I wrote the following post about Vervain for this month's Blog Party on the topic of Bitters, hosted by Kiva Rose at The Medicine Woman's Roots!
Vervain, sweetest among the Bitters. Vervain, who starts out green on the palette, yet leaves an aftertaste so sharp that all of my juices erupt like Dancing Fountains, and my liver revs to life like a Harley Davidson. Vervain, so unassuming in appearance, but with a reputation nothing short of Illustrious in Herbal and Magical lore.
Vervain, with whom I once sat on a stony hillside, pleading for Nature to please reveal herself to me in a ridiculously obvious way: shimmering auras, pixies swinging from willow branches, and voices of my ancestors chanting instructions in Dolby Surround Sound. Vervain, who waited patiently until the tide of my desperation ebbed low again, leaving a silence in which she could be heard:
Pick up your pen.
I'd brought my notebook to the hills, intending to do a plant meditation and jot down my Deep and Meaningful notes afterwards. Unfortunately, all that the peaceful silence was doing was making me crazy. Why couldn't I be one of those subtle, psychic girls who says "Om" and just *poof!* disappears through a gauzy curtain to the realm of the Plant Spirits? When I closed my eyes, all I could think of was lyrics to pop songs, my grocery list, my bank balance.
Pick up your pen.
Writing? But wasn't that cheating? Giving free rein to my hyper-active mind, the endless chatter that clearly needed a gag and a straight jacket... but what harm could it do, anyway? The "meditation" was hopeless.
I picked up my pen.
And I imagined that the Mugwort in the dry riverbed began to hum. I imagined that the Oak trees sang to the grasses, the beetles to the birds. I imagined that the light had began to shift, oh-so-subtly, glimmering silver on the landscape.
Ah, but when I looked up from my notebook, it was true. No, the poppies weren't pirouetting like cartoon stars in Fantasia's Waltz of the Flowers, but a door had opened just- a-- crack, so that I could see the plants around me for what they really were. Magic.
Vervain is known as the Druid's Herb, the Poet's Herb, and the Witch's Herb, depending who you ask. The Celts used her for protection during rituals. Neo-Pagans use her for protection in their car-- especially if they don't have insurance! Druids were said to drink a tea of Vervain to bring forth the muse of poetry and song. Romans left offerings of her on their altars to their Goddess Venus. Single New Age ladies bathe in her in order to attract and secure a mate. Witches of old made sure there was a heaping dose of Vervain in their flying ointment. (How else is that broom supposed to get airborne?) She's even supposed to ward off Vampires.
Vervain gets around.
Like so many helpful herbs, Vervain is bitter. Not immediately, arrestingly so, like Gentian or Yarrow. In fact, she even starts out a little sweet. But try to hide her in tea, and you can't do it. Sugar or honey only makes the deception more obvious.
Bitter functions as a warning in nature, a Threshold-Cross-Not. Bitter is an initiator. Bitter gets bile flowing, loosens thoughts. Bitter stops us in our tracks, sharpens us, prepares us for a smorgasbord of the senses.
Too much sweet, anywhere in life, can be smothering. Thank god, in a crowd of pillowy Yes people, for the acerbic wit that slices through the treacle, the carefully placed sarcastic comment that lets the fresh air back into the room. Thank God, in 24-Hour Pancake and Ice Cream Sundae America, for the sprig of parsley on the side of the plate.
Vervain is an antidote to suffocating, cloying states of both Mind and Body. She is specific for looping thoughts, the specialty of insomniacs and worrywarts from Guam to Kathmandu. She is also used as a bitter tonic, long-term, for heated and congested livers.
Now you weren't going to forget about your liver, were you? (That six pack of Bud and the deep-fried Twinkie at the Fair were just temporary insanity, I know!) A massive organ with a mammoth to-do list, when our liver gets overwhelmed and irritable, our mental outlook begins to reflect the same. Vervain works-- over time-- to cool things off and get things moving, putting the spring back in our step and lightening our load both physically and emotionally.
(Yes, the above image is, in fact, a plush liver! This and other organs are available at iheartguts.com!)
You can dream with Vervain, trance with her, attract love, and Goddess only knows what else. (meteorite dust?) Energetically speaking, you want to be careful with Vervain (or any bitter) if you already run too cool, or you are naturally dried- or spaced-out. A little goes a long way! Vervain is one cool lady, but remember that she's more about the Ether than the Dirt. Grounding is not her specialty!
In Northern California, where I first met her, Vervain (Verbena hastata) is an unassuming plant, a few feet high at most, with the silver-green leaves typical of Natives who must endure the rainless summers. Her tall, sturdy European cousin (Verbena officinalis) is much taller and sturdier built, but they share one salient feature: their enchanting spires of purple flowers. If you happen to rendez-vous at twilight, staring at these miniature purple candelabras can put you in a trance.
In my garden, I am lucky to have both kinds of Vervain, but I am still waiting for those fantastic flowers to come in. The European variety is the superstar of these photos. I planted her by some of my favorite sitting stones, so we get to spend have a lot of time together, watching the stream, dreaming, and imagining. I have been compelled to make tons of tincture from her juicy leaves, so she will be with me all winter long, when dusky-magic summer twilights are but a memory.
Vervain, sweetest among the Bitters. I'm glad to know you, and glad to introduce you to the next generation of eager dreamers!
Down by the stream, a miniature grove of otherworldly trees has risen from the tangle of cleavers and sedge grasses. The new arrivals have shot up within two moons, and their branches are already so tall that they form a soft green atrium around me. I have brought my camera, hoping to capture the unusual color of the stalks, hued in black-light-poster-magenta and lime green; I’m also after a good picture of the clusters of just-ripening berries, with their long Dr. Seuss-creature snouts. Above all, I am eager to spend some time with the plant whose medicine I keep all year in my tiny Spirit room, using 2 or 3 drops before doing Tarot readings or trance writing.
This is Poke, or Phytolacca, and she is not your usual Cup of Tea.
It is fitting that she only grows here, by the little trickle of water that I call a stream, since she is one of the plant kingdom’s premiere lymph movers. “Lymph” itself means “a stream of pure, clear water”, and comes from the Latin “lympha” or “water nymph”. Nymphs are no strangers to mischief and magic, and there is a true extra-dimensional feeling here in the forest of Poke.
Our lymph system is one of the body’s two major fluid transport systems. The circulatory system is as loud and obvious as a Superhighway—it throbs in our temples, pulses in our throats, and beats a drum in our chest every moment of the day. If we cut ourselves, our blood seeps out quickly, alarming as a red light.
Meanwhile, beneath the hubbub, the lymphatic system operates like a fluid transport Subway. Quiet and seldom noticed, the job it does is a critical one.
All lymph fluid travels on a one-way path towards the heart, picking up bacteria and other particles that cells have put out on their “curbside recycling”. Before reaching the heart and the bloodstream, all lymph will move through at least one lymph gland, and it is here that a lot of the hard work takes place.
The lymphatic system is the producer of some of the body’s major immune cells, such as lymphocytes and macrophages (visualize tons of little Ms. PacMans eating blinking ghosts). A lot of shrapnel results from the skirmishes between your immune system and would-be invaders—dead cells, bodies of vanquished foes, etc. If a cold, flu, or infection has already passed, but your lymph glands are still swollen for a few days, that’s your clean-up crew working overtime after the lights have gone down and the crowd has gone home—lymph is taking out the trash.
Lymph, like a self-winding watch, is only moved by OUR movements. These can be gentle motions like skin brushing, or yoga; you can also give your lymph a real shake-up by jumping on a trampoline or dancing Tecktonik:
In the category of herbal lymphogogues that includes Cleavers (galium) and Red Root (ceanothus), Poke Root is considered an incredibly powerful mover and shaker. So much so, that it is toxic in high doses, and can cause puking in sensitive individuals even at low dosages. Don’t worry, you won’t be finding Poke in your glass of iced tea at my house! I did give it to my friend Amber when she was suffering with mastitis-- for which the root tincture and poultice of the leaf are specific-- and I use Poke occasionally on myself for sluggish lymph. Mostly, though, our relationship is built on hanging out together in the spirit realm.
My favorite plant meditation is doing stream-of-consciousness creative writing while sitting with the plant itself, or after taking a few drops of tincture. When I meditate with Poke, I have the sensation of descent through the layers of the earth/my own body, a closeness with all things buried and long-forgotten, and an affinity with the taboo.
My Official Tour Guide of Poke’s realm usually shows up as an archetypal raven-haired lady with a red rose in her hair and a red convertible sports car, wearing a skirt that’s just a little too short for decency. Naturally she’s driving too fast and has a bottle of whiskey stashed in the glove compartment; and naturally she charms me into coming along for the ride.
In these deeper dimensions, I find forgotten experiences, sensations, and desires—all the things that I push aside or bury so I can Play Nice, Fit In, and Behave. In day-to-day life, I am a born rebel trying (occasionally) to act the part of an angel, and Poke has something to say about that. Our journey together isn’t necessarily a joyride—in fact, it can really shake me up-- but I always return feeling that the stuck and stagnant corners of my spirit have had a thorough cleaning-out.
The energy of this journeying with Poke strikes me as particularly Plutonian in character. Pluto (recently shorn of its title of Planet, but not banished so easily from astrology!) is the ruler of the Underworld, death, mining, detective work, your secret rendez-vous at the Motel 6, and taxes. The Wikipedia describes Pluto’s job succinctly as “bringing buried needs and desires to the surface and expressing them”.
Getting in touch with what you really want can clear major energetic blockages, However you do it—dreamboarding, wish list-ing, yelling at the top of your lungs under the freeway—it is important for you health that you express your true Desires. Just like our lymph, which doesn’t move itself, it takes a little push for us to shed those psychic layers.
Poke reminds us that our underground streams of water deserve to run clear, and our inner selves deserve to be as agile, lithe and playful as water nymphs themselves. May it be so!
My #1 Herbal Buddy Amber has started her own Official Blog, Nourished Mother. (She used to blog exclusively on Myspace, but that wasn't nearly as accessible!) There are so many reasons you will want to check out her beautiful new blog, not the least of which is her fascinating story about her unassisted (that's right, not even with a midwife) homebirth.
She is also an amazing herbalist, deep thinker, and of course the first person I would turn to for a question about conscious parenting. Check it out and tell all your mamma friends!
I admit it, I am showing off: my Mulleins are the biggest around! (insert bad joke here...) That's level ground right there, which makes the Mullein several feet above my head! (And I'm 5 foot 8!)
Speaking of lung herbs (I've got some fast segue ways today, eh!)-- the smoke left Nevada County for three blissful days, only to come poking its head around again this afternoon. Yech! Luckily I've been making up some very potent lung medicine-- my friend Grindelia, or Gumweed, is in full bloom.
Grindelia likes to grow in--well, CRAPPY is the word for it-- soil. The more disturbed, rocky, neglected, the better! You can get a good idea from this picture here what Grindelia considers a happy home-- she's growing in the triangular patch in the middle!:
This tough herb is best harvested on a scorching summer day, when the centers of her yellow flowers are filled with a gooey, sticky substance that is only slightly less tacky than sap. Grindelia's medicine is easy to remember, because if you get sick and end up with lungs that are filled with stringy, sticky, gooey stuff that's hard to cough up, she is the plant ally you want to turn to! Kind of gross, I know, but you won't forget her now... (And I should add that if your lungs are filled with yellow or green stuff, you better get your butt to a professional STAT!)
Grindelia is a plant that was used by Indigenous North Americans, in a typically multi-dimensional fashion. According to my teacher Karyn Sanders (a Native Choctaw) of The Blue Otter School of Herbal Medicine, Grindelia has applications not just for lung issues, but for various problems of the urinary tract and the nervous system. It is also a popular ingredient in topical Poison Oak remedies, where it is used for its drawing and drying qualities.
Thick, resinous material like the goo in these flower heads doesn't break down in water, so I used nearly full-strength 190 proof organic grape alcohol as my menstrum. (Now I will reveal the embarrassing fact that I desperately need to get more mason jars, by showing you my medicine in a jar that has already lived at LEAST three lives. Give me points for conserving resources, at least!)
Isn't that a gorgeous color??? I am excited to make a combo of Grindelia, Mullein, and Yerba Santa. I wonder what my fourth herb will be? Making formulas is so exciting! There is always a high demand for my lung medicine in the fall and winter, and I love the feeling that this medicine will be making its way into many grateful hands. Speaking of grateful hands (ha ha! Another witty segue way! aren't I fresh?) check out the treasure that I'm holding here: yes, it's the one and only Zou Zou!
You ladies who live in the Southwest-- or can get yourself there!-- will seriously want to know about this event. It's a week long Medicine Woman's Gathering taught by the fabulous Herbalist Kiva Rose. The link to The Anime Center, where you can find out more info and register, is here.
One of the particular blessings of Nevada County, California, is our amazing community of herby-minded folk. This Saturday a friend invited Amber and I to come and make medicine from her fabulous garden. And when I say fabulous... dearest readers, I do not exaggerate!:
Now that we are all twitching with jealousy, let me reassure you that Jaime, the mistress of this garden, fully deserves this blessing. She has one of the biggest hearts in Nevada City-- she's the kind of groovy lady that always gives you a hug when you see her, and colicky babies coo and giggle in her arms. You just know the kind of woman I am talking about! Here she is with a portion of the bounty:
Here are some pretty pictures to whet your appetite, starting with our friend Borage. You may know the old herbalist's ryhme, "Borage for Courage"! This is a trick to remember that Borage flowers, energetically speaking, lift up and strengthen the heart, readying it for the daring feats of courage required in everyday life. On the physical level, they tone the adrenal glands; aid in treatment for depression; and are used in diaphoretic (sweat-inducing) teas to break fevers. Borage flowers are also used for increasing mother's milk, and in some PMS formulas. More often they end up as delicious edible flowers (make sure the fuzzy part stays behind!) in summer salads and drinks. These babies are small and sweet, and if you have the patience to gather enough for a really significant amount of medicine, I applaud you! As for me, I usually just eat my fill right there in the garden... but I AM part goat, after all.
Vites, getting ready to flower! See my detailed post about Vitex here...
A genuine Fairy Garden, indeed:
Amber, hard at work harvesting:
You wonder how I could concentrate at all! Everything seemed to be calling to me on this sunny July day. First of all, this wall of Hops stopped me in my tracks:
We learned that these are a very special variety of Hops, dearly beloved in German beer brewing for purposes of flavor and aroma. Now I must apologize to the Alewives among you, I didn't write down their (German) name! Maybe that's because I was in a heady stupor from handling these sweet green flowers. They were in full perfect bloom and potent.. whew! ...potent.
Hops are used for-- maybe you have guessed this already-- relaxation. Tea or tincture works great internally, and Amber loves to use an infused oil of Hops on her toddler in the evening, and for pain relief. And yes, part of that beer buzz may be more than just the alcohol! If there's Hops in your brewskie, you are feeling her soporific effects.
Honestly, this is the first year I have really connected with Hops. I was inspired to pick and pick and pick until we had nearly a half of a grocery bag full. When no one was listening (very important!) I made up a medicine song for Hops, which goes something like this:
We are the ones who send you off to sleep Life is uncertain, but this promise we will keep For when you sleep, you are made anew And when you dream, all good magic comes to you.
I look forward to the day when Disney makes an animated movie about a Green Witch. Heck, maybe I'm gonna have to make it myself!
(The shoe is NOT part of the medicine, by the way.)
Now I was pretty well looped after 45 minutes of handling sleepy Hoppy flowers, but I had another mission: the gorgeous Red Raspberry leaves. A traditional tonic during pregnancy, Red Raspberry is said to "strengthen" and "soften" the womb, making for an easy delivery. If you don't believe me, ask any Mamma who had one pregnancy WITH Red Raspberry, and one WITHOUT. The "Old Wives" passed this one down and it's a goodie!
Now I'm not on that baby train , and I admit that I may have ignored Red Raspberry because I considered her part of the whole pregnancy matrix. But standing in Jaime's garden, I had a "duh" moment. I'd done an herbal tarot reading the day before, and gotten Red Raspberry. Playfulness, Creativity, the Inner Child. The womb is nothing less than the center of our creativity, whether you've got a bun in the oven or not. Duh. I am having a creative Renaissance-- devouring Fantasy literature; writing down my (very vivid) dreams every morning; nurturing the seeds of my business (a vision forming from the ether, somehow involving herbs, writing, and this good old Interweb)-- Duh!
I love you, Duh. (:
I finished off my harvest with Strawberry leaves. I decided to combine them with the Raspberry on a kind of hunch... I have often heard of their value as a mild tummy tea; as a vitamin C-rich infusion; and as a topical treatment for irritated skin... but occasionally one does read that Strawberry leaf is used as Woman's medicine. VERY occasionally, but... I was feeling their call!
So what does a medicine-making party look like? Well, luckily, Jaime has a really wide countertop!:
I hereby give you all permission to clutter things up and make a royal mess!
Happy hands at work:
Smudge stick by Jaime, woven with Lavender, Mugwort, Helichrysum, and love:
Amber does quick work! Here are some of her concoctions:
On the way over to the party, I passed a liquor store, and was inspired to stop and buy a bottle of Bombay Sapphire Gin. When I do have an "adult beverage", this is my drink of choice. Once upon a time, it was actually a medicine, and the herbs that are in it (today, in trace amounts) are embossed on the side of the bottle! I was hoping I would find a plant that called to me to make a Gin extract. It turned out that my nose loved the smell of the Hops with Juniper-y tartness of the Gin. And I love it SO much, in fact, that I keep popping open my mason jar every night to take a little spoonful... so much for waiting a month for the medicine to "put up". But I'm sure the Gin has already extracted a lot of goodness from the Hops, and at least it's being used! Irresistible!
I dried a good amount of the Red Raspberry and Strawberry leaves for use in infusion... in fact, they're ready to go. Things dry really fast in our low-humidity climate-- that means both Herbs AND my Celtic skin-- but you can't have it all!
Lastly, I made a Women's Blend using some Damiana and Peach-infused brandy as the menstrum ("menstrum"= the liquid you tincture your herbs in). This had been languishing, unused, in my fridge-- I'd always felt like this potion needed an extra dimension. Well, the magical garden provided it! I filled the jar with Red Raspberry Leaf, Mugwort, and Lavender, to make a tincture that will
A. Get You In League With The Moon (Mugwort), B. Get You In The Mood (Damiana), C. Smell Divine (Lavender), and D. Taste Sassy (peaches and brandy).
...I can't wait til the flavors and magics marry...!
Thanks to Jaime, for sharing her herb harvest with us! And thanks to Nature, the Artful Lady who makes it very easy to take good pictures:
STOP THE PRESSES: This just in from Yahoo news!:
AP - Pope Benedict XVI says the world's natural resources are being squandered by "insatiable" consumption and urges people to care more for the environment.
I never thought I'd see the day! Makes me think of the Dar Williams song about the Christians and the Pagans sitting down to Solstice/Christmas dinner together. (Tears. I'm a sucker.) And on that hopeful note...
All week long I have been hearing "St. John's Wort" on everyone's lips. Folks at lower elevations have already put their medicine up, and proudly tell me "we'll be happy at our house all winter!" and "my fingers were stained red for three days!"
Well today the moon is almost new (I like to make medicine on the waxing moon, or as close as possible) and the St. John's Wort in shady Frog Holler is at a perfect stage for harvest: about one third in bloom, two thirds in bud. Yum! Now I don't have a ton of this sunny herb in my garden, but I have about ten times more than I did when I moved in. I attribute that to good watering, weeding, and focusing my love and attention on the St. John's plant community-- plants really respond well when someone cares about them!
There is another patch of St. John's on the property, and after I've taken my harvest from my garden, me and Zouzou go on a short journey through the woods to check it out:
Passing through the "gate" of Elder to get to our destination:
Here it is... we call it, fondly, "St. John's Meadow":
And here's why:
They're not getting nearly as much water as my St. John's in the garden, so they are shorter and tend to be single-stemmed instead of bushy. But since they have to fight a little harder to survive, their medicine is sure to be strong!
I cut the flower tops and about an inch of the stem. St. John's spreads mainly by it's root system, but I always leave at least half of the flowers to go to seed, and for the bees to enjoy:
I cut the plant material up right inside the jar, for convenience-- and also because my hubby is busy in the kitchen at this moment!:
As I harvest, I make up a little song for the St. John's. In the past I've tried offering medicine plants gifts of tobacco, cookies, and locks of hair, but a song works best of all for me to connect with the plant, and with its purpose. First I sit with the St. John's for a few minutes, tuning into my task and into the spirit of the herb. I realize that as I sit in my garden, easy and free in shorts and t-shirt in the 80 degree evening light, I am full to the brim with glorious Summer. Though my week has thus far traversed the full gamut of emotion-- and I wouldn't say it was all good!-- I am still just bursting with the feeling of endless possibilities and expansive horizons. THIS is what I will be capturing in my mason jar, and this is the true spirit of this special plant of mid-summer. Hence the song:
Saint John's of the Summertime
Keep me warm when winter is nigh
Keep me sunny, keep me bright
When the tide of darkness is high
I use the "folk method" of tincture making today, so when the jar is completely full of plant matter-- gently packed down, but not stuffed-- I fill it with water and alcohol. Since flowers and leaves break down fairly easily in alcohol, I don't need much. I use 70 percent water, which I add first, and measure by eyeballing the level in the jar:
My preferred alcohol is in that bottle beside the mason jar. It's organic grape alcohol from Alchemical Solutions in Ashland, Oregon, and it tastes so so fine! Now watch what happens when I pour in the alcohol:
Yes, it's turning deep red! That's the medicine, the hypericum, and it makes me very happy to see that I've timed my harvest just right!:
Now I label my jar with the plant, the date, and where the sun and moon are at astrologically (both in Cancer!), and wait a moon cycle to strain... oh, it feels so good to prepare for a dimly imagined winter during the height of summer, eating grapes and cherries and walking around in sandals all day. I'll leave you with some shots from the garden:
Feverfew!:
Lovely Lemon Balm:
Nettle in flower:
Beauty, Beauty, everywhere I look!:
...and one last "firework" (for "Inter-dependence" Day)!!!
