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Remember that tall grass of winter, "bleached white as Scandiniavian hair"? After Wednesday's rain, there is a new development:
Green, glorious green. As the apple blossoms begin to take their exit bows, the earth beneath their feet is exploding into life. "They're back! They're back!" is the grateful cry of Herbalists all over these hills...
Come to find out that Red Clover, the supreme blood cleanser and women's ally, also makes a great hair decoration:
Yerba Santa, my favorite lung helper, is putting up new growth. We'll wait to harvest her til the height of summer, when her leathery and sweet leaves are so resinous that she looks like she is covered in powdered sugar:
One of many kinds of Ceanothus or Red Root plants, this one a lovely low-lying blue-flowerd variety. The nickname for Ceanothus is California Wild Lilac, and her heady scent was indeed luring all the bees in the neighborhood! Her roots are a supreme lymph clearing tonic, especially for those lymph glands above the waist. I am not burly enough to dig up her rock-hard roots myself, so I buy her from the store or from Pacific Botanicals in Oregon. I like to make a tea from Ceanothus mixed with lemon juice and honey-- a sneakily healthful Red Root lemonade!
For a short period in late spring and early summer, the Foothills are covered with these delightful ferns. The rain inspired them to unfurl, whole hillsides at once! I know some ferns are edible but that's not something I have experience with. Suggestions, anyone?
Another amazing lung tonic, the gloriously gummy Grindelia. She'll put up flowers that look like tiny, fierce versions of a regular sunflower, and when the summer sun is scorching the earth in July, shell respond by filling up the flower cup with a medicinal resin. Put her in a formula and that strength will pull the gunk from your bronchi like nobody's business. Team her with Yerba Santa and you have some serious friends on your side.
These probably look like regular old "weeds" to most people passing by, but these huge broad-leafed Plantains fill my heart with joy. Plantain goes by many names, but you probably know her from your first ever Herb Walk as "the bandaid plant"-- she is so soft and perfectly shaped, you can wrap her around your owie just like a bandaid. Herbalists in the wild are usually seen chewing Plantain up and spitting the mash onto their mosquito bites. (Herbalists in the wild are seen doing all sorts of other weird things, too, but I thought I'd be gentle.) Plantain has great drawing powers and is used to heal any piece of damaged skin or membrane you can get it into contact with-- not least of which is the gut. Just for kicks, I cooked up Plantain in my dinners all week, and I have to admit I was somewhat surprised to find out that she was delicious! (Think "kale" and go for it.)
My happiest moment this week was watching the first Hawthorne flowers burst into bloom. Hawthorne has been a special tree to me ever since my class at the Blue Otter School of Herbal Medicine spent an ecstatic May Day harvesting her in Southern Oregon. Something about Hawthorne just makes you laugh! She's a master heart tonic, sure, but there is something else... maybe a clue lies in her long history, where she is described time and time again as the number one special tree of the fairies of the Celtic World. In any case, those flowers are divine, just the thing for helping your spirit to shake off the last vestiges of those winter blahs. Much good medicine is made from Hawthorne (or Thorn Tree, as she is known to the Little People). All her parts can be used-- leaves, flowers and berries. I was just passing through this day, so I took my medicine directly, in the form of wonderful wafts on the spring breeze...
I hope that this picture of Spring has lifted your heart a little. Every once in a while I remember what a miracle it is that the earth has provided for us all the medicine that we need. Us silly humans may destroy the planet (and ourselves) because of our greed and narrow field of vision, but Nature herself is generous and infinitely intelligent. That's true love for you! Happy Spring.
My friend Alison told me last night that the full moon this month is called the "Pink Moon" by the Farmer's Almanac. I think this is so charming, and I've been singing the chorus of "Pink Moon" by English 60's folk artist Nick Drake all day. It's not actually for the color of the moon that the month gets its name, but for the color of the flowers which are bursting forth everywhere!
I was in downtown Grass Valley this morning, and my camera had run out of batteries, so I will have to describe the scene for you: imagine:
Almond Roca dogwoods, punk rock fuchsia redbuds, shell-pink magnolias, raspberry lipstick tulips, Monet-pastelled sweet peas, baby-pink apple blossoms, and carpets of winking pink star-shaped flowers on every lawn. Pink pink pink pink pink pink moon...
This phenomenon of spring in the Sierra Foothills is so different than the "spring" of the temperate Bay Area, which starts in January and unfolds subtly over the span of many months. This spring is a riot, an explosion of beauty. You must look quickly, catch every blossom. With my daily nettle infusion zinging through my blood, I feel that I am also a part of the buzz and the hum of a magically awakening world. I want to stay up late howling at that moon, writing, playing music, dancing, casting off the blues. Pink Moon...
A Native of the Bay, I did live in Boston for a semester in college, and the spring there took me similarly by surprise. The first warm day, the whole world was in bare legs, thronging the rose-lined paths in the Boston Commons, and pursuing mates with a manic spring fever. People that know the drudgery of ice and snow feel that much more free with return of the warmth.
At last night's potluck two boys even flirted with me... Shocking! Pink! Moon! Or was it the divine chocolate cake that Leigha made? The blueberry pie? Everyone looked so fresh and dewy, and Tom and Greg led a Beatles sing-a-long til the wee hours... and the Pink Moon lit the road all the way home.
This evening my tummy is full of amazing homemade bone broth soup from my friend Graham, who runs a Community Supported Kitchen called Nourish Wise (See my link under "Who You Know" in the right-hand column here). I was feeling a little sniffly while I was hanging with him and the family, (surely not from too much revelry last night!) and he sent a jar home with me. I am so glad I can actually order this from him, because I would be a little embarrassed to go knocking on his door every weekend and asking for more. This is just one of many specialty items you can get every week from his "store"-- the man makes his own yogurt, granola, truffles, breads, and has a whole menu of fully prepared meals. He is in Grass Valley but delivers to Sacramento, Auburn and Roseville, by the way... and I can endorse his skills one hundred percent because I eat at least three gourmet meals every time I go over to his house... and this happens even if I'm only there for a half hour! These Italians are mad for food, I tell you, and when they specialize in organic whole foods it gets beyond amazing.
Graham and Amber (my Most Inspiring herbal buddy!) and their amazingly beautiful and intelligent toddler Mycie are just a few of the reasons I love my adopted home so much. There are so many wonderful people up here, and so much creativity and generosity. It wasn't easy to pull up roots and leave everything we knew behind, but after three years I finally feel a real sense of the depth in my connections to the place and the people of my community.
Speaking of roots: you have heard me mourn the plants that I left behind, so let me tell you the good news. In the absence of my beloved garden (which I left nearly intact as a love offering to the spirits of my old home), and without the money to build a new one quickly (especially challenging here because the heavy clay soil needs expensive/time intensive amendments), I had to focus on the plants and trees that were already present. I ended up restoring a stretch of wasteland my our little stream with lemon balm, horsetail, mint, water lilies, and bunch grasses, and honestly it ended up more satisfying than any trip to the nursery. Last year I bought some herb starts from my teacher Kathi Keville, and they are starting to pop back up this week. On Wednesday a sweet friend had me out to her property and filled my whole trunk with yarrow, clary sage, mugwort, burdock, and violets, which she had in abundance. Then yesterday I stumbled upon the coolest (and most economical) plant sale, coming home with a lilac tree, all kinds of poppies, and wild ginger. The pots are taking over the porch, and I am so happy when I come home and walk up the stairs saying hello to all of my friends!
Spring fever... I'm on a roll. My sweetie says I have to go to bed now, so I will leave you with a little photo essay from my walk the other evening. I wanted to give a testament to the unique beauty of my neck of the woods, so please enjoy!
Apple blossoms everywhere you look...
Oaks, oaks, oaks:
A carpet of Mallow:
Vivid color in deep shade:
The Magic Forest...
Hillside of Manzanita:
Sweet little Native bulb:
...and a dramatic ending!:
Spring, spring, everywhere I look! Luckily, in my busy life, I am able to make time for a walk at lunch and after work every day, so that I can notice the progress of the blossoms. They amaze me, how quickly they turn from the merest kitten-eared buds into full-blown flowers, sending out their siren calls to the bees and hummingbirds like teenagers tarted up in their first makeup.
I've been bzzzzzzy as the bees themselves, tending to my projects, dormant all winter and now blossoming like the dickens. For those of you who don't know, I am among other things a rock n' rollin musician with my own band, Sasha and the Shamrocks (notice the herbal nod in the name!). I took a break from performing during the dark and cold months... I just hate huffing amplifiers around on icy sidewalks in my party shoes, what can I say?... and when the light first returned I started wondering if I was ever gonna get some shows and interest rolling again. Well, those roots were clearly doing their thing underground while I fretted impatiently... and like the watched pot that never boils, I worked myself into a lather thinking my nascent career was over, and no one liked my music any more! The good thing was that I was able to take some time during the dormant period to reflect and refine my intentions and goals. One of those goals is to to lighten up a little, as demonstrated for you in this new promo photo:
Translation: "Hell No We Won't Go". We did this one for St. Patrick's Da,y and are making reference to the story that Saint Patrick drove the "snakes", aka pagans, out of Ireland!
After all that fretting, planting seed after seed to get the ball rolling music-wise, suddenly one day last week-- ah ha! The e-mails came pouring in, the show offers, requests to collaborate. A real "well duh" moment. Why must we re-learn the same lessons again and again? I am doing my flower bulbs on my shady stairs a favor and not boring holes into them with my eyes, willing them to grow. They will show up, in their own time.
Meanwhile, that evening walk... I had had a hard day at work yesterday, and the walk itself didn't relieve my heart of its worries like it usually does. Luckily my neighborhood is of the rural variety, and daffodils grow by the hundreds at the side of the road. After sitting with my back against a tall fir tree for a while and giving her an account of my troubles, I picked a beautiful bouquet for myself.
On the road:
With the cat:
And finally in my window:
I have been mightily inspired by my friend Amber lately. She is the mamma of a busy toddler yet still puts up medicines and studies about herbs, in her words, "in every spare moment". Having her around is a great influence. We've both been ga-ga for violets lately, and though I haven't ever established a violet patch of my own at home (yet!) I have taken the phrase "the medicine you need grows right outside your door" to heart, and found that the violet patch of my dreams is right outside my door at work! (I do work in a pretty hippy place, after all.) The more I pick, the more grow back, so I am going to undertake my first violet syrup with these:
Little projects popping up all over, like this violet vinegar for my salad and nettle vinegar for my hair....
With an inspiring herb-loving friend and wild plants in abundance popping up all around me, this is going to be the best medicine-making season yet!!!
I hope that your mason jars, and your lives, are all getting full to the brim with good stuff.
xoxox Sasha
I'm so happy to say that this post represents is my first time participating in an herbal blog party, hosted by Ananda at Plant Journeys. Check out her wonderful site!
This evening I am walking the path that passes by The Most Beautiful Manzanita in the World. (I have seen my fair share of Manzanitas by now, after three years living in the Sierra Foothills, so I feel qualified to judge.) I always get a little excited when I'm rounding the band to the place where she grows, for I am a lover of things Beautiful as well as things Useful. Manzanita, urinary tract tonic extraordinaire, is both.
This particular evening my mind is racing especially fast, sorting through to-do lists and ruminating none-too-helpfully on things that have gone wrong, or could go wrong... checking account balances, career schemes, car repairs; I have left the present moment and possibly the planet itself, and it is not a good trip!
In the corner of my mind I notice her and feel a glimmer of the usual excitement, but my frenzied thoughts are jamming up my senses. Until.
I find myself enveloped in a heady, delicious scent. It is her, in full glorious bloom. I stop short. Her pale pink flowers hang like bells, glowing in the evening light, surrounded by a chorus of bees who have smelled her scent from miles around and come to gather nectar.
My anxiety seems suddenly utterly uncouth in the presence of such a spring symphony. I pick my way down the slope, "just to get a closer look", I tell myself. But before I know it, I have found a snug perch on her branches. They are so wide and solid that they could support me and a few other people besides. And smooth... they are like silk, like a lovers arms. In fact I am inspired to kiss them.
The bees buzz above, lulling me into a reverie. I lay my head back on her trunk and remember the first time I saw a her in full bloom, my first year in the Foothills...
I am newly arrived from the San Francisco Bay, the world of soft mists and tender climbing vines. I am having a hard time understanding this new world of red clay earth that stains everything, this world of freezing winters and blistering summers, populated by tough people and tougher plants. But the Manzanita is a touch of grace, each plant a living sculpture. Her flowers on this spring day have taken me by complete surprise; pale pink and lantern-like, they seem as delicate as the beloved Passionflowers and Cala Lilies I have left behind in my garden by the Bay. As I stand there with my jaw agape, a hummingbird buzzes in, my favorite fairy friend-- this unlikely tree is clearly on his nectar gathering route! Following his advice, I taste the blosoms myself, and find that they are sweet as honeysuckle. So there is sweetness and softness in these hardscrabble hills, if you only know where to look...
And she is comforting me again tonight, my Manzanita tree. She who is so sensuous in her solidity. She has some of the densest wood in the forest-- so dense, in fact, that to use too much in your wood stove runs the risk of heating the chimney so hot that the roof can catch fire. Yet there is something light and dancing about her twisty-turny silk-smooth red arms. Perhaps I, too, can get out of my head and return to my grace, marrying my strength with my softness.
And to just let go and be with a larger being is such a relief. As I tune in to her spirit, I realize that Manzanita is more than happy to comfort me. To sit cradled in the arms of being who stands unmoving through rain, snow, and sun, is like being a child again, when all possible problems were solved by being in your parent's arms.
Is she a "lower life form" just because she cannot move or talk? What a strange thought, when she knows more about rootedness and the present moment than I ever will! Granted, she is not flashy (even if she is the most beautiful specimen in her family) but like all plants, she resonates with the qualities that we humans all aspire towards (and create fantasy heroes to embody): wisdom, patience, intuition, and the power to travel through dimensions and psychic portals.
When I embarked on my journey to study plant Spirit Medicine, I was expecting bells and whistles. And why not? I was raised in the post-psychedelic generation. My fairly straight parents had Carlos Castenada books on the living room bookshelf. And you can go there; I have a few times, and I know many people who embark on dazzling shamanic journeys with the help of the plant kingdom.
But you can also hang out, just like friends do, taking simple pleasure from being together.
The great thing is that unlike people friends, who may be distracted or have a hard time hearing your troubles without getting brought down themselves, plants can absorb the full gamut of human emotion and remain utterly present, utterly themselves. Some may be a little harder to get to know than others, but once the effort is made, they are ever-willing playmates and guides.
So we hang for a little while, me and Manzanita. she is not known as a nervous system tonic, but there is a cure effected in just being with her, being still, for long enough to absorb her wisdom.
When I finally rise and take the trail back home, I find that many of my "problems" have mysteriously solved themselves. We don't owe that tax money after all; I finally got the message in my inbox about booking a music show that I was waiting for all week. And those nebulous, monstrous Things that "could" go wrong? Who cares! I'll be in the bath...
Take my advice, friends-- go and sit in a tree! You might be surprised.
