very pungent scent ranging from delicate to profound, which is echoed when they are chewed. Solomons seal has a definite growing tip which can be broken off and left to remain in the soil if you wish to harvest the roots as ethically as possible. It is an American woodland plant and the tubers were eaten by the indigenous people and early settlers as a trail food

I have been growing Solomons seal for nearly ten years now. It was one of the first plants I bought to grow in my herb garden after hearing the wonderful success both Matthew Wood and Jim Macdonald were having with spinal issues using the root extract.

This autumn I took the plunge and harvested eight roots, leaving a strong patch of around twenty further plants to grow for the coming season. I had hoped to leave the growing parts in the ground, but the lateral roots were so firmly wrapped around each other, it was impossible to separate the plants. It took a good half hour of concentrated hosing with a water pipe to remove all the soil, stones and debris (including an ancient, twisted nail!) to reveal the pristine white tubers.

There were so many secondary roots, I cut these away from the tubers and made a double infused oil with them. It is rich and delicately scented. I have combined it with fresh horsechestnut oil into a salve for restoring vein strength and soothing a weak and inflamed shoulder.

Matthew Wood cautions against making a solomons seal root tincture with vodka. He believes that unless you use a high concentration alcohol, there will be a large amount of sweet substance precipitated into the tincture. The only high percentage alcohol we have in the house is a very special, single malt. There was no way Chris was going to donate it to my herbal medicines, so I made a vodka tincture as normal. Luckily, when I decanted it over a month later, there was no precipitate.

I began to take the tincture mixed with yarrow and plantain and I’m sure it has helped my weak shoulder. The pain is virtually gone, even when I lie on it. Any residual pain I’ve been feeling I’m putting down to falling outside Snow Hill station yesterday morning – I really should learn to negotiate the cracks in the paving stones better!

Everyone seems to find a root they enjoy chewing. Jim Macdonald loves calamus root. (I have planted several corms, but never got a plant to grow!). Henriette Kress loves elecampane root. I tried my first elecampane root this year, deciding to sacrifice one of my older plants as it died back at the beginning of October. The root was very scented to my palate, not as bad as angelica, but not something I would choose to spend a large amount of time with.

I sliced half the root for drying and tinctured the other half. Interestingly, the tincture did produce a white precipitate, but I will have to wait for someone to produce a phlem-filled cough before I can try it!

Angelica plants like me. Perhaps I shouldn’t say that, but they do grow prolifically in both my gardens. The first time I tried chewing the root, which was a second year plant in the last throes of life. It was disgusting, like chewing a bottle of scent! The second time I tried it, the plant was only a year old and although the scent taste was still strong, it wasn’t quite so unpalatable.

Angelica root is recommended for excruciating fibroid pains and as a nourishing tonic for menopausal women. Gail Faith Edwards suggested the best way to take angelica root is to infuse it in honey. Maddie washed the roots and poured the honey over them during the September workshop and it has been sitting on my windowsill in the sunshine since then. Recently I decanted it and tasted the honey. It’s an interesting flavour and one which should enhance a herbal tea, so I look forward to using it.

I love roots. Their strength and concentrated essence are so different from the aerial parts. They offer us a wonderful gift to use.

Developing relationships

Getting to know a plant is a continuing joy. It doesn’t happen quickly, but over a period of several years, circumstances enable you to meet them in many different guises.

Last year, nettle was the herb which really showed me a wealth of different perspectives. Nettle has always been the first fresh herb tea I make each year. When March arrives it is the only green growth with sufficient profusion to gather for tea. It tastes wonderful, freshly brewed and hot, to be sipped and savoured with your hands cupped around the mug to gather warmth into yourself.

Nettle soup is always a favourite and this year I experimented with adding it to sweet potatoes and cardamom pods which was a great hit with everyone.

1 large sweet potato (peeled and sliced)
One colander full of fresh nettle tops
1 onion (peeled and chopped)
2 leeks (washed and sliced)
3 carrots (scraped and sliced)
6 green cardamom seeds
1 inch of root ginger (peeled and chopped) (optional)
Salt and pepper to taste.
1oz butter

Sweat the onion and leeks in the butter in a large (5pint) saucepan until soft. Add the rest of the vegetables and cover with either cold or boiling water. Season. Bring to the boil and simmer for 20 minutes. When the vegetables are soft, remove the cardamom seeds and liquidise. Serve with fresh, granary bread.

So far this year I have put up nettle tincture and nettle vinegar which are awaiting decanting. On Saturday night I picked a whole basket of nettles from the bottom of the garden and tonight I shall put them into a paper bag to sit in the hot cupboard in the kitchen until they are dry. I’m looking forward to the summer when I shall try tincturing some fresh nettle seeds and drying others, to add to my porridge and yoghurt when I feel especially run down.

In the autumn I shall dig more nettle roots to make tincture for Chris.

Dandelion is another plant which has thrust itself into my notice over the past few months. I have always eaten the leaves in salads and sandwiches during the spring and summer, but I’ve not prepared a great deal of dried root or fresh leaf tincture.

In January, I braved the biting winds to dig plump roots to make tincture. It had a definite, sweet aftertaste. Easter saw me picking young, fresh leaves for drying in the bitter winds and snow. I’m now using these in my daily work tea alongside other, nourishing and soothing herbs. I shall need to pick more to both dry and tincture, to add to the jar which is already macerating in the larder.

Eating dandelion flowers has been another first for me this year. I’ve also made a beautiful, yellow mixed flower and leaf oil and salve and a subtle flower, sweet Cecily and cardomon syrup which is great on my morning porridge. I want to repeat both oil and syrup using just dandelion flowers which will mean a significant picking foray in the field this weekend.

Dandelion Flower Salve
4oz fresh dandelion flowers
Enough sunflower oil to cover 2oz of flowers (around 8 fluid ounces)
Either a double saucepan or a stainless steel pot with a lid small enough to place inside another saucepan.
Water
1.25oz beeswax (sufficient to thicken 8 fl ozs of infused herbal oil)

Place half of the flowers in the inner pan and cover with sunflower oil. Replace the lid firmly and place inside the other saucepan which is about half filled with water. Bring to the boil and simmer for two hours. Do not let the pan boil dry! Remove the inner pan and strain off the oil through a sieve, squeezing the flowers with a wooden spoon to remove as much oil as possible. Place the remainder of the dandelion flowers in the inner pan and pour over the oil from the first infusion. Replace the lid firmly and heat the oil in the outer pan for a further two hours. Strain the oil into a clean glass jar and cap with a screw top lid. Label and date. Let the infused oil sit for about three days to make sure any water content separates out. Decant oil, discarding the oil/water mixture at the bottom of the jar. If water drops are left in the infused oil it will go off more quickly.

To make the oil into a salve, pour 8 oz oil into the inner pan of the double saucepan. and heat. Grate the beeswax into the hot infused oil and stir with a wooden spoon until it melts. Test the thickness of the salve by dropping a few drops into a small cup of cold water then rubbing it between your thumb and fingers. If it is not thick enough, add more wax. When it reaches a suitable consistency, pour into small jars and seal. The salve will thicken and change colour on cooling. Use dandelion flower salve to nourish breast tissue.

The third herb which has been attracting my attention this year has been bramble. I’ve known for some time that bramble leaves could help stomach upsets, but apart from the odd tea with leaves or blackberries, I’ve never paid the plant much heed. Bramble briars have been something to attack and remove from my gardens before they take over any available space. I leave any briars which flower in the hope I’ll benefit from the resulting blackberries in the autumn.

It was Joyce Wardwell’s book, “The Herbal Home Remedy Book: Simple Recipes for Tinctures, Teas, Salves, Wines and Syrups” which gave me confidence to get to know bramble at a deeper level. She has a recipe for bramble root vinegar, which is apparently a well-known American home recipe for diarrhoea. Someone else on Henriette’s herblist recently posted that she tried the vinegar for her IBS flare up and found immediate relief from the pain.

It seemed strange making a root tincture at the Spring Equinox, when it is an activity I usually keep for the Autumn Equinox. Studying roots always seems to me to provide an opportunity for considering wholeness and balance because you are considering the entire plant, not just the aerial parts, which is often the case during the rest of the year.

It was such a privilege handling the spring roots of bramble. You could see the old, hard wood of the previous year and the new, red-tinged shoots of new growth. It gave me a totally new perspective on Spring and on this plant.

The original jar of vinegar was ready to decant on Sunday. I’d added the shell of a hard boiled egg to increase the mineral content. It completely disappeared and I forgot I’d added it to the roots until I read the label! The vinegar is very dark and earthy. I strained it carefully because there was still soil on the roots despite all my scrubbing! It tasted rich with a sweet afternote which was not unpleasant. Normally, tasting neat herbal vinegar makes your mouth pucker, but this one didn’t, which surprised me, especially as I was expecting a degree of astringency!

There were more stray brambles in the garden, so I decided to dig them up and make another vinegar using both the new leaves and the roots. Again, it was an amazing experience sitting on the warm patio in the sunshine stroking the velvet softness of the new leaves and combing my fingers through the root hairs before I scrubbed them.

Bramble vinegar
Dig up at least six bramble roots. Cut the new leaves from any briars before discarding. Remove excess soil from roots then scrub in cold water until all soil is removed. Rinse roots in fresh water and chop into small, 1 inch pieces with secuteurs. Place bramble leaves in a large glass jar (2lbs) and snip with long scissors. Add the root pieces and cover with cider vinegar. Poke well with a chopstick to remove air bubbles and fill the jar again so no part of the root or leaf is exposed to the air. Label and date. Place in a warm, dark place for three weeks, shaking occasionally. Strain off all the roots and leaves, squeezing leaves to remove excess vinegar. Strain the vinegar again through a fine sieve or kitchen paper to remove any soil. Pour into clean bottle with screw top lid. Label and date. Use in salad dressings or with honey and boiling water to make a soothing drink.

Someone on the Herbwifery Forum recently said they believed brambles to be vicious and unforgiving. I know that’s true, but on Sunday I was able to experience a more gentle side to the plant which David Attenborough highlighted in his “Secret life of plants” as the most efficient and aggressive coloniser of any free space.