It Must Be May

 

It's funny how sometimes a much-loved herb will be growing right under your nose and you don't even see it. A month or so ago, my friend Darren Huckle who's a herbalist and tree expert here in Santa Cruz kindly came round to prune our fruit trees. The garden is on several levels, with a wild uncultivated strip at the top accessible by steep steps. There are shrubs and trees up there, from solid natives like self-sown Coastal Live Oak to less welcome (though pretty) interlopers such as oleander. My longterm plan is to plant an orchard of some of the unusual (to me) fruits which grow here such as pineapple guava and loquat as well as figs, mulberry and passionflower. As we pushed our way through the tall grass he suddenly called out 'you've got a hawthorn'. I was baffled. You don't see hawthorn here. In London every park is hedged with the stuff and the English countryside is afroth every May with its creamy white blossoms. But here... well, it's the first one I've seen in California and I'm not someone who doesn't look at plants.

He knows the university well and told me there were a couple of trees up there so we concluded that a helpful bird must have dropped a seed some years ago and no one got round to digging it out. I was SO happy - I've been importing hawthorn tincture from England and had little hope of harvesting here and making my own. A couple of weeks later it burst into bloom and I was up there, clinging to the hillside snipping tiny clusters of blossoms and the first leaves into a bowl. The tincture is now in my herb cupboard gently macerating away, capturing and preserving the very essence of this magical tree.

The country name for Hawthorn is May and it's always in bloom at this time of year. In the past children would gather branches and go from house to house on Mayday to ask for treats, which might be where the idea for trick or treating originated. It's a sure sign that summer is on the way and I love the way in England that it lights the hedgerows and fields so that even on a dull day the sun seems to shine.

The hawthorn (Crateagus ocycantha/monogyna - there's a whole bunch of them) bottle in my dispensary has always seen a lot of action. It's used pretty much exclusively for the heart: as a tonic to strengthen the force of the heart, slow a rapid pulse and reduce high blood pressure. There's a fair bit of research out there on its effects and I've definitely found it to be very helpful in my practice (note here that anyone with heart problems should be under care of a medical professional and consult a herbalist before using herbs - hearts are pretty critical organs...).  But I also use it for the heart in a more general sense - hawthorn treats broken hearts - whether mechanically damaged or emotionally. When a relationship goes wrong, during periods of bereavement, for any heartfelt loss, time and time again I have found it to be helpful - rebuilding the heart whilst keeping it open to love, hope and possibility.

There are those who feel uncomfortable with herbs being used in this more 'energetic' sense. They feel on more secure ground working with the known plant chemicals and their demonstrable effects on the body. However my education was in both and it feels natural to me for both paradigms to happily coexist in most prescriptions I make up. Humans aren't just biological processes, nor are we wholly our emotions and thoughts - both come together to make the complete person and so it is with plants. If you want to get hippy about it, you could say that the body and spirit of the plant treats the body and spirit of the person.

If you're lucky enough to have hawthorn growing nearby and want to harvest some, it might be useful to know that I use both the flowers with early leaves, and then later in the year the matt red berries. You'll see in the photo above that when I was harvesting mine, it still had last years berries on - apparently this has happened to a lot of trees this year due to the drought. Some herbalists prefer one, some the other and one manufacturer even blends the two for a kind of complete hawthorn experience. In lab tests, the flower/leaf extract, surprisingly, has more of the highly active blue/red proanthocyanadin pigments than the berries, so some people prefer that. I'll take what I can get - my heart loves both.

Paula on the Radio

 

I was interviewed by Ruth Copland for The Way of Love, Live on KSCO Radio here in Santa Cruz last Saturday. You can have a listen here http://itsthewayoflove.podbean.com/2013/07/07/herbalism-w-paula-grainger-indian-canyon-w-ann-marie-sayers-jane-w-deborah-allen/

Scroll down to the little 'listen here' button at the bottom of the page.

The Versatility of Chamomile

 

I've grown German Chamomile (Matricaria recutita) for the first time this year and it's a real delight to see the bright daisy-like flowers nodding above the strawberries in my new vegetable patch.

Chamomile is one of those herbs which I think gets kind of overlooked, perhaps because it's just too darn ubiquitous. It's the herbal tea bag you'll find in cafes or smarter hotels. Everyone has heard of it and everyone knows what it's for: it helps you relax and sleep, doesn't it?

Well, yes it does, but there's more to this herb than just a bedtime cuppa. With its slight bitterness and high essential oil content, Chamomile is a fine 'carminative' or soothing digestive herb to reduce gas and bloating when you've overindulged or eaten the wrong of foods. It's also a great quick fix for tension headaches - make a very strong cup of chamomile tea using at least three tea bags or a tablespoon of dried herb to a cup of boiling water. Steep it for at least ten minutes and drink. You'll be surprised at how effective it is.

My teacher used to say that Chamomile is for 'babies of all ages'. It is safe and gentle enough to be used on even tiny ones, I used to make a strong tea of chamomile and lavender to add to my son's bath water when he was little. I'm not a fan of baby washes, which I think are often too harsh and can even make eczema more likely.  Babies are fundamentally pretty clean and the herbs have a gentle anti-microbial action which is helpful round the nappy/diaper area. And and since babies are remarkably porous, the calming and soothing essential oils are absorbed to help reduce colic and soothe and calm the baby. That Latin name, Matricaria translates as 'from the mother' and chamomile is a great herb to use whenever someone needs a little gentle mothering.

If you ever come across the essential oil of German Chamomile, you'll discover that it's a/ really expensive and b/ a deep, dark greenish blue. This is thanks to chamazulene, a constituent in the essential oil which is a superb anti-inflammatory. Like other essential oils, it should only be used externally and should always be diluted before you use it on your skin - chamomile may be gentle, but the essential oil is powerful stuff. A few drops added to a cream or salve will turn it a delightful blue and really help reduce redness and inflammation in skin conditions such as eczema, nettle rash and prickly heat.

Incidentally, this is one of those herbs I think you'll need to plant or buy dried - I don't think I've ever come across it in the wild (though I may just be looking in the wrong places - let me know if you've found some). It's  lower growing cousin, pineapple weed with it's petal-less yellow cone flowers and it's pungent fruity, pineappleish scent is found along paths and dry meadows all summer long and is often confused with true chamomile. There are lots of daisy-ish looking plants out there and it can be hard to tell one from another. Look out for the way the white petals curve back away from the dense, cone-like yellow centre and the flowers and feathery green foliage have that distinctive sweet, apple-y, summery scent when lightly crushed.

California Dreaming

Cal poppies in Big Sur

California poppies are the State's official flower and you can see why. I photographed these along the Big Sur coast a couple of weeks ago, and from my holiday herb reading discovered that early seafarers would say they could see there was gold in California from far out to sea, when they saw the fields of golden poppies along the shore. Certainly their bright colour was visible miles ahead of us as we wove along the windy and precipitous Highway 1.

It's exciting for me to see them growing in such profusion, since California Poppy, or to give it its rather unpronounceable botanical name, Eschscholzia californica, has long been a favourite herb in my practice. In London I only ever saw it as a bottle of tincture in my dispensary or the odd rather sorry looking plant in a garden. Unsurprising, I suppose, that a plant which evolved for long, dry summers and mild winters doesn't thrive there. Here I see it not only in the wild places like Big Sur but pretty much everywhere: on traffic islands in the busy downtown area, tumbling down embankments and sprouting between cracks in masonry. It's ebullient and sunny and somehow very Californian.

It's interesting that its lively appearance kind of belies its medicinal qualities, because California Poppy helps you sleep. It's effective but gentle enough to be given to over-excited children - though I'm always cautious about using sleep herbs too often for children as sleeping is a skill which I believe needs nurturing and learning like any other. But for a long flight, or jet lag, it's a safe and useful possibility.

Like much in Herbal medicine, helping people fall asleep and stay asleep is an art as much as a science, in my view. Even the most powerful pharmaceutical tranquilisers don't work in some cases and the problem with the 'knock 'em over the head' approach is that it can leave the sleeper with a foggy head the next day. The beauty of a well balanced and tailored herbal prescription is that you can balance the herbs to provide what that person needs. In many cases this is mostly about feeling relaxed and safe, sometimes it's to do with an overactive mind and tense, under-exercised muscles. sometimes it's a lack of routine and too screen time before bed.

I use California poppy when I want to help someone fall asleep, it's less effective when the problem is waking in the night. It helps quieten the mind and seems to induce a pleasant heaviness of the eyelids, so its easier to drift off to the land of Nod. Once there, some people report they dream a little more, and I've heard tell of quite vivid dreaming, but it always seems to be pleasant. I combine it with whichever herbs are indicated for the individual, which can often mean deeper sleep herbs such as hops (Humulus lupus) or wild lettuce (Lactuca virosa) and maybe a herb to relax the muscles like Chamomile or Vervain (Verbena officinalis).

So if you're having a temporary problem with falling asleep, you could consider seeing whether this beautiful flower can help. You can buy tincture from your herbalist or a herb store.  If you'd like to prepare your own don't be tempted to wildcraft, as it is very rightly protected in the wild so you'll need to grow it or make friends with someone who has it in their garden. If you manage to get hold of some, make a tincture of the whole arial parts - ie leaves, flowers and seed pods.

Horehound

As well as the sealions barking on the wharf, there’s the sound of some very human coughing here in Santa Cruz at the moment. It seems half the population has chest colds or viruses which leave a lingering and highly irritating cough in their wake. So I was pleased to come across a lot of White Horehound (Marrubium vulgare) growing in the splendidly named Pogonip state park, on the edge of the town.

It’s one of my favourite herbs to treat coughs, especially of the rather sticky, stuck-mucusy kind and I also use it in bronchitis and sometimes asthma. I like to think of it as getting down into the lungs and brushing out the mucus, then gently propelling it upwards and out. It doesn’t suppress a cough, as something like Wild Cherry or Coltsfoot would, which is good in this instance, as I want things to move so that the body can recover.

The herb is full of terpines which make it intensely bitter, so I was pleased just now when I strained off the tincture which has been macerating in my kitchen for the last three weeks or so to find that it tastes really horrible. A great sign with horehound. For this reason, I almost never give it as a tea. In my practice I usually combine the tincture with other expectorants like Thyme or Liquorice, immune boosters such as Echinacea and very often my favourite Elderberry for its anti-viral qualities. These have the added benefit of improving the taste somewhat as well as adding their own medicinal actions.

A number of my friends here have been struck by the cough, so today I’m brewing up a batch of Liquorice and Thyme syrup with added elderberries, to which I am also going to add a little of the Horehound tincture. This will give me a nice-tasting syrup with very little alcoholic content, making it suitable for children and people who don’t like alcohol.

Here’s how I’m doing it:

2 Tablespoons dried Liquorice (Glycyrriza glabra)

1 Tablespoon fresh Thyme (Thymus vulgaris)

1 Tablespoon dried Elderberries (Sambucus nigra fructus)

1 pint water

1. In a pan, bring all this up to a slow simmer and let it bubble gently for about 20 minutes or until the kitchen smells good.

2. Strain out the herbs using muslin or kitchen paper in the sieve, as you want to get all the organic material out.

3. Return to the (cleaned out) pan and add 40ml of White Horehound tincture (or you could have added a couple of tablespoons of the fresh herb into the pan at the beginning).

4. Bring it back to the lowest simmer you can and slowly let it reduce to about half.

5. Add sugar or honey (I prefer the latter) in equal volume to the liquid you have left and allow it to cool.

1. Bottle into nice clean bottles or jars and keep it in the fridge. It should be stable in a cool place, but I find it lasts longer in the fridge.

You can take it by the spoonful (1 x 5ml spoonful up to 4 times a day) or add warm water (with or without lemon and/or ginger) to make a hot drink.

This syrup is not suitable for you if you are pregnant or have untreated high blood pressure. If you are taking prescription medication or have a medical complaint, talk to a herbalist or your doctor before self medicating. 

Ooh look - Milk Thistle!

Look what I found! A great big, beautiful Milk Thistle plant! It was tucked up on bank under the trees by the side of the harbour, just a minute from the beach. I didn't spot it at first as the dappled sunlight filtering through the branches onto its heavily patterned leaves was great camouflage.

Milk Thistle is one of those herbs which once seen, is always recognisable. It's a sturdy, fine looking thistle with distinctive white markings which look a lot like drizzles of milk. Hence the name - though the seeds are used to increase milk production (galactagogue is the pleasing technical term) so the association may be due to more than just looks. It's sometimes known as St Mary's Thistle, in reference to a myth that whilst feeding the baby Jesus, the Virgin Mary spilled her milk onto its leaves causing the markings. Herbs are quite often named for a particular saint (St John's Wort is another good example) perhaps as a way to help herbalists in the middle ages keep on the right side of the church authorities and avoid association with magic or witchcraft.

The botanists have endowed it with two latin names which are used pretty much interchangeably - causing much confusion for trainee dispensing assistants. I tend to write it as Carduus marianum in my prescriptions, though now I come to think of it, I have it shelved under S for Silybum marianum in my dispensary in London. Perhaps I use Carduus because I am still not grown up enough not to snigger at the name 'Silly-Bum'.

With its sterling reputation as 'the liver herb', it's a good plant to talk about in January, when so many people are trying to nurse their battered livers after the excesses of the holiday season. It's always found in hangover cures, although it's actually most effective taken before venturing out for an evening of carousing.

There are many herbs which have an action on the liver, and they are pretty much all bitter, a taste which stimulates the flow of digestive juices all the way through the system. But Milk Thistle is in a class of its own when it comes to treating all kinds of liver complaints - from the sludgey, fatigued feeling you get after too much celebrating, for supporting the liver during drug treatment, and even for much more serious conditions such as hepatitis and cirrhosis - though these latter should ONLY be treated herbally under the care of a qualified and experienced practitioner, of course.

Research suggests that the 'magic' ingredient is silymarin, which is found in the seeds and appears to have two key effects on the liver. It improves the ability of liver cell (hepatocyte) membranes to resist toxins, hence its ability to protect against some if the effects of alcohol. Silymarin has also been shown to increase liver cell production, which means toxins are processed more effectively as they come through. These qualities can be very helpful any time your liver needs to function more effectively. This would include menopause, when hormones are flying around and all need to be excreted by the liver and high cholesterol, since cholesterol is excreted by the liver and can increase in the blood when the liver function is less than optimal.

You can take silymarin as an extract, but as ever, I prefer the whole herb, believing that there are other chemicals in the plant which work in synergy to have the best effect. I often use a tincture in my practice, though I am mindful of using alcohol where there may be liver problems. Capsules work well and I have often given the dried seeds to be added to food. If you choose to use seeds, you do need a coffee grinder (or a pestle and mortar plus elbow grease) to break them up, as they are hard little things, which otherwise will simply pass whole through the digestive system. If you do decide to grind your own, do it in small quantities and store them in an airtight container in the fridge, as like other seeds they are high in oils which can go rancid fairly quickly.

I've been told that it grows so prolifically in the dry climate here in Santa Cruz that local herbalists collect their own seeds, so I'll be keeping an eye on this and any other plants I find as the year progresses and aim to do a little harvesting myself.

Lemon Entry

It’s citrus season here in Santa Cruz and the Farmers’ markets are awash with lemons, limes, oranges and a huge variety of satsumas, mandarins and clementines (I can never tell which is which). Not to mention grapefruits and pomelos. It’s kind of a spin out for this London herbalist to see locally grown citrus fruit – I still find myself stopping and staring at the loaded trees in people’s gardens. With their rounded shape and blobs of brightly coloured fruit, they look like children’s drawings rather than living, growing plants.

I was lucky enough on Friday to be given a 10lb bag each of lemons and limes. Some of which are in the picture above. One of the things which fascinates me about being here is how it turns my experience of the world around. Everyone knows that lemons are yellow and limes are green, right? Except these aren’t: the lemons are orange and the limes yellow. The latter are called bear limes and are a lot sweeter than the ones I used to buy in England. They have a beautiful fragrance too.

Lemons are kind of overlooked when it comes to herbal medicine, perhaps because they are so widely used in cooking. But, of course, they are a fantastic source of Vitamin C as well as containing good amounts of potassium and vitamin B1. Everyone knows that a hot honey and lemon will help the symptoms of a cold, to the extent that many pharmaceutical remedies are lemon-flavoured. It is also widely seen as a ‘cleansing’ drink when added to hot water – something I drink most days.

This unexpected bounty made me think about what to do with them. A handful of each have been cut into wedges and popped in bags in the freezer to add a citrussy chill to drinks or have boiling water poured over the make my favourite daily drink. But with the rest I’ve started making a childhood favourite, Lemon Curd. When I was growing up, my grandmother always had a jar on the go, which was spread like jam on bread, used to sandwich a sponge cake or, best of all, alternated with her other homemade preserves to create bright yellow spokes on her dinner plate sized jam tart. A circle of pastry, divided into segments with twists of pastry to create a colourful and child-pleasing desert.

Lemon Curd isn’t really a jam as it contains eggs and butter, although it’s not lacking in the obligatory sugar. Like many women of my generation, I’m pretty reluctant to give my son large amounts of sugar, but there’s no getting away from the allure of sweet things to the seven year old boy’s tastebuds. He’s a huge fan of pancakes for breakfast and as I draw the line at the dreaded syrup, he usually has lemon juice and honey on them. But as we found this morning, a pancake rolled around a spreading of fresh lemon curd makes for an extremely delicious breakfast. And it strikes me that this is a comparatively healthy way for him to fulfil his sweet desires. The eggs (and there are a lot of them – two whole eggs and two yolks to 2 lemons in each 1lb jar makes it more egg than lemon, really) provide omega 3 and protein, which as well as being good for him, also slows down the breakdown of the sugar. And a shot of Vitamin C is never a bad thing, especially in winter. Since lemons are very acidic, it’s probably a good idea to have a glass of water afterwards and not brush teeth immediately (fresh acid brushed into the enamel is not a good idea according to the dentists I know).

If you can lay your hands on some lemons, and this recipe only uses two so you don’t need a whole bowlful, then why not make some of this yummy preserve yourself? It’s best kept in the fridge and I’d give it a life of a month or two, though chances are you’ll have finished it up long before then. The recipe below is shamelessly nicked from Nigella Lawson. If you can’t think what to do with the extra egg whites and have a bit of time on your hands, then why not throw health to the wind and use it to make the Lemon Meringue Cake from her book Feast? In my house, even the most hardened healthy eater or desert denier has never refused a second slice!

Lemon Curd Recipe 2 Lemons, zested and squeezed 2 large eggs 2 egg yolks (from large eggs) 150g caster sugar 100g unsalted butter

1. Beat the eggs, egg yolks and sugar together. 2. Melt the butter in a heavy based pan and when melted add the juice and zest of the lemons. 3. Keep it on a gentle heat and stir. You really don’t want to have the heat too high as that will diminish the Vitamin C content of the finished spread. You also don’t want to end up with lemony scrambled eggs! 4. Keep stirring, don’t give up when it seems like it will never thicken. 5. When it eventually does thicken (so that a little smeared onto your finger from the spoon – careful, it’s hot – goes sticky and thick as it cools). Take it off the heat. 5. Pour into a clean and sterilised 1lb (500g) jar. 6. Allow to cool. Lid and label and pop it in the fridge. If you have any seven year olds around the place, allow them some time with the (cooled) pan and spoon. They will really love you!

Tell Them About The Honey...

I was excited to come across this stall at the Farmers' Market last weekend. Medicinal honeys! Bee Humble Apitherapy are collecting honey from their bees and infusing it with herbs, to create some really interesting products.

The proper term for a herbal honey is an Oxymel, and I'm finding myself more and more drawn to them. The Jujubes I immersed in honey have been in the fridge for some weeks now, and the jar is almost empty, after a nasty flu bug went round my son's class and he started finding it drizzled over his porridge, spooned into herb teas to take cold to school and poured onto pancakes.

Honey on its own, of course, has some very interesting anti-microbial properties and has been held in such high esteem that since pre-history, people have risked their lives to collect it. It's human nature to be drawn to sweet things, but there is a big difference between a high quality raw honey and a spoonful of sugar. The sugars in honey are highly complex and it also contains anti-oxidants.

The honeys at the market were infused with a variety of herbs. I was particularly taken with the Elderberry one, which is an excellent idea: combining the anti-viral properties of the berry with the anti-bacterial honey has to make for a very useful winter spread. Likewise  Sage makes a lot of sense - my quick remedy for a sore throat is sage (of whatever type is growing nearby) tea with a good dollop of honey. I also really liked their Ginger and Siberian Ginseng honey, which I think would make a great pick-me-up for anyone who has been unwell or under stress. I was intrigued by the Yerba Santa version - it's a new herb for me. The Spanish name means 'Holy Herb' and it was prized by the native peoples and settlers as an expectorant - it's a local herb here and one I want to get to know.

Local honeys are very helpful in preventing and treating Hay fever and seasonal allergies. The idea being that the bee-processed flower pollens 'inoculate' against inhaled pollens, many people find it very effective, especially if taken ahead of the allergy season. I often recommend it alongside herbal tinctures of Elderflower and/or Plantain and Nettle. It would be interesting to infuse a honey with some or all of those herbs to create a kind of all-in-one hayfever prevention remedy. I shall try it next summer.

If you want to make a herbal honey yourself, simply chop up the herb, preferably fresh, though dried will work too, as finely as you can and pour enough honey over to cover the herb. Then let it infuse for a few weeks. Garlic makes a pungent version which will see off any winter bugs (not to mention vampires and most of your friends and family).  If you use a fresh herb, it's best to keep it in the fridge (as I did with the jujubes) as water in the herb can dilute the honey reducing it's 'supersaturatedness' and therefore making it more likely to go off.

As a professional herbalist, I will always prefer tinctures for their efficacy, ease of blending and convenience of use. But for the home herbalist, and particularly for mums and dads, I think honeys should definitely have a place in your herb cupboard. Children love them, they have no alcohol and they're a really effective way of using nature's medicine chest to keep you and those you love healthy.

If you'd like to take a look at Bee Humble's website, it's at http://www.beehumbleapiaries.com.

When the Herb Finds You

Studying herbal medicine at university you are encouraged to take a very clinical and scientific approach to the subject. But anyone who goes through the system and starts practicing, soon discovers that there is a lot more to the relationship between plants and humans than can be readily explained scientifically. Many herbalists report examples of the right plant presenting itself just when it is needed.  And I had a lovely instance of that recently.

A good friend had developed a skin condition. Underlying psoriasis plus what looked, to his doctor and me, like something viral and/or stress related. I wanted to give him some internal herbs to bolster his immune system, deal with any viral element and help with some liver issues. But I also knew that as long as the rash was intensely itchy and inflamed, he would get no relief. So I wanted to make a cream to reduce itchiness, inflammation and extreme dryness.

My go to herb to form the base of such a cream is Chickweed (Stellaria media). It's a herb I love and which grows profusely in London. It tends to prefer areas where there is little competition - under trees, in cultivated areas and along streets. And it is intensely juicy with an incomparable ability to reduce itchiness and bring moisture to a dry skin condition. In London in grows best in early spring and late autumn, drying out and disappearing in the summer and colder winter months. I spent a morning searching the well-stocked herbal stores around Santa Cruz trying to buy some infused oil, assuming there would be no chance of finding any growing at the end of the long, dry Santa Cruz summer. By the afternoon, I had given up: nowhere had any and I was trying to think of alternatives as I went to pick my son up from school.

Arriving at the school, my son was having fun playing with his friends so I left him in the playground and wandered into the herb and veg garden, which they call the Life Lab. Many of the plants and flowers which were blooming when he started school in late August had been cleared for winter planting, including the pumpkin patch which had been stripped for the Fall Festival a week before. As I strolled around, thinking about nothing in particular a tiny plant, alone in the middle of one of the pumpkin beds, caught my eye. I went closer and there, growing all on its own, was a small but perfectly formed chickweed plant. Not where it should be, and despite a subsequent proper hunt, the only one of its species in the vicinity. I thanked it, picked it and carried it home, the next morning reverently warming it in almond oil to form the basis of my cream.

Once infused I had a beautiful, deep green oil which I melted beeswax into, added some Berberis aquifollium tincture and combined with an infusion of chamomile and liquorice. I stirred in some lavender essential oil at the last moment and then poured it into clean pots before sending it on its way to the person it was intended for. Initial reports for it's efficacy have been very positive.

Chickweed is such an unassuming little plant, but one which never fails to delight me. To the extent that my son knew it's name at a very young age and could enjoy joining in with my husband's affectionate exasperation as I pounced on every plant during trips to Hampstead Heath and in the streets around our home in London. Its Latin name, Stellaria, means 'star' in Latin, which makes sense when you see its tiny sparkling white star-like flowers open on a sunny day. It closes them tight at night and when it is cloudy. When I take people on herb walks, we usually come across it and I always enjoy encouraging everyone to squish and squelch a few leaves in their fingers, releasing a flood of bright green juice, far exceeding what would expect from a few tiny leaves.

The name Chickweed comes from its popularity as chicken food. It's highly nutritious and was one of the wild plants which kept people fed during the early spring months when food preserved from the previous harvest was running low and new crops had yet to produce.

I had a lovely picture which I have just realised is not on my computer here, so if  you'd like to pick some,  have a google and you'll see how it looks. In the meantime, here is a picture of the lovely green infused chickweed oil. Gorgeous!

Passing On The Seeds

 

Mexican culture has a massive influence here in California and Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead) celebrated on 1st November,  is a hugely important Mexican holiday. It's quite alien to the European mindset: whilst the Victorians were obsessed by, even celebrated, death in art and culture, the trend over the last 100 years or so has been to shove it to the edges of our consciousness, to make it perhaps, the last taboo, something whose eye we avoid catching in the hope that it will not notice us and somehow pass us by.

I've been discovering that a central part of Dia de Los Muertos is to create an Ofrenda - a kind of alter dedicated to the departed, with skulls and skeletons, photographs and offerings. A gloriously vibrant confection which celebrates life as much as death. I noticed that older children had written letters to departed loved ones - people, pets, grandparents they had never met and stuck them up on the side of the Ofrenda, and that seems so healthy - so much more positive than simply pretending those loses have never happened.

My son's school makes one each year and has created what I think is a beautiful tradition. The flowers used to deck the school Ofrenda are what in Europe are called African Marigolds - though they are native to Central America where they are called  Zempoalxochitl. The seeds are planted each spring by the First Grade, who then, as Second Graders, harvest them in the autumn and bring them to the Ofrenda. Some of the flowers are left to seed and the Second Graders who grew them harvest the seeds, package them in hand-decorated envelopes and present them to the current First Graders, who in turn plant them in the Spring so that when they return as Second Graders in Fall, they can harvest them and pass them along. This has been continued at the school for the last thirteen years and it touches me deeply. Such young children learning a simple yet profound truth about the cycle of life and death.