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.

Try a little bitterness

I have to admit this is mostly here because it is just so damn pretty! These bags of salad are for sale in both our local Farmers' Markets and I couldn't resist photographing and buying, who could? The flowers are Calendula, Nasturtium and something called 'blue buttons' according to the salad salesman, which looks like some kind of cornflower to me.

Of these, Calendula is obviously the best known herbally for its anti-inflammatory and anti-microbial effects, though I can't pretend that a scattering of petals will have a lot of medicinal value. However, the salad as a whole contains a great mix of different leaves, including things like rocket (or arugula as it's called here) and raddiccio.

Eating bitter tasting leaves makes a lot of sense from a health perspective, as the bitter taste itself is a wonderful stimulant to the digestive system. The mouth releases additional saliva in response to bitter tastes and this sets off a cascade of digestive juices all the way through to bile from the liver. Consequently food is broken down, and therefore absorbed, more effectively. It's why aperitifs are so popular in Europe: they always contain bitter herbs such as Gentian or Wormwood (the infamous Artemisia absinthum of Absinthe fame), which also gives its name to vermouth.

A lot of commercially produced salad leaves have have had the bitterness bred out over the years, creating sweeter, milder salads such as baby gem or icebergs. I wouldn't want to add their parent Wild Lettuce (Lactuca virosa)  to my salad bowl as it is intensely bitter and rather spiky, not to mention an effective sedative which would risk sending half the table to sleep. But you can add a little bitterness with the wilder greens like rocket and lettuce as well as chicory and artichokes. And if you want to precede it with a stiff martini or deliciously retro Campari and soda, then you can congratulate yourself that you are doing it for the good of your digestion!

Borage for Courage

Something I've been delighted to discover in Santa Cruz is an abundance of Borage - it's in my front yard and all over the beautiful herb and vegetable garden at my son's new school, which is where  I took the photo above. The Borage has bright, star-shaped blue flowers. It's threaded through here with a fabulous orange-flowered climber which is completely new to me, but I'm told is a kind of Hawaiian Passionflower.  I've yet to find out the latin name or whether it has any of the medicinal qualities of the Passiflora incarnata I use. Do let me know if you can enlighten me.

You don't often see Borage growing wild in London, though its rampaging look-alike alkanet splashes many city gardens with blue. Both are members of the boraginaceae family, whose other members include comfrey, lungwort and forget-me-nots. All share characteristic furry, slightly bristly leaves and most have blue flowers.

The saying 'Borage for Courage' comes from a belief that Roman soldiers took the herb before heading into battle. I don't know whether that's true, but it's informed my prescribing on a number of occasions, I really do feel this herb can help people when they are unsure whether they can face the task ahead. I feel there are many aspects to Herbal Medicine. We are taught the science and pharmacology at college and it's crucial to understand those, of course. But as I have said before, I think there is a lot more to the relationship between the plant and animal kingdoms: ways in which the spirit of the plant can interact with our own unconscious.

I would certainly say Borage is an adaptogen, or herb which supports the adrenal glands. And robust adrenals help us face things with courage and fortitude, since they are responsible for  the stress hormones adrenaline, noradrenaline and cortisol and can become depleted over extended periods of  stress. The best known adaptogens are exotic and expensive herbs like ginseng, I love that there is a very good one which grows perfectly well in gardens, here in California and in England too.

Since I couldn't bring my dispensary with me, I am creating one for myself here, using the herbs I can beg and borrow from kind Santa Cruzians. And thanks to the generosity of Caprice, the doyenne of the school garden, I'm delighted to say that the very borage plant in this photo, as well as a few of its brothers and sisters, are hanging up right here in my house ready to be tinctured tomorrow! A good borage tincture often has a dark blueish tint from the flowers, I'll let you know how it turns out!

Dancing Dandelions in Santa Cruz

My family and I are now getting settled into our new home in Santa Cruz, California. There is a great tradition of herbal medicine here and the mild Mediterranean climate is bliss for a huge range of plants. I'm very excited about getting back to blogging so I can share my observations and discoveries, and a little about how I'm finding being An English Herbalist in Santa Cruz.

To kick off, here is a photo I took at our local Farmers Market last weekend. I wasn't that surprised to see dandelions being sold in this land where salad is almost a religion - after all they are cultivated in France where they know a bit about food. But I wasn't expecting to see such big leaves being sold at this time of year. The small, tender spring leaves are more usually used in salads. I'm wondering whether these are intended to be steamed, like spinach. We're off to the market again tomorrow, so if they are there again, I'll ask the farmer and report back.

I always think dandelions suffer in the UK from their sheer ubiquity and (to be fair, deserved) reputation as a tenacious weed. We all spend money buying rocket from M&S, when an equally delicious bitter leaf is in every garden, park and country lane. But if you do decide to munch on a few dandelion leaves, you may want to remember their French colloquial name: pis en lit (trans. pee in the bed). They have powerful diuretic qualities, so I wouldn't recommend eating a big bunch before a long car journey or trip to the cinema.

Herbalists take advantage of this diuretic property to treat water retention and high blood pressure*. And I love the fact that they are high in potassium - something which is lost when water is passed. A lovely example of how plants so often balance the body's systems.

* Obviously, if you have high blood pressure, please see your doctor or a qualified medical herbalist.

Get Them While They're Green

They say smell is our most evocative sense, and every time I've stepped out of my front door this week memories have wafted up to me along with the sweet fragrance of Lime Flowers. It's the scent that gives Paris its famous springtime air, but for me the associations are all with London. The streets of our city are crammed with these tall trees with their heart shaped pale green leaves, some left to grow as they are, some pollarded and others trimmed into arches or hedges. If they are growing on your street, you might spot them by looking for gaps in the rows of parked cars. As well as their strange-looking flowers, the trees drip with a sticky sap-like substance which bonds to your car's paint work and attracts dust and dirt, leaving your car looking like a dog which has been rolling in a puddle. It's evil stuff and i always think car wash guys, who already seem to have a pretty rough deal, must curse the trees at this time of year.

I’m not sure where the name Lime came from; perhaps from the bright green colour of the flowers, it certainly isn’t related to the citrus family. The trees go under various aliases including Linden and the Latin Tilia europa. In France they call it Tilleul and it's a hugely popular tisane, famed for its light, floral taste as well as its ability to calm feverish overexcited children - and adults, for that matter. I love this herb and use it a lot in my herbal practice, including in my 'Happy Tea' where it combines with Lemon Balm, Rose, a little Lavender and a touch of Liquorice to create a very pretty brew which is uplifting and calming.

If you live in London, this week is the time to get picking to secure your supply of this lovely herb - absolutely free. Finish reading this blog, take a good look at the picture above to ensure you're identifying it correctly and then off you go! Take a paper bag or a colander with you. If you can go to a park, that's ideal, but if you are picking on the street, look for a tree which isn't too close to the road. It will also be very helpful if it has a few low sweeping branches, as the only problem with harvesting this herb can be the huge crop of lime flowers you can see waving around 10 feet above your head. You may notice that there is some variations from tree to tree. Leaves on one tree will be as small as a matchbox, on another they can be larger than an iPhone (I'm sure that's how Culpeper described it...). And some flower earlier, though only by a couple of weeks. I usually expect to pick mine around midsummer, so it’s definitely blossoming early this year.

I picked a big bagful last afternoon from the trees at the bottom of my garden, which I have kept the tree surgeon away from to ensure plenty of those low slung, flower filled branches. You'll see from the picture above the unique structure of the flower: you want both the long, papery tongue-shaped bit and its little seventies-style starburst flowers. Timing is very important here - before the flower is ready to pick there are three lime-green buds, immediately after flowering the seed pods start to form and these look remarkably similar to the buds, except they are fully spherical and brown. You'll rarely get a flower where all three of the starbursts are blooming at the same time so I try to pick the flowers which have two starbursts and a bud. But as ever with herb harvesting, follow your nose and pick the flowers which have the best smell!

You can use them fresh, but the flowers are easy peasy to dry. Put a handful in a paper bag, packing them not too tightly and tie the bag tightly at the top, trying to catch plenty of air in there. You want a plump looking bag in which the flowers rattle when you shake it. Now hang it somewhere warm and dry - an airing cupboard is ideal - for a couple weeks. Commercial herb suppliers scrunch the flowers up once they are dry, but I leave mine whole as they dry beautifully, keeping their form and colour. I use a round clear glass teapot with an insert, as it magnifies their crazy shape and shows off the unexpectedly deep pinky shade of the tea. Once dry, I keep them in a tightly sealed kilner jar on my kitchen herb shelf and hoard them for the winter. There is nothing like scooping out 3 or 4 flower heads for my teapot on a winter’s afternoon and finding myself momentarily back on the streets of London (or Paris) on a sunny midsummer’s afternoon.

The sun is shining, so go on! Take 10 minutes out of your day to accept nature’s (and the local Parks Department's)  free gift to you.