There is something very special about harvesting your own herbs. For me it is also associated with moments of panic, timing, weather considerations and a general sense of extreme urgency, all of which fade away while I’m actually with the plant.
I know I should pick leaves and flowers before midday when everything is dry. I know this is the best time yielding the least stressed and most concentrated plant matter. I also know that if I waited until conditions were always ideal, I’d only harvest a very small amount and I’d be continually frustrated.
I do have some days when I’m free to do what I want before midday when it’s sunny and dry – maybe once or twice a month if I’m lucky. Otherwise it’s more the case of braving the wind and possibly rain to pick wet leaves and flowers in the hope of drying them sufficiently before I make them into something else. Or I pick in the evening when everything is calm and dry in the few free moments between returning from work and carrying on with another task.
Yesterday was one of those days. The sun was trying to shine, but not quite managing it, but it was warm enough in the garden to walk in sandals without a cardigan. The herbs were dry, so I was able to fill my basket with lots of lemon balm, a large handful of beautifully flowering sweet woodruff and around five stems of white nettle before Chris called me in to teach my first piano pupil.
I was amazed how strongly the dead nettle smelled like ordinary nettle. If my nose were my only guiding principle I’d have worn gloves to harvest them, but the large white flowers gave them away. I’ve never used white nettle because it’s been decades since I had my one and only UTI and I’m hoping I won’t have another, but it seemed prudent to have it to hand, dried for a future tea “just in case”. When plants put on such a display for me, it usually means I’m to take notice of them, so I have.
I was in Coventry on Wednesday night giving an Introduction to Herbs talk to a local group in a pub while the rest of the world watched a football match in Russia very loudly. As we were finishing, someone asked where they should source their herbs and the person sitting next to them began an almost hopeless litany of how polluted everywhere is and all the sprays used by farmers. I almost felt cross with her for stressing how impossible it might be to find your own herbs in your locality until someone else pointed out the wide availability of plants on canal tow paths.
I suppose, as with all things, it’s knowing your locality and its history which is the key. Then you can decide whether or not it’s safe (and appropriate) to harvest for yourself.
I have to admit I was feeling a similar sense of frustration this morning while I was sitting waiting for a train. Across the platform were hundreds of ox-eye daises which I would dearly love to harvest and explore, but which are totally inaccessible. A foxglove was just coming into bloom, complementing the pinks and purples of the lupins further along the deserted platform and the patches of yellow, which look like ragwort but probably aren’t.
All through the journey, elder trees were showing the beginnings of white splodges amongst the green. Soon it will be time to pick and dry. Next weekend I shall be down in Exmouth with time on my hands, so I suspect I may be foraging with basket and paper bags or there are two apple and cherry twigs waiting to be sanded and oiled.
Whatever the weather, I know I shall have plenty to do!
Friday, 23 May 2008
Monday, 19 May 2008
Surrounded by Scent
Scents have captured me on several occasions over the past few weeks. The first was the cow parsley hidden behind the fence beside the station bus stop. The aroma always makes me think of carefree lunchtimes in Priory Park in Warwick when two friends and I would use our cherished sixth form freedom to go and play on the slides in the adventure playground. The cow parsley grew everywhere, hiding the sides of the deep bowl where the adventure playground was set so we could enjoy ourselves without fear of being seen acting like children instead of decorous young ladies!
It was then I also learned about cow parsley’s other name – Queen Anne’s Lace, a term I’d not heard beforehand. Today the name is used by American Herbwives for wild carrot (daucus carota), with Jim Macdonald and Robin Rose Bennett reporting interesting uses for the seeds as a uterine tonic and contraceptive. Cow parsley is Anthriscus sylvestris and looks like a more delicate version of the wild parsnip (heracleum lanatum) which grows in great profusion in my Cotswold herb beds.
Cow parsley also taught me about knowing my seasons. When I was fifteen, I had a vivid dream about visiting a chapel and finding a wounded Civil War soldier. The dream became my first attempt at a short story. I wrote about the heroine walking down a road smelling cow parsley in the heat of August. When I showed it to a family friend who was also a writer, he gently pointed out that cow parsley didn’t bloom in August and I must take care to be accurate in my descriptions if I wanted to convince my readers about a time and location. It was a lesson I never forgot. (One version of the story can be found on http://www.springfieldsanctuary.co.uk/mainfiles/stories_and_poems/story_03.htm)
Another scent which has captured me has been honeysuckle. As I sit down on the platform bench first thing in the morning, I am suddenly arrested by a powerful perfume so beautiful it takes my breath away. The honeysuckle grows around the corner, but its influence carries a long way. It makes me want to try the recipes I have found in Julie Brueton-Seal’s new book, “Hedgerow Medicines” which tells how to produce a virus-beating honey with honeysuckle blossom. Debs is already infusing a jarful and has enthused about the glorious smell and flavour. (http://herbal-haven.co.uk/blog/?p=86) I wish I could make some as well, but the honeysuckle which used to hang over my garden wall has now disappeared since Chris and our next door neighbour installed a new boundary fence two weeks ago.
Many people are drawn to herbs by their scent and somehow feel cheated if a plant has no aroma. Sometimes the scent is subtle, such a dandelion flowers and ground ivy, but sometimes the lack of scent is a mask for the bitterness of the plant’s taste. With both burdock and motherwort, you are lulled into a sense of false security by the absence of scent until you bite into the leaves and wish you hadn’t!
Much has been written about the need for bitters in modern diets. We expect everything to be sweet and bland, or spicy and fiery, yet what our digestive juices crave is bitterness to stimulate production. Maybe things will change if we educate enough palates!
It was then I also learned about cow parsley’s other name – Queen Anne’s Lace, a term I’d not heard beforehand. Today the name is used by American Herbwives for wild carrot (daucus carota), with Jim Macdonald and Robin Rose Bennett reporting interesting uses for the seeds as a uterine tonic and contraceptive. Cow parsley is Anthriscus sylvestris and looks like a more delicate version of the wild parsnip (heracleum lanatum) which grows in great profusion in my Cotswold herb beds.
Cow parsley also taught me about knowing my seasons. When I was fifteen, I had a vivid dream about visiting a chapel and finding a wounded Civil War soldier. The dream became my first attempt at a short story. I wrote about the heroine walking down a road smelling cow parsley in the heat of August. When I showed it to a family friend who was also a writer, he gently pointed out that cow parsley didn’t bloom in August and I must take care to be accurate in my descriptions if I wanted to convince my readers about a time and location. It was a lesson I never forgot. (One version of the story can be found on http://www.springfieldsanctuary.co.uk/mainfiles/stories_and_poems/story_03.htm)
Another scent which has captured me has been honeysuckle. As I sit down on the platform bench first thing in the morning, I am suddenly arrested by a powerful perfume so beautiful it takes my breath away. The honeysuckle grows around the corner, but its influence carries a long way. It makes me want to try the recipes I have found in Julie Brueton-Seal’s new book, “Hedgerow Medicines” which tells how to produce a virus-beating honey with honeysuckle blossom. Debs is already infusing a jarful and has enthused about the glorious smell and flavour. (http://herbal-haven.co.uk/blog/?p=86) I wish I could make some as well, but the honeysuckle which used to hang over my garden wall has now disappeared since Chris and our next door neighbour installed a new boundary fence two weeks ago.
Many people are drawn to herbs by their scent and somehow feel cheated if a plant has no aroma. Sometimes the scent is subtle, such a dandelion flowers and ground ivy, but sometimes the lack of scent is a mask for the bitterness of the plant’s taste. With both burdock and motherwort, you are lulled into a sense of false security by the absence of scent until you bite into the leaves and wish you hadn’t!
Much has been written about the need for bitters in modern diets. We expect everything to be sweet and bland, or spicy and fiery, yet what our digestive juices crave is bitterness to stimulate production. Maybe things will change if we educate enough palates!
Tuesday, 6 May 2008
Digging the scullcap bed
Digging should be easy. You push in the fork, pick it up, shake it, remove all the weeds and move on to the next patch. It wasn’t like that in the skullcap bed. I can’t remember how many plants I ordered from Pyntzfield Herb Nursery back in 2004 – probably three. I can’t even recall where they were originally planted. All I can remember is that there used to be a line of Echinacea augustifolia all the way down the short end of the bed which have now completely disappeared.
For the past two spring digging sessions, my father has efficiently dug a three foot width of the herb patch, removing all nettles, dandelions, wild parsnips, red campion and other unwanted visitors from the soil and the skullcap have returned more vigorously each summer along with a display of self-seeded calendula. This year, the digging was left to me.
I didn’t dare let Chris loose on this patch. He is also an efficient digger, just as long as you don’t expect him to leave any plants actually growing. (I am doing him a disservice; he now recognises goats rue and motherwort as long as they are large enough!)
So, it was down to me. Every plant I picked up to discard seemed to have a familiar white tendril entwined within the ball of roots and soil which had to be carefully pried loose and replanted. It took nearly two hours to clear from the bottom of the bed by the peony to the top of the bed where the thymes are growing.
It was worth it. The entire bed is now relatively clear of all unwanted plants. The black cohosh is comfortably nestled beneath the remaining angelica plant, the calendula seedlings are sprouting and the ladies mantle is flowering. The dyers woodruff is spreading happily and the bergamot looks as if it is feeling quite at home.
My only worry is the absence of any signs of the Joe Pye weed and the boneset. The former (also known as gravelwort) is not a herb I use, but the bees and butterflies love it. Boneset is a necessity, being the herb which reduces the bone wrenching aches of influenza. I’ve only had to use it once on Chris, but he said it worked. The plant was not happy last year being overshadowed by angelica and decided to wither. Maybe it has given up the struggle for sunlight, not knowing it would have a clear view of the sky this year, since all the angelica nearby have been removed to “another place”.
I shall have to search again next weekend for any signs of life.
For the past two spring digging sessions, my father has efficiently dug a three foot width of the herb patch, removing all nettles, dandelions, wild parsnips, red campion and other unwanted visitors from the soil and the skullcap have returned more vigorously each summer along with a display of self-seeded calendula. This year, the digging was left to me.
I didn’t dare let Chris loose on this patch. He is also an efficient digger, just as long as you don’t expect him to leave any plants actually growing. (I am doing him a disservice; he now recognises goats rue and motherwort as long as they are large enough!)
So, it was down to me. Every plant I picked up to discard seemed to have a familiar white tendril entwined within the ball of roots and soil which had to be carefully pried loose and replanted. It took nearly two hours to clear from the bottom of the bed by the peony to the top of the bed where the thymes are growing.
It was worth it. The entire bed is now relatively clear of all unwanted plants. The black cohosh is comfortably nestled beneath the remaining angelica plant, the calendula seedlings are sprouting and the ladies mantle is flowering. The dyers woodruff is spreading happily and the bergamot looks as if it is feeling quite at home.
My only worry is the absence of any signs of the Joe Pye weed and the boneset. The former (also known as gravelwort) is not a herb I use, but the bees and butterflies love it. Boneset is a necessity, being the herb which reduces the bone wrenching aches of influenza. I’ve only had to use it once on Chris, but he said it worked. The plant was not happy last year being overshadowed by angelica and decided to wither. Maybe it has given up the struggle for sunlight, not knowing it would have a clear view of the sky this year, since all the angelica nearby have been removed to “another place”.
I shall have to search again next weekend for any signs of life.
Tuesday, 29 April 2008
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.
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.
Friday, 25 April 2008
When the river disappears
It’s been a difficult week.
I could blame exhaustion from four weeks preparing for and rushing around the country – two conferences in London and Coventry, followed by presenting four bereavement workshops in Birmingham, Grimsby, Brigg and Goole, a training session on NHS complaints in London then a meeting with my boss in Sheffield. Out of work has been just as busy with three healer teaching/supervision/demonstration sessions, a weekend digging my herb garden in the Cotswolds followed by a family party in Surrey last weekend.
I could also blame my hormones, which were supposed to have settled into their new, lower levels, but my body decided otherwise, leaving me weeping in the toilets yesterday morning wondering if tears were a good enough excuse to go home and sleep for the rest of the day!
At times like these I think back to the lyrics of The Squonk by Genesis http://www.stlyrics.com/songs/g/genesis1632/squonk76811.html
I have always identified with the creature, wondering if one day I shall be the one tied up in the sack leaving only a pool of tears as a legacy!
Thinking rationally, I know how much I have to be grateful for, especially when I hear other people’s stories either first hand or on the news. The recent deaths in Redditch must be touching every parent of an adult child with learning disabilities who wonder if they, too, might find themselves in a similar situation one day if their capacity for caring reaches a place of no return.
One of my tasks this week is to put together a list of support organisations for a young mum who had a stillbirth and is now pregnant again. I was very heartened to see the discussion forums now available online which were not around when my children were born or when my mother suffered her miscarriages. Knowing you are not alone in your suffering and fears is often half the battle.
Being alone was something mentioned by a gentleman I met last night at my local cancer support group. I’d been contacted a week ago by the booked speaker who could not attend because her mother, who suffers with Alzheimers, had fallen and needed 24 hour care until she was back on her feet again.
As a group, we have been wanting to offer healing to people with cancer for many years, but the opportunity hasn’t materialised. It was a wonderful evening. I spoke for fifteen minutes or so and then we broke into groups and everyone who wanted healing was able to receive it. Each healer had four “patients” – around 20 people. Everyone said what a different evening it had been and how much they enjoyed it.
While I was waiting to begin, I dropped into conversation with someone who had been given a 12-month prognosis. He looked very frail, talking about losing his confidence, not being able to work and generally not knowing what to do. There was a flipchart in the corner of the room, so I drew him a picture of the river of life model of loss and bereavement. I first came across this at a Brake training day on understanding bereavement and have been using it in my workshops ever since. People love it because it describes the process so simply and they are able to recognise where they are in relation to the whirlpool of emotions and moving backwards and forwards into the new river of life.
When he saw the diagram, the gentleman mentioned how he had been trying to climb back up the waterfall to regain his original river, which is something many people do before they accept it is not possible. I suggested he try to concentrate on thinking only of one day at a time, or if that were too difficult, just the current hour and forget about the timescale he had been given.
I never know whether the words I offer people are helpful. It only seems important that I say them rather than leaving them unsaid and wishing afterwards I had done so.
Another good thing from last night was meeting some of the Reiki healers who offer regular healing to the group. One of them expressed an interest in herbs, so maybe I shall have another healer at my herb workshops!
I could blame exhaustion from four weeks preparing for and rushing around the country – two conferences in London and Coventry, followed by presenting four bereavement workshops in Birmingham, Grimsby, Brigg and Goole, a training session on NHS complaints in London then a meeting with my boss in Sheffield. Out of work has been just as busy with three healer teaching/supervision/demonstration sessions, a weekend digging my herb garden in the Cotswolds followed by a family party in Surrey last weekend.
I could also blame my hormones, which were supposed to have settled into their new, lower levels, but my body decided otherwise, leaving me weeping in the toilets yesterday morning wondering if tears were a good enough excuse to go home and sleep for the rest of the day!
At times like these I think back to the lyrics of The Squonk by Genesis http://www.stlyrics.com/songs/g/genesis1632/squonk76811.html
I have always identified with the creature, wondering if one day I shall be the one tied up in the sack leaving only a pool of tears as a legacy!
Thinking rationally, I know how much I have to be grateful for, especially when I hear other people’s stories either first hand or on the news. The recent deaths in Redditch must be touching every parent of an adult child with learning disabilities who wonder if they, too, might find themselves in a similar situation one day if their capacity for caring reaches a place of no return.
One of my tasks this week is to put together a list of support organisations for a young mum who had a stillbirth and is now pregnant again. I was very heartened to see the discussion forums now available online which were not around when my children were born or when my mother suffered her miscarriages. Knowing you are not alone in your suffering and fears is often half the battle.
Being alone was something mentioned by a gentleman I met last night at my local cancer support group. I’d been contacted a week ago by the booked speaker who could not attend because her mother, who suffers with Alzheimers, had fallen and needed 24 hour care until she was back on her feet again.
As a group, we have been wanting to offer healing to people with cancer for many years, but the opportunity hasn’t materialised. It was a wonderful evening. I spoke for fifteen minutes or so and then we broke into groups and everyone who wanted healing was able to receive it. Each healer had four “patients” – around 20 people. Everyone said what a different evening it had been and how much they enjoyed it.
While I was waiting to begin, I dropped into conversation with someone who had been given a 12-month prognosis. He looked very frail, talking about losing his confidence, not being able to work and generally not knowing what to do. There was a flipchart in the corner of the room, so I drew him a picture of the river of life model of loss and bereavement. I first came across this at a Brake training day on understanding bereavement and have been using it in my workshops ever since. People love it because it describes the process so simply and they are able to recognise where they are in relation to the whirlpool of emotions and moving backwards and forwards into the new river of life.
When he saw the diagram, the gentleman mentioned how he had been trying to climb back up the waterfall to regain his original river, which is something many people do before they accept it is not possible. I suggested he try to concentrate on thinking only of one day at a time, or if that were too difficult, just the current hour and forget about the timescale he had been given.
I never know whether the words I offer people are helpful. It only seems important that I say them rather than leaving them unsaid and wishing afterwards I had done so.
Another good thing from last night was meeting some of the Reiki healers who offer regular healing to the group. One of them expressed an interest in herbs, so maybe I shall have another healer at my herb workshops!
Wednesday, 23 April 2008
Tasting the Garden
Chris was away painting the caravan last night, so I walked home from the station in glorious sunshine and was able to go out into the garden to survey what might be around to make up the accompanying salad for my macaroni cheese.
Dandelions were everywhere, many with golden flowers fully open to embrace the sunshine. I was looking at one of Susun Weed's site's recently where she talked about eating the flowers as well as the leaves, so I picked several to see what they might contribute.
The sorrel was also growing in great profusion with far less half eaten leaves than normal, so I picked a handful of those as well. Behind the well cropped Mexican orange tree was a mass of new violet leaves. Every time I've looked at them since December, the leaves have been eaten and sparse, even when the violet flowers were blooming, but now, since the flowers have gone over, it seems the plants have put all their energy into growing new leaves! There has been a lot of discussion about violet leaves on the Herbwifery Forum with many contributors mentioning that they used the leaves in salads or to make tea. They have all commented on how mucilagenous the leaves are, which I couldn't quite get my head around since they look exactly the same as most leaves which are definitely not mucilagenous.
I've only ever made infused oil with the leaves and have never been tempted to eat them, but this time I thought I would take the plunge. I picked a leaf and chewed it. It was a total revelation! There was little actual flavour, but it wasn't unpleasant and as I chewed it, I could feel the strands of mucilage developing in my mouth. Now I know what everyone else was talking about! I felt like dancing around the garden shouting "I know what mucilagenous means!" Of course, I didn't - I'm far too quiet and reserved for that!
The lemon balm is also growing well, so several shoots were added to the salad mix. It took me a while to find the "Jack by the hedge". The plants were hiding at the back of blackcurrant bush but flowering although they were only about 18 inches high - very small compared with the 3-4 feet they reach in summer. Debs admonished me for pulling them all up when she visited last year, so again, I took the plunge and chewed some leaves. They were amazing - full of flavour with a faint garlic tang to it. The large leaves also went into the salad mix!
A few sprigs of St John's wort and mint completed my gathering. My garden tour showed up how much weeding I still have to do as the creeping buttercup and hedge woundwort have really taken over some patches. It was lovely to see the new pansies still blooming everywhere and the new stocks are also beginning to flower. The new leaves of the goldenseal are beginning to unfurl and the black cohosh has uncurled its leaves. Maybe on Sunday it will be dry enough to get out and attach things with a fork!
Later on, I made up some new tincture concoctions for myself and Chris, since both our bottles were empty. Mine has a mixture of hawthorn flower, nettle, burdock, vervain, cleavers and dandelion root with a couple of teaspoons of rue and horsechestnut seed. Chris' is more straightforward - hawthorn flower, nettle root and a touch of dandelion root. We take a small dose at breakfast in orange juice to accompany our porridge.
Dandelions were everywhere, many with golden flowers fully open to embrace the sunshine. I was looking at one of Susun Weed's site's recently where she talked about eating the flowers as well as the leaves, so I picked several to see what they might contribute.
The sorrel was also growing in great profusion with far less half eaten leaves than normal, so I picked a handful of those as well. Behind the well cropped Mexican orange tree was a mass of new violet leaves. Every time I've looked at them since December, the leaves have been eaten and sparse, even when the violet flowers were blooming, but now, since the flowers have gone over, it seems the plants have put all their energy into growing new leaves! There has been a lot of discussion about violet leaves on the Herbwifery Forum with many contributors mentioning that they used the leaves in salads or to make tea. They have all commented on how mucilagenous the leaves are, which I couldn't quite get my head around since they look exactly the same as most leaves which are definitely not mucilagenous.
I've only ever made infused oil with the leaves and have never been tempted to eat them, but this time I thought I would take the plunge. I picked a leaf and chewed it. It was a total revelation! There was little actual flavour, but it wasn't unpleasant and as I chewed it, I could feel the strands of mucilage developing in my mouth. Now I know what everyone else was talking about! I felt like dancing around the garden shouting "I know what mucilagenous means!" Of course, I didn't - I'm far too quiet and reserved for that!
The lemon balm is also growing well, so several shoots were added to the salad mix. It took me a while to find the "Jack by the hedge". The plants were hiding at the back of blackcurrant bush but flowering although they were only about 18 inches high - very small compared with the 3-4 feet they reach in summer. Debs admonished me for pulling them all up when she visited last year, so again, I took the plunge and chewed some leaves. They were amazing - full of flavour with a faint garlic tang to it. The large leaves also went into the salad mix!
A few sprigs of St John's wort and mint completed my gathering. My garden tour showed up how much weeding I still have to do as the creeping buttercup and hedge woundwort have really taken over some patches. It was lovely to see the new pansies still blooming everywhere and the new stocks are also beginning to flower. The new leaves of the goldenseal are beginning to unfurl and the black cohosh has uncurled its leaves. Maybe on Sunday it will be dry enough to get out and attach things with a fork!
Later on, I made up some new tincture concoctions for myself and Chris, since both our bottles were empty. Mine has a mixture of hawthorn flower, nettle, burdock, vervain, cleavers and dandelion root with a couple of teaspoons of rue and horsechestnut seed. Chris' is more straightforward - hawthorn flower, nettle root and a touch of dandelion root. We take a small dose at breakfast in orange juice to accompany our porridge.
Monday, 21 April 2008
Being passionate in public
I was going to write about actually spending a week without doing anything herbal, but I realised that wasn't the case - it was just my memory failing me!
I had two evenings to myself last week while Chris went down to the farm to do more work on our ancient caravan. It's a 1957 Paladin Buccaneer which his parents bought from new. They towed it all round Scotland and half of Europe. We took it over in 1987 with the proviso there might be "a little bit of damp rot in the one corner". When Chris and my father started taking it apart, the whole framework crumbled to dust and had to be completely rebuilt. Inside we also put a large fridge, eye-level (if you're very small) grill and a three burner hob which has enabled to me to provide several 3-course meals for 11 people. It's the only one of its kind still on the road.
Two years after rebuilding, we then had one of the wheels sheer off on the motorway, so that was another building project, with a new shassy and floor, but still our wonderful caravan. It has returned to Scotland, when 6 of us slept inside during one night at Loch Lomand (Kathryn was in her carrycot on the sink!) and spent twenty years trundling down to Cornwall and various other amazing places. The kids soon graduated to beds in the awning and then tents of their own, but now we have it all to ourselves which enables us to keep the double bed set up and still have a table to sit at and admire the view.
Two years ago the skylight started to leak into the sink and we noticed that when there was torrential rain there would be a slight damp patch on our jumpers in the top of the wardrobee. Chris decided this winter would be a restorative one, so once again the roof has been removed, new insulation laid and everything re-sealed within an inch of it's life! He's now at the rubbing down stage prior to starting painting this week, so it will be ready to take to Exmouth at the end of May.
So, while he was busy re-sealing the caravan roof in the Cotswolds, I took advantage of his absence to make another mess on the kitchen table. On Wednsday night, there was very little debris as I merely heated up the dandelion flower and leaf oil I'd made on Sunday with beeswax to make a wonderful yellow salve. It even smells faintly of dandelion flowers!
On Thursday night, after teaching my piano pupils, it was nettle tincture and the nettle/apricot/orange peel iron tonic I was decanting. The tincture was poured into an old malt whiskey bottle with a label to discourage people from thinking there might still be something aromatic inside! The iron tonic was a beautiful red colour from the mixture of red wine and madiera. (I can never write or say madiera without thinking of Michael Flander's wonderful inebriated rake in the song "Have some madiera, m'dear!". I knew the song before the wine!) The tonic dregs tasted good and so did the infused apricot pieces.
I made the iron tonic for my niece, Jennifer, who suffered really badly with anaemia last year. I was expecting to be able to give it to her during the family party in Surrey to celebrate her mother's 50th birthday, but she was busy playing corfball in Cardiff and didn't attend, so I don't know when she'll get it. Her grandmother also muttered darkly that her anaemia was "not the usual kind", so I don't know if it will be useful or not. The family all treat my herbal exploits with grave suspicion, so I doubt it will be viewed with any degree of seriousness, which is a shame, because it's Christopher Hedley's recipe so I know it would be efficacious.
During the party, I happened to mention something about nettle soup, which drew the attention of a group of my sister-iin-law's friends, who asked what it tasted like. I made my usual suggestions (i.e. it depends what other vegetables and herbs you cook it with) and then began to tell them all about nettles and how the different parts can be used for different things in different forms. One of them commented on my passion for my subject and I realised it was true. I only have to be given the opportunity to wax lyrical about herbs and I can bore people for hours!
One of the friends asked for suggestions for irritable bowel, so I mentioned marshmallow and slippery elm. None of them had heard of the latter and thought I was talking about a new breed of owl! Interestingly, when I got home, Henriette's email list was discussing management of this painful and debilitating condition and there were many really useful suggestions. I may put it all together and send it to him.
One woman found that a few drops of her bramble root vinegar really dealt with the pain she was suffering from. My first batch of this vinegar is now awaiting straining, which may actually happen this weekend as Sunday is amazingly free of commitments! I'm really looking forward to seeing if it can help my difficult times when my stomach decides it doesn't love me any more!
I do hope the warmer weather arrives soon. I did go out on Thursday evening when I got home from work to look at the new herbs I planted last Sunday evening, but they showed little change and I could only see one of the two black cohosh - which was a little worrying! I am determined not to put slug pellets down this year as the frogs are already in the garden and I don't want to risk hurting them. I shall be very upset if the slugs eat everything!
I had two evenings to myself last week while Chris went down to the farm to do more work on our ancient caravan. It's a 1957 Paladin Buccaneer which his parents bought from new. They towed it all round Scotland and half of Europe. We took it over in 1987 with the proviso there might be "a little bit of damp rot in the one corner". When Chris and my father started taking it apart, the whole framework crumbled to dust and had to be completely rebuilt. Inside we also put a large fridge, eye-level (if you're very small) grill and a three burner hob which has enabled to me to provide several 3-course meals for 11 people. It's the only one of its kind still on the road.
Two years after rebuilding, we then had one of the wheels sheer off on the motorway, so that was another building project, with a new shassy and floor, but still our wonderful caravan. It has returned to Scotland, when 6 of us slept inside during one night at Loch Lomand (Kathryn was in her carrycot on the sink!) and spent twenty years trundling down to Cornwall and various other amazing places. The kids soon graduated to beds in the awning and then tents of their own, but now we have it all to ourselves which enables us to keep the double bed set up and still have a table to sit at and admire the view.
Two years ago the skylight started to leak into the sink and we noticed that when there was torrential rain there would be a slight damp patch on our jumpers in the top of the wardrobee. Chris decided this winter would be a restorative one, so once again the roof has been removed, new insulation laid and everything re-sealed within an inch of it's life! He's now at the rubbing down stage prior to starting painting this week, so it will be ready to take to Exmouth at the end of May.
So, while he was busy re-sealing the caravan roof in the Cotswolds, I took advantage of his absence to make another mess on the kitchen table. On Wednsday night, there was very little debris as I merely heated up the dandelion flower and leaf oil I'd made on Sunday with beeswax to make a wonderful yellow salve. It even smells faintly of dandelion flowers!
On Thursday night, after teaching my piano pupils, it was nettle tincture and the nettle/apricot/orange peel iron tonic I was decanting. The tincture was poured into an old malt whiskey bottle with a label to discourage people from thinking there might still be something aromatic inside! The iron tonic was a beautiful red colour from the mixture of red wine and madiera. (I can never write or say madiera without thinking of Michael Flander's wonderful inebriated rake in the song "Have some madiera, m'dear!". I knew the song before the wine!) The tonic dregs tasted good and so did the infused apricot pieces.
I made the iron tonic for my niece, Jennifer, who suffered really badly with anaemia last year. I was expecting to be able to give it to her during the family party in Surrey to celebrate her mother's 50th birthday, but she was busy playing corfball in Cardiff and didn't attend, so I don't know when she'll get it. Her grandmother also muttered darkly that her anaemia was "not the usual kind", so I don't know if it will be useful or not. The family all treat my herbal exploits with grave suspicion, so I doubt it will be viewed with any degree of seriousness, which is a shame, because it's Christopher Hedley's recipe so I know it would be efficacious.
During the party, I happened to mention something about nettle soup, which drew the attention of a group of my sister-iin-law's friends, who asked what it tasted like. I made my usual suggestions (i.e. it depends what other vegetables and herbs you cook it with) and then began to tell them all about nettles and how the different parts can be used for different things in different forms. One of them commented on my passion for my subject and I realised it was true. I only have to be given the opportunity to wax lyrical about herbs and I can bore people for hours!
One of the friends asked for suggestions for irritable bowel, so I mentioned marshmallow and slippery elm. None of them had heard of the latter and thought I was talking about a new breed of owl! Interestingly, when I got home, Henriette's email list was discussing management of this painful and debilitating condition and there were many really useful suggestions. I may put it all together and send it to him.
One woman found that a few drops of her bramble root vinegar really dealt with the pain she was suffering from. My first batch of this vinegar is now awaiting straining, which may actually happen this weekend as Sunday is amazingly free of commitments! I'm really looking forward to seeing if it can help my difficult times when my stomach decides it doesn't love me any more!
I do hope the warmer weather arrives soon. I did go out on Thursday evening when I got home from work to look at the new herbs I planted last Sunday evening, but they showed little change and I could only see one of the two black cohosh - which was a little worrying! I am determined not to put slug pellets down this year as the frogs are already in the garden and I don't want to risk hurting them. I shall be very upset if the slugs eat everything!
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