Honoring the connection between People, Plants, Land and Spirit
Here you will find a weaving of spirit and medicine stories; and tales of friendship with the Allies — the plants who teach us. I will share thoughts of stepping softly on the planet that I love, along with what I have learned from and about the herbs; and of making medicines from the earth. I will offer recipes that nourish, and strategies for healing hurts; and for reconnecting our deepest selves to the Green World that holds us.
Come, visit my world beyond the Rose Gate.
Herbalism is a craft that is inextricably entwined with the heartbeat of Nature, and the Rhythms of Life. As the seasons come and go, so do the plants: Growing, flowering, setting seed and fading as the year does. And with all this are the birds that come and go, following the food and warmth into the northern states and back again, while on the ground animals born last spring are becoming well grown, and hopefully, thriving.
In August I am watching Goldenrod, for the first buds that tell me it’s ready to share it’s exuberant goodness with those who are supporting urinary tract health and mitigating allergies. Our most common species is Solidago canadensis, but most of the Goldenrods will work well in conditions of bladder concerns, achy kidneys, edema in the feet, and seasonal itchy nose.
The energy of our Mugwort, Artemisia ludoviciana is so heady right now that it induces a sort of giddiness, leaving me near to surrendering to a porch swing in my garden to just revel in it. Mugwort is known for facilitating dream work, and dreaming surrounded by the puffy white clouds of the not-so-hot mornings in the Dog Days of summer does not seem like a bad thing.
Another plant that calls me to the fields now is Gumweed. Here that’s likely to be Grindelia ciliata. It may not be quite ready to share its resins yet, but it’s such a treat to see those pointed, silk-shiny buds nestled in their sticky calyxes, getting ready for the signal to open. Amid the heat and bristling grasses of summer, they harbor an astonishing beauty, and the final extract is a loved ally for respiratory conditions such our recent pandemic has handed us.
You may have heard me say at times…
We are tied to the Earth through our food.
Now, the hot end of summer call us to the first harvest.
The Irish holiday of Lughnasadh falls at the halfway point between Summer Solstice and Autumn Equinox. It is traditionally celebrated on August 1st, but the actual astronomical midpoint has moved to around August 4th, 5th or 6th, depending on the year. The land is rich with ripe grain and fruits, and as the days grow shorter, the idea of setting aside food for the winter begins to tease at the edges of our daily plans.
In the often wrenching heat of the Dog Days of Summer, as Sirius shines in the predawn sky, Lughnasadh signals the first harvest. Earth’s bounty has transformed from the flowers of June to the fruits that follow, and we can gather for future months.
Each year around this time there is a wistful moment when I know the energy has shifted, and and that we have moved on to the gold grain colors and feelings of late summer. I know, too, that soon the cicada song will wind down, and by middle August, birds will start to gather in advance of their autumn journeys. Lughnasadh seems to mark the end of an exuberant holiday, and the beginning of preparations for dark and cold that are not even yet in sight. This year the waning moon adds to that background energy of ebb.
In six weeks it will be autumn. The rhythms of earth are winding down, and call us to reflect on the summer that is already slipping away. (How did that happen so fast?!) Here at least, things feel ragged now in the heat and dryness that characterize this time in the Wheel of the Year. It is hard to keep the garden looking tended as plants get leggy and wildness takes over. That swing and a sprig of Mugwort are looking better. But ahhhh, it is in the time of Lughnasadh. The herbs are calling from the open prairie, and now is the time to gather. Living with the rhythms of nature means you are on her time, responding with pleasure to the world that is unfolding in this moment. Such a sweet form of mindfulness. And the Mugwort and swing will still be there, when I am done.
Gabriela Piwowarska, Pixabay
One of my earliest memories was of the roses in my childhood backyard. They bloomed at the very start of May, often on May first. My mother, who was Catholic, would encourage us cut several to put in small vases and bowls of water, before her statues of Mary mother of Jesus, and on the mantle and table. At the same time, roses featured in processions of Mary in my very Catholic neighborhood, which were followed by crowning the Queen of the May with roses, a tradition held over from Old Europe, and not Catholic at all, that I know.
Now at the halfway point between Spring and the start of Summer, I am watching the rose buds, and waiting for them to bloom — a little later this year, because it has been cooler. Last week I returned from the Midsouth Women’s Herbal Conference, that from my perspective was a unified field of kindness and inspiration under the leadership of Michelle Rigling. It was nurtured by the wonderful women who were there; and some who could not even be there, but whose presence still lingered from previous years. So fitting for the energies of the Rose. This conference was marked for me by the bloom of the dogwoods that were everywhere on the eastern journey, and my return home from it with the coming of the roses. Both are magical plants. But then, all plants are magical.
Ellen Chan, Pixabay
What does the Rose sing to you? She is a plant of initiation, bringing us intoxicating scent (usually), beauty, silken sensuality, and thorns (usually). More accurately, these are prickles — they arise from the skin of the stem, and in the case of roses curve downward, both protecting the Rose from animals, and helping them to grow over other plants. Roses are not all sweetness and light, and like all gateway herbs and guides to transformation, she holds a suggestion of trials in the journey, and moves us to attend to power-within. Rose claims her own space. She is a mistress of shielding her delicate beauty, and expanding well beyond the ground where she is rooted. We must enter her space with respect, and mindful of her authority in it, whether we are doing inner work or remedies for skin and bones.
She is another guardian of the boundaries, often found in my region on fence lines and hedgerows, with a warning to those who come frivolously, or out of harmony with her delicate prickly medicine. She is also a guardian of the boundaries of the heart, helping us connect with our own deeper flows, while holding the door against those who would enter with force.
Native roses that grow in the south central plains and nearby bioregions include the Carolina Rose (Rosa carolina), that grows with other shrubby plants, and the Prairie Rose, also known as Rosa blanda. It has few prickles, and is a little paler than R. Carolina, but it’s what I see more, and it’s a beautiful find to stumble on in a hot dusty field.
Rosa carolina — Malcome Manner CC BY 2.0
Rosa blanda — Frank Mayfield Creative Commons CC BY_SA 2.0
Antiinflammatory
Astringent
Cooling
Nervine
Nutritive
Pelvic decongestant (moves blood, moves energy)
Wound healing
When you’re hot! That includes hot under the collar as well as thermally hot. Rose helps relax the liver, and is a soothing nervine also. Use cooling Rose Water or strong cooled tea, tincture or oxymel for hot conditions or heat injuries. I use a tea of leaves and / or flowers on hot, sticky eyes and it’s a true relief when it’s been blowing dust. I drink it in summer, and will often pour some in my hand and wet myself down with it, smoothing it over itchy or scratched skin. (Herbal medicine doesn’t have to be complex, and often, simple approaches are the best!)
As a mild emmenagogue and pelvic decongestant. (Some say not so mild, but it doesn’t feel as strong to me as, say, mugwort does). Especially in summer I’ll drink the tea when I’ve been at the computer more than the garden, and doubled over my midriff as I lean forward. I can physically feel the renewed flow of energy and blood to the area, even if I’m just resting. (Caution in pregnancy. If in doubt, seek the assistance of a qualified practitioner before using.)
A gentle toning astringent. It’s mild enough for children, and often used as an eyewash. (Don’t mistake “mild” for ineffective! Often mild herbs used longer are superior to stronger ones that cannot be taken at length.) Use any time an astringent is called for. Eyes, mucous membranes and skin all respond with reduced weepy, leakiness in the presence of rose, internally or externally.
As a skin healer. Try a tea for scratches and superficial wounds or as a facial toner, and infused rose oil to follow the toner.
To Make a Tea:
Put 1/4 cup of fresh leaves and petals coarsely chopped, or 1-2 Tablespoons dried in a pint jar, and pour just boiled water over them. Cap and steep for at least 30 minutes. (If you want a stronger infusion, use 1/2 cup per pint, and steep overnight.) These can be used as is, or diluted at need for a soothing skin wash in hot weather. Sip any time you feel boggy, want to cool down, or for a heart easing nervine before bed.
Sun Infused Oil:
Fill a small jar with newly but well dried, chopped rose buds and cover with olive oil. Cap tightly and place in a warm, sunny window on a plate. (The oil may leak out as it steeps, and the plate will protect your surface.) Let it sit for 4-6 weeks, then pour through several layers of cheesecloth into a clean jar. Cap tightly, and store in a cool dark place.
Oxymel:
An oxymel is a mixture of vinegar and honey, and there are many ways to make one. This is my favorite for Rose:
Fill two small jars full of fresh coarse chopped fragrant rose petals, or 1/3 full of dried. (A 4 to 6 ounce jar is a good size to learn with.) Pour raw apple cider vinegar into one jar to about 1/2 inch from the top, and fill the other with honey, to the same level. Stir the honey jar well. Let them sit in a cool, dark space for 4-6 weeks. At the end of that time, find a jar that will hold the liquid contents of both together, and filter each jar through a few layers of cheesecloth into it. Shake well, label and store. Use an ounce of oxymel with or without water any time you want a gentle nervine to help you cool down.
♦
A blog post can only scratch the surface of this multifaceted plant. This month on the Prairie Star Herbalist Connection we are talking in depth about the Medicine of the Rose. I invite you to join us for a Zoom Circle, starting with a slide show covering Actions, Energetics, Uses, History, Lore, and Clinical Applications; followed by an in-depth discussion of personal experiences with the plant.
(There is a small monthly subscription fee, and you will have access to all of the instructional content for all 7 topics for as long as your are there. Stay as long as you like, and cancel at any time. To learn more, click here, and check out the monthly or yearly plans. You can investigate before you pay. Once you join, check Events in the sidebar, and you’ll see it there.)
Hope to see you in the Community! There is so much more to say and know about the Medicine of the Rose.
You can join the Prairie Star Herbalist Connection here.
You can follow Joan on facebook here.
These statements have not been evaluated by the FDA, are not intended to diagnose or treat disease, and are for informational purposes only.
Minimally adapted from my post on the Prairie Star Herbalist Connection published March 21, 2021.
Last month we celebrated the first day of spring in the northern hemisphere. It has been a demanding year, such as our ancestors have at times known, challenged by disease, loss, and diminished access to things needed for life. For some this has included household supplies, for some food, and for others, the security of a home was in jeopardy. Yet it is important to realize that the difficulties we have faced as the sun completed a cycle have been overcome in the past, numerous times, by those who came before us — with courage and creativity, and through connection with each other and the earth that supported them. In proof of that — we are here.
Yes, it truly was a demanding winter, beginning here with a freeze that destroyed some trees and left many that lived still looking as if they had been damaged by aerial bombs. Then the pandemic seemed to peak, and at the height of that we plunged into the deepest cold known in any February.
analogicus from Pixabay
But at last the cold relented, leaving a cool, dim spring in it’s wake, teasing with a few warm days now and then. Finally, as always, there comes a time when we put away the things of winter as Spring unfolds in a glory of Forsythia, Quince, Redbuds, yellow green leaves, and clouds sailing in a bright blue sky.
How is it even possible to think about aligning with the Rhythms of the Earth in such times, when scarcity, insecurity, and disruption are making themselves so immediately known?
Awareness of our connection with the Earth and Elements that are the sole support of life on this planet has been deliberately subverted in the name of industrial and post-industrial life. Yet it is in remembering the lost connections that we are open to insights that help us mitigate harm now, and into the future that we build.
Rebekka D from Pixabay
Just as food is not created by a grocery store, it is not either created by a farmer who nurtures crops on land they love; although those stewards, if raising food in harmony with Earth, deserve our greatest gratitude and reverence. No, it is created in the bones of the earth filled with the signals of other life forms carried by micorrhyzae that nurture the vital force in the seed or cutting — in the presence of Air, Fire and Water that also nourish the new life into being. When these sacred elements are impaired, some forms of life struggle, and all must adapt. And we will lose some.
In the blindness born of disconnection, we have collectively damaged each of these. We have also created incubators for deadly diseases to arise more often, at a time when we ourselves are weakened by that same disconnection, and living outside of deep interaction with Air-Fire-Water-Earth, the elements that support us. Realigning with these and the cycles of day-night, the waxing and waning moon, and the seasons of the solar cycle are a path to remembering the lost connections, and moving again into generative living.
It is through Air that we share much of our communication with the plants. They create oxygen for us, we create carbon dioxide for them, and we exchange them easily. In that exchange we share knowledge of each other through neurotransmitters, hormones and other chemicals. The Air we breathe has circulated around the globe many times during the presence of our species here, making it probable that we have all exchanged air with each other too. Breath connects us and is one way our microbiome grows. How sad then, that something so primeval and primal must be guarded in times of pandemic.
We connect with Air by observing its interactions with the other elements: (Earth – leaves or dust in wind, tree branches blowing. Fire – air feeds it, helps it grow, can direct it’s course. Water – driving rain, clouds, waves). We also observe the creatures of air: Seeds born on the wind. Birds. Butterflies. You can do a meditative observation of any of these by sitting outdoors and watching those interactions. What can you learn from them?
And we connect with our own breath. Try this calming sequence for yourself, as you focus on the Element of Air: Breathe in for four counts. Hold for seven. Breathe out for eight. Repeat at least five times, but ten is better. Attune to the miracle of what Air means to your body, and give gratitude. This breathing pattern can calm the nervous system and lower cortisol, leaving you more open to the magic of spring unfolding.
What are your earliest “signal plants” — those plants that tell you spring is coming, even when it is cold outside — maybe even in February? Are they bulbs? Aromatic mints? Tree buds? What else? What is the earliest change you notice where you live that marks life returning, even when the world is still cold in any year? How does the movie of spring unfold throughout the season as more creatures awake or return, others leave, and others push through the soil? When does the first bud on the first tree open? What kind of tree is it? How are the weather and temperature different? Where is the light on a fence or wall at the same time each day? And where does the sun come up now?
These are things our not-to-distant ancestors would know in their sleep without noticing that they knew. Make a point to deeply observe them and let them soak into your psyche, and you will find yourself drawn into this rhythm of the New, of Air, of Beginnings, of Life Returning, in ways that you may not have experienced since childhood. Let Spring breathe life, courage and hope into you after a year of unexpected and difficult transformations. As you return to this Knowing, you return to the collective knowing and wisdom held by of the web of life we are a part of, and can more easily receive its gifts.
Spring is a time to be a child again.
Remember.
If you would like to learn more about herbal lifestyles and reweaving your connections with earth rhythms, click here to visit Joan’s events page
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In antiquity, my Celtic ancestors and much of Europe celebrated the Wheel of the Year in their own special ways, often with fire and feasting. As the sun and the stars cycled from day to night to day, the seasons flowed in a never changing, ever changing rhythm of sun-time, planting and harvest.
The high points were:
Midsummer (what we now call the start of summer) around June 21
The Equinoxes that mark the start of spring and fall
Midwinter, around December 21
and the half-way points between all of those.
Those who follow the Celtic Wheel of the Year still celebrate these today, as a way of honoring and attuning with the Earth, and the celestial energies of the solar cycle. No matter what continent your ancestors came from, it is certain they, too, marked time in wonder at the changing the night sky, the angle and location of the sun, and the plants that bloomed and faded. What was happening as the seasons passed was reflected in the food on their tables.
Now, encouraged by an agriculture industry and world body politic which has co-opted our food as a human right and restructured it as a commodity, our consumption of food is divorced from an awareness of the lives that were taken to make it, and also divorced from the seasons, since it can be shipped from any place, at any time. As fewer and fewer people on this continent grow their own food, it has become cheapened with the label of Common, and often taken for granted by those with means: A throw-away commodity in plastic, that someone else grew, processed or synthesized; a thing that one can always get again from the store. But it was not always so.
Prior to the Industrial Age and certainly in ancient times, there was a natural reverence for the food and animals that people depended on; and matters of faith were interleaved with gratitude for food, and an awareness of the stars, and the land. Celebrations of the divine were often entwined with times of planting and harvest. This was not just an expression of the Celtic lands. Throughout the world cultural festivals of seasons and harvests were, and still are juxtaposed with, or part of, the prevailing faith celebrations of an area; and revolved around the table, and food shared.
In the pre-Christian countries of Europe, as autumn brightened then waned, what we call “The Harvest” was actually celebrated as a succession of harvests, as grains and fruits of late summer ripened; then more grains; then nuts, seeds and gourds. As the year neared its end, farmers would choose which animals to slaughter for winter meat. That too was a harvest, and in the Wheel of the Year is accounted the final one, a last chance to provide from the herd for the cold months. People paid the price for food with their labor, and the lives of their crops and animals. They celebrated their gratitude not once a year, but in each season.
How do you celebrate the time of the harvests
or throughout the autumn?
What ties to the land do you personally observe?
What is the role of community?
How can these change or evolve to better reflect an awareness of our connections with all life?
The answers to these questions are a reminder that our ties to land have historically been so important that they are part of the cultural fabric that includes spiritual awareness, land awareness and community. In a year that has upended our rhythms tied to machine-life, I find myself embracing the Earth Rhythms of the harvest, to slow my pace, and reconsider celebrations of connection between food, people and planet.
Feel the deepness of waning autumn around you, as you take time to reflect on the life-bounty we are gifted with, even in this year of great challenge. The answers to the questions above are a starting place for new ways of connecting with Earth, and her abundant gifts, both personally and in community. At this time of interrupt in our old forms, it is possible to leave behind those rooted in commercialization and colonialism, and remember the sacred circle of people, land and spirit. It is an opportunity to craft personal or communal celebrations of gratitude that are deeper, more frequent, and more relational to the world that brings us our food.
Wishing you abundance,
Joan
Per person, use:
1 cup of your favorite milk (dairy, coconut, almond, etc.)
1 Tablespoon 100% Cocoa powder (no additives, sugar, etc.)
1/2 teaspoon dried peppermint leaf, or to taste
1/2 teaspoon lemon balm leaf
up to 1/2 teaspoon dried orange peel, or to taste
Stevia or other non-sugar sweetener to taste
Warm the milk until very warm but not scalding.
Add the dry ingredients and sweetener, and stir well.
Steep at a warm level, but do not simmer, covered on lowest heat (or no heat but occasionally turn the heat back on) for 20 minutes.
Strain, sip and be delighted.
Optional: Add a dropper of Reishi tincture to your cup of tea after straining. Be prepared to sit in a quiet space, and go within.
If you would like to learn more about herbal lifestyles and reweaving your connections with earth rhythms, click here to visit Joan’s events page
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Normally my words would wander among the seeds and grains at this, the Autumn Portal, and the Second Harvest. But as I gave thought to this entry, my reflections turned to another aspect of harvest: Part of processing the grain is sorting what we do not want — the chaff, the stalks and browning leaves from the golden ripe seeds. Part of this, and any harvest is knowing what to leave behind, to compost; and it seemed a fitting theme for where we find ourselves.
This year I clung to summer well into September as it faded away and the days turned golden. The heat broke early after three milder and damper months than is usual, and never returned with force. At the balance of day and night a threshold… and summer slipped away. Time flows, and there is no going back. Trying to snatch at it’s coattails was to no avail, and autumn unfolded: beautiful, and uncaring of my desires. Happily, I love autumn too, but I lingered in a summer I was reluctant to leave.
There comes a time when we must go forward, and we cannot carry everything with us. The theme of this time, whether we have suffered inconvenience at one end of the spectrum, or personal loss at the other, seems to be one of releasing. Releasing what doesn’t serve us; releasing old ways of doing things that fostered our arriving here, where we now find ourselves; releasing old patterns where we were content to ride on what was comfortable, even as the world around us signaled that our way of life damaged it, and a change was due.
Nature never does anything for only one reason. In her quest for equilibrium she serves all of herself and all of life intelligently, creating forms that work, to replace those that produce an unbalanced or pathological outcome. Even fires and viruses are part of that evolution, and reveal where we have created conditions for them to thrive though our decisions and cultural expression. Taking a bigger view can help us question our role in contributing to live markets, confined animal feeding operations, habitat loss and temperature change that are only some of the things that have brought us to this pass. Then we have an opportunity to choose what to change, and what no longer serves us, our country or our world.
It’s positive actions and properties are too numerous to list, but paramount among them are it’s ability to quiet the heart spirit, lower blood pressure, sustain the heart muscle, protect the liver, and ease the flow of blood, qi, and spirit. Try taking 25-40 drops of the tincture about 15 minutes before you plan to reflect on a bigger picture of something you are working with, or decisions you are making. Pause and sit when you take it, and allow yourself to just be, sensing your breath, body and spirit as the Reishi nourishes you. Then turn your mind to the patterns or changes you are reflecting on, and write down what comes up. Answers may not surface just then, but the space for quietude and heart flow allow your subconscious to really work for you, and you may find that you have flashes of insight and clarity about your concerns in the days to come. When I engage with Reishi in this way, I do it in the evening, not long before bed. It is food-like, and safe to take in moderation. Health food stores usually carry it in tincture form.
You will know her as Mimosa! With her antidepressant and anti-anxiety properties, she is an ally in times of stress, anxiety and grief. If you have been suppressing anger or grief, this herb can support you when you are ready to work with them. In traditional Chinese medicine it is said to “calm the five organs and promote happiness”. It supports oxytocin levels in the body, and it should not be used if you are pregnant.
I’ve mentioned it before as an herb to ease stress, so I’ve just copied my previous entry: It is a member of the mint family, that comes to us from southern Europe. Its name Melissa comes from the Greek for “bee”. (Bees love it!) Calming, Mildly sedative and antidepressive — what’s not to love! It has been naturalized here for a long time, and is a favorite for its soft energy, strong presence, and delicate fragrance. Avicenna, a middle eastern herbalist who taught and practiced during the middle ages, recommended it to “make the heart merry”. It nourishes the nerves and has antiviral properties, making it a favorite in times of viral illness. Try a cup of relaxing lemon balm tea as you stop the clock to unwind; or snip fresh leaves into a salad for added flavor and an uplifting treat for your spirit.
Lavender tea, ½ teaspoon +/- to a cup of boiling water poured over it, is a supreme source of ease on many levels. You get the full fragrance of the buds that way, and the smell is part of the medicine. It’s bitter though, and honey is fine. The bitter property tells us that it will ease digestion (It’s used in many French culinary blends for this), and in fact, it also eases liver tension. If you feel that you emotions are “stuck”, and you just can’t get anywhere with sorting things out, try letting it all go for awhile, then when you are ready, sit with a cup of strong honeyed lavender tea, and sneak up on a little reflection time. Note: Lavender essential oil does not act in the same way as the tea does. Essential oils are not herbs. (They are a highly refined fraction consisting only of the volatile oils, and are missing many of the medicinal constituents of the whole herb.) Use lavender mindfully if pregnant, and avoid if the pregnancy is delicate.
If you would like to learn more about herbal lifestyles and reweaving your connections with earth rhythms, click here to visit Joan’s events page and
You can follow Joan on facebook here.
