Never Measure Anything If You Can Help It

It's true. If you were to make a recipe of my life, it would consist of those eight words.

Herbapalooza!! - an Herbal Evenings Party in PA (photo by Scott P Yates)

I say that because the lovely Danica Zirkle (above, in green hat), recently asked me to share a few "recipes" from a recent Herbal Evenings Party with her friends - so here they are! Happy holidays, D - MUAH!!

I put "recipes" in quotes for a few reasons. First, the whole point of playing with herbs is to PLAY with them, and for these simple and safe blends, the only way you can do it wrong is by worrying that you're doing it wrong.

Second, I don't like following directions, so I see no reason to make them up for anyone else. One of my favorite pastimes is reading cookbooks and how-to books, but I don't view them as rules so much as success stories. So while I do take careful notes of my experiments and custom blends, I rarely follow them to a T - and neither should you! Having said that, essential oils are very concentrated, and a little goes a long way, especially when using them on skin.

Beloveds, life is open to interpretation. These are notes, and you're welcome to change them or follow them as you see fit. If you have questions, feel free to call me at (802) 578-7931. I'm happy to help!

Facial Scrubs and Masques

Tips: Facial masques should always be applied to damp, freshly washed (and/or scrubbed) skin, and followed by the moisturizer or toner of your choice.

Basic Recipe
1 part organic powdered milk
2 parts oatmeal
1 part ground dried herbs (lavender, calendula, chamomile, rose, catnip, raspberry leaf, etc.)
essential oils of lavender, carrot seed, atlas cedar and/or chamomile

Directions:

In a clean coffee grinder, blend oatmeal until it becomes a coarse powder.
Blend large herbs separately, checking every few seconds to make sure they're not too fine - a few pulses should do it. If using chamomile, you may have to remove stems.
Mix dry ingredients and add essential oils a few drops at a time until you reach the desired scent, stirring frequently. Add sparingly.
Store in a small jar, tin, or baggie - if using essential oils, they will lose their scent more quickly if stored in plastic.

To Apply:
Mix one tablespoon dry ingredients with enough liquid to form a paste (see variations by skin type, below). For a scrub, rub gently into face and rinse. For a masque, let paste thicken for 1 minute, spread thinly onto face, let dry, and rinse.

Optional Exfoliating Additions for Scrubs:
ground almonds (don't grind them too fine, or you'll end up with almond butter!)
ground sunflower seeds (ditto)
cornmeal

Variations by Skin Type
For dry/aging skin: Apply with cream or milk. Don't use dried peppermint.
For oily skin: Add 1 part brewer’s yeast and/or 1 or 2 drops tea-tree oil. Apply with witch hazel, rosewater, or milk.
For sensitive skin: Apply with rosewater, water, or chamomile tea. Do not use cornmeal or peppermint leaf. Test on inner arm before using on face.

Again, have fun, let me know how they turn out, and consider treating yourself and your friends to a personalized class or Herbal Evenings Party - you'll love what you learn!

Snowed In In Florida (Jacksonville)

Season's Greetings from Jacksonville, Florida, where I'm enjoying that gluttonous, post-party feeling that comes from A) stuffing myself with really good vegetarian food and B) drinking what amounts to a cocktail's worth of tinctures (I like to call it my daily Tonic-tini), and wishing you all a heavenly Christmas.

So I've put about 5,000 miles on the odometer in the past five months, what with the whole "making friends out of strangers and plant-medicine out of weeds" adventure I've been on. Between the stories in this journal and the other encounters and escapades not fit for a blog (but maybe a book?), I'm finally ready to go back North and see what I can write. And plan. And make manifest.
But first, there's this pre-Christmas blizzard to contend with. You know, there's a sort of irony that comes with getting snowed in in Florida, but it's nothing compared to the surreal feeling I got this evening driving through the outskirts of Jacksonville. The streets had a vintage feel to them, and the neon lights and trails of sunset transformed the neighborhood landmarks and gray city blocks into a movie set of three-dimensional Edward Hopper paintings. Each building looked like it was its own perfect model; miniature diners and crab shacks and Mexican markets rendered in well-lit, perfectly painted plasticine.
Driving back over the bridge after catching the dusk-end closing of the 365 days-a-year farmer's market, we stopped at a tiny corner drive-through and walk-up restaurant for ice cream sundaes. The building was shaped like a soft-serve ice cream cone, and looked more like a Disney World prop than an actual restaurant. I wish I still had a camera; it was one of those perfect life-as-art moments.

Driving to Jacksonville, I found myself chanting Hare Krishna along to every song that came on the radio. For a while, tuned to a really great classic rock station, it felt like I was part of some incredible traveling Kirtan, singing along with Supertramp and Guns N Roses as we simultaneously warded off and extolled Kali Yuga, the current age of strife. I wasn't counting along on my prayer beads, but I'm pretty sure I chanted an entire round to the end of Free Bird.
It was great. I know it doesn't count as Japa (using beads to chant the Mahamantra with intention), but for a while there, cruising along the Florida panhandle, drinking horchata and fingering my new mala, I had a grand old time. At Blue Boy Herbs, one of the girls and I would sing the Mahamantra to Beatles songs (Eleanor Rigby was the decided favorite), but that's nothing compared to belting it out to traditional Christmas carols like The Bells of Paradise (Down in Yon Forest). That one's definitely my new favorite.

Both of the friends that I drove here to visit are guys I met on this trip, gentle men with interesting perspectives and stories. Andreas is a Mexican-born artist I met in a hostel made of tree houses this past Halloween. Before he moved down here to go to school, he was a professional massage therapist in the Berkshires, and before that, he served in the Mexican army.
Blake is down here for school, too. An herb-smart former Marine-turned-hippie who came down South after Katrina hit, he and I met at the Essential Herb Cottage this Thanksgiving. Blake worked herbs with Linda for several years, and as far as she and Whitney are concerned he's as much a part of the family as any blood or by-marriage kin.
Both of these guys like good food, a fact I'm relishing after two weeks spent completely surrounded by amazing vegetarian food. Between cooking kidgeree and pumpkin soup at the Essential Herb Cottage, walking down the lane to Darrell Martin's cabin for lunch every day, and taking prasadam at New Talavan, my tummy and taste buds have been seriously blessed in Mississippi. After a certain number of lovingly crafted veg-head meals, its just makes sense to continue the meatless love-fest. Karma or no karma, there are so many amazing meals you can make out of plants, why bother the cows?
Last night, Blake and I went to Andreas' apartment for dinner. The menu: sweet potatoes, baby winter squash and eggplant broiled in a home-made spice rub, served with red Swiss chard, Andreas' Ayurvedic lentils, and bottles of Guinness' super-tasty new anniversary stout. (The Wandering Herbalist's opinion? Less hops than the original, but still enough to send me right to sleep!)
Tonight's dinner came almost exclusively from the Farmer's Market: oven grilled corn on the cob, pan-seared mushrooms seasoned with Montreal Spice mix, steamed mustard greens with Bragg's liquid amino acids, oven-baked sweet potatoes, biscuits, and fried bananas for dessert.
Yumm....

Broiled Sweet Potatoes, Baby Winter Squash & Eggplant

Chop one small winter squash, leave the skin on, and scoop out the seeds. Cube one small eggplant and add to the bowl, along with one large sliced sweet potato. Coat with olive oil, 1 1/2 tablespoons Bragg's liquid amino acids, and -in no particular order or quantity- the following spices:
Himalayan sea salt and freshly ground pepper
Fresh rosemary, parsley and oregano
Ground ginger, garlic, paprika, and cayenne.
Marinate in the spice rub, then spread out on a baking sheet, pour in about 1/2 cup of water, and bake at 450 or so, stirring occasionally until caramelized and delicious.

From the Lion’s Mouth: Dancing a Weedy Revolution

(photo courtesy of: http://www.wineintro.com)

I love dandelions. Beautiful and independant, simple, scrappy and potent, dandelions remind us that our paths are lined with blessings. When the road is overrun with weeds, it means we don't have enough wisdom yet to see them as the messages and medicine that they are.
As I've made my way on my own journey, dandelion has been a constant source of friendship and beauty, an herb that's resonated with me for well over a decade, for all the reasons Kiva Rose Hardin wrote about in this article. Though we haven't met -yet!- she was kind enough to let me repost it here for you all. Thank you, Kiva!
...........................................
From the Lion's Mouth: Dancing a Weedy Revolution
by Anima on December 10th, 2009 No Comments From the Lion’s Mouth: Dancing A Weedy Revolution

by Kiva Rose Hardin http://animacenter.org

Common Name: Dandelion

Botanical Name: Taraxacum spp.

Taste: Bitter, sweet

Energetics: Cool, dry

“It gives one a sudden start in going down a barren, stony street, to see upon a narrow strip of grass, just within the iron fence, the radiant dandelion, shining in the grass, like a spark dropped from the sun”

- Henry Ward Beeche

“Weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them”

- A. A. Milne, Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh

If there’s a single personal symbol of hope for me, it’s that golden-faced flower that peeks out from under trash-strewn vacant lots, takes over carefully controlled lawns, bursts from sidewalk cracks and blooms even on land damaged by nuclear radiation and other environmental degradation. Yeah, you know, that weed people are always pulling up and cursing and dumping poison on. Yep, Dandelion. This much maligned wildflower when looked at honestly embodies profound possibility for change and incredible capacity for the regeneration of life in the most hostile of situations.

In many ways, Dandelion is the very definition of insistent wildness, of life that survives and thrives anywhere, anytime, anyhow. Perpetually persecuted, it still adapts to nearly any climate, seeds itself in concrete, rock crevices, chemical-laden yards, vacant lots, and even in a sprinkle of earth and rock tossed atop a slab of metal. Dandelion is persistence, joy in the face of adversity and bliss even while broken-hearted. Dandelion is also sunshine with teeth, for her very name is from the French Dent de lion, meaning teeth of the lion. The name refers to the typically jagged leaves as well as the tenacious nature of the plant itself. This once revered medicine and food is now looked upon as a trouble-making misfit, a smiling badge of resistance that defies all attempts to shut down insistent life and nature’s bountiful diversity.

Not one to be swept aside by convention, Dandelion is a cheerful outlaw as she slowly but surely busts down walls and breaks up sidewalks. She reminds us of the wildness of the earth beneath our feet wherever she goes. Regardless of zoning laws, landscaping plans and subdivision “weed-free” regulations, this vibrant plant is likely to dance in on wish-blown seeds and settle right down, enriching the soil and offering you medicine, whether you asked for any or not. Dandelion is the activists’ emblem, a brilliant spokesperson for necessary action and groundbreaking revolution, no matter the consequences or cost. And like the best revolutionaries, she also shows us how to live fully and encourages us to indulge in a tango or two. The happiness inherent in her nature is imparted by her very presence as well as through nutritional and medicinal means.

The freshly picked flowers of Dandelion infused in olive oil, make a very effective rub for all sorts of aches and pains, from knotted muscles to injured joints. It’s especially helpful for those who feel saddened or depressed by the pain and need a little extra sunshine in their lives. The flowers also make a fabulous wine, and every Spring I’m sure to gather enough to make at least a few quarts of the wine and mead. I specially reserve one of those quarts for my special Southwest Sunset Melomel made with Dandelion flowers, Prickly Pear fruit juice and desert wildflower honey. The wine and mead are a wonderful cheering tonic for the long Winter days and the blues that often accompany them. Small doses of the flower tincture can also serve the same purpose.

A nomad with deep roots, this plant travels far on the white wings of her seeds but also sends her taproot down far wherever she settles, fully engaging with the land wherever she is and provides us with an excellent example of presence, focus and a life fully lived. The bittersweet roots are grounding in nature, restoring the proper circulation of fluids in the body and nourishing the kidneys and heart in the process. Dandelion leaves and roots are very effective diuretics and especially helpful for those with a constitutional tendency towards high blood pressure, gout, bloating, feelings of excessive heat, a sense of too-tight skin, water retention and scanty urination.

The roots tend to be more bitter and diuretic in the spring and more sweet and starchy come autumn frost, teaching us the value of living by the seasons and that a plant’s medicine changes through the year. The bitter taste of both root and leaf can initially turn many people off, but this same unpleasant experience is part of Dandelion’s most important medicine. It increases the release of gastric juices throughout the digestive tract and improve digestion, especially if there’s symptoms of heat and acidic imbalances. The leaves make an excellent food-based digestive bitter and can be added to all manner of salads and cooked greens for their bitter bite and their high mineral content. They’re a great addition to pestos (as are the flowers), soups, pickled greens and even kraut! The roasted roots make a bittersweet but pleasant and hearty brew, well accompanied by cinnamon, nutmeg and a splash of cream.

Dandelion is also a primary medicine for almost anyone with hepatitis. The cooling, heat-draining nature of the herb is wonderful for relaxing and cooling an overworked, irritated and liver and accompanying hepatic functions. For the same reason, it can be very helpful in clearing up red, itchy rashes as well as many chronic skin issues such as eczema and acne that are rooted in an inflamed or stuck liver function. The bitter taste promotes the movement bile and prevents sludge and stones from from forming. However, care should be taken if there are already existent stones, as moving the bile in such a case could actually lodge a stone in a duct and cause further problems as well as pain.

The medicine of this wild and rampant weed is pervasive and wide-ranging, and lifetimes could be spent delving into her generosity. Children are naturally drawn to the bright spark of her flower and share the blossoming exuberance that accompanies her presence. Every time I see a Dandelion, I smile, and am filled with the reminder of what a powerful teacher this plant is. Her courageous insistence to not only survive, but thrive in the face of hurt and hostility, has repeatedly given me renewed hope. I take her fierceness and fervent joy to heart, and close my eyes and make a wish every time I spread her seeds with my breath. We healers and earth people are all dandelions shattering concrete with delicate, yet infinitely strong roots. Every wild food, plant medicine & healing choice that takes us closer to wholeness is a revolutionary act and a step towards radical wellness on a planetary level.

Cautions & Contradictions: A generally very safe and food-like herb, Dandelion is still a strong diuretic and those with low blood pressure or already excessive urination should avoid its use. Additionally, avoid if you have active gallstones.

~~~

Pic (c) 2009 Kiva Rose Hardin

White Oaks Adventures (Baton Rouge, LA)

A big "Thank You!" to Sarah, Keith, and the wonderful participants at the Herbal Seminar today, and to the fantastic White Oaks staff who made it all possible. I enjoyed meeting you all (though I suppose I should say "y'all" since I'm in Louisiana!) and spending the day talking, tasting, and sniffing our way through some of the many delicious holiday herbs.
Since several of you asked, here's my favorite Kahlua recipe:

Blackbird's Daughter Kahlua Liquor

3/4 cup organic cane sugar (such as Wholesome Sweeteners, Florida Crystals, etc.)
1/2 cup organic brown sugar (such as Wholesome Sweeteners, Florida Crystals, etc.)
2 cups strongly brewed fair-trade coffee (such as Equal Exchange, etc.)*
1/2 vanilla bean
2 cups vodka (80 proof or higher)
*or substitute 2 tablespoons instant coffee and 2 cups water

Directions:
Stir together sugars and coffee over medium heat until the sugar dissolves. Slice open the vanilla bean and add it to the pot (Note: if the bean is too stiff, use a pair of scissors to cut it into small chunks instead). Add vodka, remove from heat, and cover until cooled - don't let that yummy booze evaporate!
Pour into clean jars or bottles, screw the lids on tight, and hide your proto-liquor somewhere cool and dark where you won't be tempted to "test" it every time you walk past. Leave it alone for at least a month, rebottle if desired, and give as gifts or enjoy it on the rocks, over ice cream, in a White Russian, etc.

Note: The longer this Kahlua sits, the better it gets. My parents still have half a bottle from the first batch I ever made; my mother guards it carefully, but if she lets you try it, you'll be amazed at how smooth the mouthfeel and taste have become.

Enjoy the recipe, and feel free to email me with herbal questions or recipes of your own at blackbirdsdaughter@gmail.com, or to talk about placing a special order or hosting an Herbal Evenings party while I'm here in Louisiana!

Elderberry Syrup (Mechanicsburg PA)

(A Rosemary House Harvest: Susanna (aka Mary Poppins) with Elderberry Syrup and me with Hops Tincture)

Though time consuming, elderberry syrup is one of those "simplicity itself" recipes. It's incredibly effective at warding off the cold or flu, helps your body heal itself quickly if you do get sick, and above all (according to Susanna's "Mary Poppins' School of Medicine" mentality) it tastes delicious. It also tops my list as the most meditative concoction I've ever made. In addition to all the healthful immunity-boosting anthocyanins (those potent, purple antioxidants), elderberries also contain concentrated lessons in patience.
From harvesting the last clusters of berries from the top of the tree, to gently stripping them from their umbels, to reducing, flavoring and bottling the final product, it was a time-consuming process, though one that's impossible to resent. If you want to get this: you have to do this:.
And that, my friends, is a beautiful thing.
If you're lucky enough to have access to a tree, set aside a couple of hours and harvest those last few berry-bunches of the season and bring them on in. When they're finally simmering away with the honey and spices, the warm, scented steam will infiltrate your home and heart with tender, caretaking feelings, and your head will fill with thoughts of all the good the syrup will bring to those you share it with. Elderberry syrup is nothing if not a labor of love.

SPICED ELDERBERRY SYRUP

2 parts elderberries
2 parts water
1 part honey (plus a little extra, just 'cause)
ginger, cinnamon, cardamon, nutmeg, vanilla, or any other warming spices you desire

Simmer berries and water, covered, over medium heat for 20 minutes, or until it starts to reduce. Stir in honey and spices, mashing berries as you go, and cover for 5-10 more minutes. Remove from stove and pour through cheesecloth or metal strainer, making sure to press tightly at the end to get all the concentrated juice out of the "dregs." Pour into jars or cans, LABEL (very important in Susanna's kitchen!), and refrigerate for up to 4 weeks.
Take 1 Tablespoon daily; 2 at the first sign of sickness and/or until well again.

Mushroom, Wild Greens, and Buckwheat Noodle Soup (Phoenicia NY)

Contrary to what previous posts might have you believe, I'm not always all about the crazy-unhealthy food. In fact, my first morning after leaving Bard, I made a pretty healthy riverside breakfast:

Mushroom, Wild Greens, and Buckwheat Noodle Soup

1 large handful of wild greens (dandelion, plantain, etc.)
3-4 dried (or fresh) mushrooms, broken into bite-sized pieces
1 small summer squash, sliced
a small handful of udon noodles
instant miso soup
2 cups water

Heat water and mushrooms, covered, to boiling. Stir in miso, add vegetables, and push down noodles until submerged. Simmer, covered, for about 4 minutes, or until the noodles are soft.
As they cool, any left-over noodles will soak up the broth and make a sort of instant casserole, aka lunch, which is more than you can ask of most foods.

Oh, see those super-cute chopsticks? I'm down to one now. As I was climbing down to the river's edge, I lost the other in the current - whoops! It was kind of a nifty accident, though, because I spent the next hour or so whittling a new set that I like even more than the old one.

Some more photos from Phoenicia, NY:

(the view outside my "bedroom" window)

(Morning harvest, clockwise from top: leaves to press, leaves to infuse in oil [mullein], seeds to dry [sunflower], and leaves to steep [lemon balm].)

(post-breakfast; obviously heart-broken over my lost o-miyage)

(bark and leaves in the river - can you see the mask?)

Banana Pancakes with Salted Caramel Sauce

Cre·a·tion n.
1. the bringing of something into existence
2. the world and everything on it
3. a product of human imagination or invention
Dec·a·dence
1. a state of uninhibited self-indulgence

The creation of decadence is, while superficially simple, not for the faint of heart or those of timid temperament.
Take Banana Pancakes with Salted Caramel Sauce as an example. The pancakes alone are a straightforward endeavor; to add chopped bananas to the batter is, as Julia Child would trill, “simplicity itself.” No, the complexity and nuance that I’m talking about derives from the formation of a caramel sauce, neither syrup nor candy, but some other entity wholly within its own caloric jurisdiction and operating under its own, not entirely vanilla (if you’ll pardon the pun) set of ethics. People hear the word caramel and envision those safely-cellophaned cubes of polite, corn-starched sweetness, the kind of sweetness you’d get taking a good girl to a nice movie and necking a bit before squeezing her hand goodnight.

Salted caramel sauce is the candy world’s Marla Singer.

If you really want to create gastronomic opulence of this magnitude – and you know you do – you must first realize that in undertaking this endeavor, you’re committing yourself to a path of sin, realize this and embrace it. Why? Because salted caramel sauce is nothing short of an exercise in culinary sensuality of the highest degree. Do it right, and your life will never be plain again. Eat it with breakfast, and your coworkers will think you’re having an affair.
Are you ready?

Good. Now you need butter, and lots of it (in this, Julie & Julia and I are in utter complicity). Melt your butter over a medium flame until, overwhelmed by the futility of struggle, it submits to its true calling and enters into a state of blissfully melted, bubbling, late-afternoon sunlight. Appreciate this alchemy for what it is. Gaze upon its newly rendered beauty with anticipatory satisfaction, delight in the transformation of butter to Butter, and then:
Pour in as much cane sugar as you know it can take. Do it. Are you having second thoughts? Quash them. You’re committed now, you and the butter, and if you want this sauce as badly as you should, soon you – alchemist, creator, stovetop maestro – will force it to hold even more. This is as it should be.
Stirring quickly and continuously, so as not to let it burn, add a drizzle of molasses, and, as a sop of mercy to the tractable but by now almost-overwhelmed butter, a scant splash of milk. A benevolent gesture, its subsequent tranquility will be short-lived. As your whisk whips the half-submerged mound of sugar crystals through the swirling liquids, molasses spiraling into thinner and thinner trails until all appear as one, breathe deeply, for the next stage is one of utter defiance.
In order to make caramel, two things must happen: first, the sugar crystals need to oxidize (creating the characteristic golden-brown color and rich, almost nutty flavor), and second, the liquid needs to become super-saturated, holding more sugar crystals than it can sustain under colder temperatures, yet not so many that it becomes granular upon cooling. The only way that this can happen is through heat. The only way it can sustain enough heat without boiling over is by your steady hand, guiding the flame and whisking the sauce as it boils and steams in protest. Carl Jung eat your heart out (or at least your pancakes); this, my friends, is transformation via the flames.
After several minutes of this swirling, contained chaos, your sauce might look like its done. It might even – were one so brave as to risk the heat – taste like it’s done. Appearances are deceiving.
The only way to claim success with utter certainty is to let a small drop fall into a glass of ice water and watch as it sinks to the bottom, becoming a slightly firm ball with enough strength to hold its shape even between your fingers: in cooking vernacular, the hard-ball stage. If it wavers, or jiggles at the bottom, it’s not done. Be resolute at this stage. Be firm. Be…

…ready to add two pinches of sea salt and a splash of pure vanilla. Once your caramel has reached the hard-ball stage, you’re free to season it and thin it with milk, water, or even bourbon, as you see fit. Don’t thin it, and it will soak into the tops of your pancakes, entrapping them in a candy embrace as it cools (excellent for dipping fruits). Thin it, and it will soak through baked goods and pool on your plate, waiting for the last forkfuls to swirl through its amber swells and swirls. The choice, as it should be, is yours.

Whatever you serve this on, I recommend an accompaniment of black coffee and ice water. Experience cautions that you may find yourself forswearing all foods besides undressed salad for the rest of your day’s meals, but that’s between you and your conscience, and who am I to intrude on a personal matter such as that?

A Note on Thickening Ratios: When thickening syrups and sauces, it’s easy to overestimate the amount of liquid you need, with the end result that the cup of raspberry-tarragon syrup you’d wanted turns into three cups, or the eight minutes you planned on spending to reduce your balsamic marinara turns into eighteen. If this happens, try starting with solids and slowly adding liquids – it’ll save you time and reduce your leftovers. Why isn’t this recipe written that way? Because I’m not one to follow all my own suggestions and I like a good challenge, that’s why.

A Note About Seasonings: A general rule that I do follow (with choice exceptions) is this: when working with herbs (leaves and roots), add them early, and give them time to work. Let them simmer in your sauces, sit in your dips, and marinade in, well, your marinades, for as long as possible. Rosemary, thyme, dill… This is why so many classic foods taste better the next day.
When working with spices (barks, seeds, extracts, salt) add them last. Like many herbs, spices get their flavors from their aromatic and volatile oils, but instead of mellowing, they can lose their potency if they cook too long. Pure alcohol-based extracts will evaporate out of anything, leaving barely a hint to tell you they were even there. I once worked in a bakery, and the protocol we followed was simple: artificial extracts flavored cooked foods; frostings and anything uncooked got pure ones, added last.
In short: use herbs as base notes, spices as top notes, and texture and presentation to weave them all together. Different cooks and books and websites will give you all sorts of good advice and suggestions that are completely different from mine, but this, in my experience, is the difference between a mellow, melding curry and an upbeat, ginger-pumpkin soup.

Wild Mint Drink & "Name That Plant!" Game (now with prizes - hot dog!!)

Papa's Rum and Coconut with Wild Mint
1 shot dark rum
juice of 1/2 key lime
1/2 cup coconut water
ice
several mint leaves

Shake (or stir) together first four ingredients. Crush mint leaves between fingers and rub around the rim of a cold glass (kitchy 1950s style, if possible). Add mint to drink, stir to incorporate, and pour into glass. Garnish with fresh mint and lime, if desired. Taste, make one for your wife and daughter, bask in complements. Drink and repeat.

So, the mint used in this drink - the one you see in the picture - is actually wild spearmint, which grows around the outdoor tub. We used to have tons of peppermint, too, but that seems to have disappeared (an almost unheard-of phenomenon with mint).

This lends itself to the question "Is something considered wild if it's a volunteer/not native to the area"? Others might disagree, but I say "Yes, totally!"

Thoughts?

And now that I have a camera, it's time for tonight's round of.....

NAME THAT PLANT! (or fungus)

Tonight's theme is Things that Grow in Boggy New England Forests. Take a look at these gorgeous mystery specimens, and leave a comment if you think you know what they are. Winner gets internet fame and the good fortune of knowing her or his stuff.

Plant #1:
Hint: This creeping vine often grows
near Jewel Weed,
and that's a very good thing for us fleshy folk.

"Plant" Number 2:

Hint: This lovely colony of shelf fungi were growing on two trees right next to each other (you can sort of see the one behind it is covered in them as well), and were approximately 1/2 inch - 3 inches in diameter, with a creamy white top.




Plant # 3:

Hint: This tree has small berries that turn from peachy-
red to deep blue and likes full to partial sun, reading, and long walks on the beach (well, maybe not the last two...).

And for our final, bonus round, correctly identify this tree and I'll send you a postcard or other goody from the road!

Good luck, and may the best botanist win!

Wild Carrot

So I first posted this as a response to (holy smokes) my first blog question ever (!!), but then realized it was important enough to turn into an actual entry, since I don't want folks confusing me with some sort of actual plant-based authority figure.

Well, ok, I do, but lucky for all of us, in the vast rock-paper-scissors game that is my prefrontal cortex, liability concerns trump ego any day of the week. And thus, the caveats emerge. Ahem:

Re: "can you eat Queen Anne's Lace [aka wild carrot]?", you sure can, but there are several toxic lookalikes (most notably poison hemlock and wild parsnip), so please follow these two tests before harvesting:

First, LOOK -don't touch!- to make sure the stem is hairy and has NO purple spots: if it's smooth and/or spotted, don't touch it! Second, once you're sure that the stem is hairy and totally green, rub the leaves and roots; they should smell exactly like carrots, while other toxic plants smell yucky.

Now for the fun part: food and medicine!

Wild carrot roots get tough quick, so pick them in spring, wash &/or peel (I hardly ever peel anything, but some folks are picky), then boil or pressure cook them until tender and season with dill and butter, or any other way you'd serve carrots - they're great in soups and stews. I've also read that they can be dried and ground to make a coffee-like substitute.

In the summer, you can batter and fry the white flowers to make a really yummy treat (pick the entire umbel so the flowers stay together), or even make jelly with them.

Finally, in fall, you can harvest the seeds from the curled and dried umbel, and use them like caraway seeds on top of breads, or to make tea with, though NOT IF YOU'RE TRYING TO GET PREGNANT, and that's because...

Wild carrot, like most of our wonderful plant-friends, has some great medicinal properties. The seeds specifically are diuretic (helps one urinate, relieves kidney stones, helps lower blood pressure), carminative (prevents and relieves gas & indigestion), antiseptic (reduces/prevents infection), antiparasitic (removes worms), emmenagogual (brings on moontime, whether delayed due to hormonal imbalance, stress, oligomenorrhea, etc.), contraceptive (prevents pregnancy by blocking implantation of fertilized egg), and abortifacient (dislodges fertilized egg from uterus). In both ancient and modern times it's been effectively used as an herbal 'morning-after pill'.

In addition to the seeds, the whole plant has a reputation for treating urinary stones, cystitis, jaundice, gout, edema, and hormone imbalance in both men and women. The oil is used for its skin-softening, healing, and 'anti-aging' properties. And I hear that out west, the root is used for dying yarn, though all the wild carrot sources I've cross-referenced refer to the root as being white, so perhaps that's a different strain/species.

The last word of caution -and I'm only being so specific here because I'd hate for somebody to read something on this blog and then go out and try it w/o properly researching it- is that people who have very photosensitive skin frequently have reactions to the juice of the leaves, so I recommend those folks use caution.

For everybody else, use your eyes, your nose, and your BRAIN when learning about/harvesting wild plants, and for Pete's sake, do your research or find an expert to go foraging with you!

(Confidential to the SH parents - I kept looking, but have yet to find either hemlock or wild parsnip growing on the grounds, at least where we explored, which is why I was down with the kiddos tearing up said greenery willy-nilly. That's not to say it'll stay that way, though - you never know where those pesky seeds will land. I once found a coconut washed up on a beach at least 80 miles from the nearest coconut palm. It was delicious.)

Wildly Yours,

Blackbird's Daughter