spring forward, but not too fast

Before we get into the season at Patera in earnest, my sweetheart and I took the opportunity to get away for a few days. This was called for, as I was in Hawaii less than a month ago, in perfect 80 degree weather for two weeks, only to return to rain and wind and gray skies. We had only a hint of crocus growth in our yard. I was having plant-withdrawal after the incredible verdancy of the big island’s non-stop flower show! So, since there wasn’t much yet to see here, and just a few early leaves in the medicine garden, we set off.

Hawaii's "wildflowers"

It was a brief jaunt South to Western Massachusetts, where we got to bask in the flush of Spring that they are already enjoying there. Actually, it was more like high Summer, with 95 degrees and serious need for sunscreen. We spent a day at Smith College’s conservatory and gardens, where I got to see some of my new semi-tropical friends (Monstera deliciosa, aka cutleaf philodendron, banana, many an orchid, and flowering citrus to knock your socks off).

semi-tropical house in Smith's conservatory

And, I got to swoon over the much-progressed flowering trees–the crab apples were already wafting their indescribable incense, leaving me craning my neck to find the source as we walked down every street. We are still a week or more away from such delights on my chilly, zone 4, ridge. We did return to a yard full of daffodils, though—a surprise after leaving them tightly wrapped in their buds. I had to make a big bouquet in the dark–even before getting all the luggage in. I’d purchased a sweet sea green pottery vase at a junk shop that was just begging to be filled…really, it was.

in the orchid house

I’ve been spending my spare time, as our own weather continues to warm, leafing through gardening books for inspiration as each day I stare down the large swath of black plastic that is the next bed to be built in our yard. The thing about gardening, as I’m realizing now that I own a home, is that it’s always happening in the future—a plan, a dream, a fantasy of how it will all one day be mesmerizingly, perfectly gorgeous. No matter how much is accomplished, always, there’s more and better to do. Of course, I also know that it will never be just as it looks in my mind’s eye, so I’m resolving this year to work on restraining my dreamer, just a little. I intend to enjoy each moment in the garden, just as it is now and keep the ghosts of flowering-crabs-future at bay.

serious rock garden swoon at Smith

After all, in both my home gardens and here, at Patera, I already have enormous beds with hundreds of plants awaiting their debut as the soil keeps warming. So, I’ll keep bringing my focus–and adoration—back to them. Weren’t they the object of my keen future desires just last Fall as I tucked them in with visions of their Spring emergence–clever color combination perfection and all that?

What do I do then, with my fidgety gardening self–with two weeks until our gardening apprentii arrive at Patera and only small leaves on most of my babies at home? Well, I’ve dug my gardener’s heart (and spade) firmly into right NOW—and yes it requires digging in! I’m working slowly around the perennials, cleaning up the grey fuzzy leaf-hats left on the lady’s mantle, trimming the rubbery leaves of overwintered yellow foxglove, clearing the dry maple litter from the tiny, crinkly, dark lemon balm leaves as they give up their sharp, lemon scent. I’m preening over the grape hyacinths  as they enlarge in their little bunches and take on their sweet-grape fragrance that pulls me to hands and knees daily. And yes, I’m thinking, just a little, about what delights I’ll eventually cook up with the nettles, who’ve sent up their tender shoots already (nettlekopita? nettle-potato soup w/chives? simple steamed nettle with balsamic vinegar and butter?). I figure that near-future planning is allowed in my be-here-now gardening resolution, right?

Yes, I’ll keep my mind on the present conundrums–how hard to prune the various Clematis species and whether the garden sages are worth saving this year after a hard die-back. Because, after all, no matter what the thermometer says on a given day, it’s not Summer just yet. In fact, there’s so much left of Spring still to savor. The ostrich fern fiddleheads–Vermont’s ubiquitous late Spring treat–are decidedly still tucked tightly into their spirals of papery fur. The tulips have barely begun to form buds. The peonies’ deep purple “hands” are still curled tightly against an errant chill. My wicked plots to kill my gout weed patch later this year are incomplete…oh, I mean…ahem…I have yet to enjoy the delights of each unfolding Spring moment quite as much as I’d like.

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baikal skullcap: the indigo bunting of flowers

I am utterly smitten with baikal skullcap (Scutellaria baicalensis)  for so many reasons, but the most significant is its unbelievable, otherworldly shade of indigo blue. When it first appears in the garden in late July, I jump about excitedly and preen over it with adoring eyes, but it’s really now, in late August, that the true heart-throbbing begins as the plants at Patera are covered in blooms that simply glow. The sky literally pales in comparison.

Perhaps you can see in the photos above the small maroonish “caps” on the calyxes which then swell in size once the flower is dropped, as in the bottom right photo. These caps appear on both our American skullcap and this Chinese skullcap, or huang qin as its also called, though the whole presentation of baikal skute is so much showier. I’ve read various accounts of the inspiration for skullcap’s name–the cap-like shape of the upper lip of the flower or this little cappish protuberance on the calyx. Honestly, the flower of the local skullcap (Scutellaria lateriflora) doesn’t have such a fancy hat shape, so I always wondered about the veracity of this. The rakish green calyx beret you see here seems a much better bet for inspiring namers!

the less showy caps and color of American skullcap

This little cap is very important to the signature of these plants, which I experience as powerfully calming the racing and anxious mind by “putting a lid on it”. Sometimes when we seem to be spinning out into the ethers with thoughts and emotions, skullcap gives us a little containment, cools us off, soothes the edges. American skullcap serves as an important foundation for clients with anxiety, panic attacks, mania, irritability, and bipolar disorder, not to mention Tourette syndrome and even seizures. It can’t be beat for relaxing folks into sleep, especially when tension is held in the body, as in restless leg syndrome, or simply for people who tend to be fidgety and tight. By promoting GABAnergic activity (GABA is our primary inhibitory neurotransmitter), it reduces tension in body and mind.

Coming from the mint family, it’s no surprise that these scutellarias would be cooling and relaxing nervines, but what’s interesting to me is that they are used in some unique ways in their respective traditions. The yellow root of baikal skute is used, where we use the aerial parts of American skullcap. They both have a curious greenish flavor, slightly bitter, but American skullcap leaf tastes more characteristic of plants with iridoids in them (in this case catalpol), so it’s reminiscent of plantain or vervain. If you eat a baikal skullcap leaf (not the medicinally used part), it tastes incredibly sweet. I’ve asked Sarah if there is use of aerial parts in TCM, but it seems not. This is most curious, as it’s downright delicious (but obviously some important, and less tasty, chemistry is missing from the leaves).

As I mentioned, the primary use of American skullcap is as an anxiolytic, while the main uses of baikal skullcap are for inflammatory conditions, especially of the cardiovascular system, liver, and lungs. It’s also used for cancer, especially of the lungs. During the H1N1 scare, I recommended it to folks concerned about an excessive immune response damaging their lung tissue in the later phase of the flu, and it’s similarly useful in the hyperactivity seen in autoimmunity. I also often offer it in combination with reishi for asthma, especially related to allergies. In TCM, the heart and lungs inhabit the upper burning space (aka jiao), along with the mind (which includes the brain, but also our spirit and emotional selves). So, as a plant with affinity for the upper jiao, it follows that baikal skullcap is also used by Chinese herbalists to cool and calm the mind and spirit, echoing the common application of its North American cousin. However, this use of baikal skullcap is less common in Western herbal practice and receives far less attention from the research community.

bouquet of beauty medicine starring baikal skute, belamcanda, bee balm & blue vervain

In terms of chemistry, these plants share not only the iridoid catalpol, but also flavonoids, notably baicalin, scutellarin and wogonin. While present in differing concentrations in each plant, together these molecules give both plants their anxiolytic activities, and both should also possess anti-inflammatory, antioxidant and anti-cancer activities. What I find curious is that we Western herbalists don’t tend to use our skullcap as an anti-inflammatory in the way that Chinese herbalists employ theirs. Similarly, we don’t tend to use baikal skullcap as an anxiolytic. It seems we could be using both plants in broader applications. I’ve had good success with both inflammation and anxiety with baikal, so now I’m looking for opportunities to test out broader uses of American skullcap, too. (Since there’s not really a tradition of using it as an anti-inflammatory, this is definitely extrapolation, but I’m excited to see what might emerge.)

Baikal skute is a prolific perennial, blooming in its first year and ready to harvest as early as the fall of its second.  It’s incredibly easy to start from seed each year to ensure a continual presence and has no pest problems, like the evil beetle of skullcap death that ravages our local species. All it asks is full sun and good drainage, which it gets plenty of in its respiratory-oriented bed, tucked in with the blackberry lily, sage and lobelia volunteers. Even though our local skullcap is an absolute staple of my practice that I will never abandon, I admit to being wooed by the magical, brightly-hued stranger. Like a sighting of the elusive indigo bunting, its arrival in my garden has almost ruined me for less showy companions.

“The purple flowers are like schools of dolphin breaking through green waves in a summer sea.”

~ Richo Cech of Horizon Herb seed company, obviously feeling similarly enchanted

Posted in Chinese materia medica, clinical use, doctrine of signatures, European/North American materia medica, growing/gardening Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , |

August 15th: unicorn horns and red roots to the rescue

Headline: Blogger smothered by garden, revived by leopard lily and danshen

As bloggers go, it seems to me that gardeners make bad ones. I say this because I am an obsessive gardener with never enough time or sunny days on my hands–which is a hallmark of gardening, yes?–and so really it seems silly to imagine that in the height of summer one (meaning me) would have time to sit at a computer and chronicle the planty exploits. Add to that the fact that I’m teaching daily, seeing clients, tending a home garden, and one (meaning me) might begin to think they’re crazy to try. This would be true if I didn’t also love to write and to share the giddiness I feel when in the garden. The plants do interesting and surprising things all the time (albeit slowly) and if I don’t tell someone, my head might pop off.

cloudy August day in the garden after rain--see, look how lovely they all are!

So…this has lead me back to the keyboard for the express purpose of sharing some delightful new bits, even though there’s guilt about the extra-long hiatus between last year and this. Nothing to be done about it, however and the plants, as always, urge me to share their loveliness and magic with as many folks as possible–not to mention their great usefulness and willingness as allies in so many ways. And so, on this rainy day in August, deep into year 2 of the medicine garden, I begin again.

wonderful garden apprentice meticulously harvesting arnica (A. chamissonis) earlier this summer

This year’s crop of apprentii and I have been out of the garden for almost 2 weeks, which is entirely the wrong time to be away from it. First, it’s peaking in terms of gorgeousness and second, we need to be harvesting everything almost all of the time. (Calendula and chamomile would be so much more productive if only we were in there every 3 days or so.) But, the teaching schedule and other bits have kept us all away and when I returned there was a most incredible surprise: the belamcanda (aka Leopard lily, Belamcanda chinensis, really an iris) was in full bloom! This beauty lives in the lung-ish and mostly stimulating area of the garden and the Chinese use its rhizome to move phlegm stuck in the respiratory tract. This excites me because its cousin, Iris versicolor (a personal heart friend) is used by Western herbalists to move boggy lymph accumulations and to get bile flowing to improve fat digestion. Once we snoop in the pharmacological research we find they share some chemistry and so it makes sense that they both give the stagnant states of various tissues some encouragement to move along. Even though research into iris is far less progressed, we can understand it a little better through what we know about belamcanda. Love it when reductionist science gives us a peek into nature’s patterns.

leopardy foreground; horns in the background

This plant is extra special to me because I saved the fat beady black seeds 2 falls ago, cold stratified them in a little soil in a baggie in the freezer last spring, stuck them in the ground last May and they 1) came up; 2) overwintered despite doubt of hardiness in Z4; 3) multiplied this year and now 4) are in stunning orangey-red leopard spot bloom!

horn, up close and personal

Of course, this is all how it is supposed to work, but most gardeners know that supposed-to doesn’t always fly in the garden, so it’s a special treat when all goes according to plan. Look at these twisty unicorn horns that the flowers turn into when they go by–almost better than when they’re open. Almost.

danshen's fat flowers and purple-streaked calyxes

Staying on the theme of plants from the Chinese materia medica that we’re getting to know in person, the red root sage, aka danshen (Salvia miltiorrhiza), came intobloom this year, too! I could barely stand the suspense, as the plants were in bud for what seemed like an eternity, but finally the flowers emerged 2 weeks ago and they were worth the wait. First, the buds and calyxes are incredibly sticky, not unlike cousin clary sage, and are also very aromatic, which we’d expect, too. However, this is the only part of the plant with major aroma or the stickiness, a unique trait for sages that I’ve met so far. Next, the buds are quite purple and as the flowers nosed their way out, they were not just a classic garden sagey purple, but actually an indigo purple–quite a bit of pink to them. The flowers are typical mint family characters with bilabiate irregularity, but these are exceptionally large at over an inch long in some cases. A big bumble bee fits easily inside.

the pink tint and a good view of purple streaking

Next we get to see how well it illustrates the doctrine of signatures, which tells us of its use through visual and other sensorial cues. Not only is the flower stalk tinged with purple but the calyx is also streaked like engorged veins–it’s a downright perfect suggestion of congealed blood! Couple this appearance with its scent and slightly spicy, slightly bitter leaf flavor and you can make a pretty good guess about its actions without ever opening a book: both stimulating and relaxing, cooling and something to do with blood moving slowly. The body-lab is an amazing tool. Meanwhile, it also has a beautiful red root, which classically indicates strong heat-clearing action (via like-cures-like thinking, suggesting a red root will cool red, hot inflamed tissue).

Taken together, along with traditional use and clinical research, we know this  root as an important ally for the cardiovascular and cerebrovascular systems, especially for folks with a lot of heat/inflammation overall. It’s used extensively in China for angina, coronary heart disease, and to prevent strokes. There, they call it a blood mover–Western practitioners might think about its antispasmodic, anti-inflammatory, and anti-platelet aggregating activities, but we’re saying the same things, essentially. It’s also a great one for menstrual cramps in folks with dark, clotted menses, especially when used for a few days leading up to bleeding. I’ve been having great results with it in clinic for this purpose recently.

this beauty, baikal skullcap, has also been making me swoon; more on this one in a coming post

I can barely wait to harvest the red roots for tincturing! This plant is only supposed to be hardy to -10 degrees, so I’m nervous to let it go another winter, just in case this year is less snowy and the plant dies before we get to harvest (-30 isn’t uncommon here). I’d love feedback from any US growers or practitioners about harvest of this perennial as early as its second fall in terms of medicinal maturity.

Thanks for catching up with me and stay tuned for more news of Chinese medicinals exploding all over the garden, along with local friends like lobelia and blue vervain.

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June 14th: transplanting satisfaction, starting seeds, dragon’s arrival

planting a holy basil (Ocimum sanctum) bed

Today was a wonderfully productive and easy day. We put many many plants in the ground and the beds are filling up!  There are new full beds of holy basil (aka tulsi), astragalus, st. john’s wort, rosemary, thyme, hyssop, figwort (Scrophularia nodosa), and anise hyssop. We seeded a few California poppy in the center circle, as well as adding a few more hollyhock, a nice patch of jasmine-scented nicotiana, more lady’s mantle and violas and our little tribe of datura (aka jimson weed).

bed for the dragon--rosemary, thyme, hyssop

We put in a few more valerian, another blue vervain, and some strong, large wormwood and mugwort plants to begin our artemisia bed. We also seeded a number of artemisias, including sweet annie (A. annua, aka qing-hao), western mugwort (A. ludoviciana), redstem wormwood (A. scoparia, aka yin-chen), and sagebrush (A. tridentata).

planting artemisia seeds

We finished the bed for comfrey and nettles,  adding stones for pathways when we need to harvest, as well as rhubarb, cleavers and some horseradish that had volunteered elsewhere in the garden. We added hibiscus (the H. sabdariffa, whose calyxes we can make beautiful red tea from), which will be annual shrubs in the front of the bed of otherwise wild-children. The cleavers would like some support and a bit of shading, which they’ll get as the nettles get larger. We seeded in some purple Papaver somniferum Zahir to add some color and other delight to our comfrey-nettle-rhubarb palace–hopefully the weather won’t get too hot for them to germinate. We still have space in that bed for others–perhaps some mints or our bee balm (Monarda) collection?

CNR palace with paths complete, rhubarb in place; dragon comes in to right of rhubarb

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June 7th: biggest dig ever, calling all dragons

weed fest and moldy hay before we begin

Today we tackled one of the worst areas of the garden, which could no longer be avoided, as it sits between the circle and the long rows of beds. It is the transition between the spaces and has been a dumping ground for rocks, dirt piles,  and some moldy hay. Behind it you can see some old falling-apart compost piles and more dirt piles–which have served as nurse-beds for a most excellent crop of our biggest weed: galinsoga. Joy. (I hear this is a food-crop in other parts of the world…we will not starve.)

Luckily it was a balmy day, not too hot or buggy and we were a good sized crew. We all focused on working this bed, first weeding, then flattening it out. Our plan was to make a lasagna of layers of the original soil (lots of clay), the decomposing hay, and then some compost and soil on top. We planned to create a low rock wall to contain these layers and to define the bed. This is especially important, as we intend for this bed to be home to many of the herbs that are considered invasive: comfrey, nettle, rhubarb, horseradish. We wanted to give these important medicines pride of place in the garden, while being realistic. They need a barrier! Continue reading »

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May 31st: serpents emerge, big dig and transplanting

heart of the garden

This was a fantastically satisfying day! We had a smaller crew because of Memorial Day, but we were no less productive.We laid stone paths in our central circle and planted a few foundation plants–holly hocks, meadowsweet and sweet cicely–among the 3 center stones. We also put lady’s mantle and a few violets and violas in. We had my mom’s help, too–she was hot on the trail of the pernicious bindweed, and made sure our stone paths were good and sturdy. Everyone also got a good glimpse of how I became a plant geek!

We had thought a lot about the paths in the center and had originally been planning 4 paths aligned with the compass, but in the end, it seemed a more organic, sinuous design wanted to emerge. It ended up looking a little like a yin-yang, with an extra squiggle, appropriate for this garden.

We also got a fair number of plants in the ground, too: many of our nervines, such as wood betony, catnip, blue vervain, motherwort, anise hyssop, peppermint and more lemon balm and skullcap; the beginnings of our lung bed, including angelica, elecampane and marshmallow; and then good beds full of echinacea, black cohosh and valerian. We are so grateful for the many mature transplants we received from friends–what a difference it makes to have happy, established perennials. We have many of the same plants coming along in the green house as seedlings, but we like having older “role models” for them to look up to.

Some of  The Evil Corners finally yielded fully to becoming the balance of the east side of the circle and all was amended with compost and wood ash. Wood chips were spread on the paths around the center. It’s really starting to shape up! Our structure is solid. Below is a gallery of some of the plants we put in and closer images of some of the stones and paths. Continue reading »

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May 24th: transplanting and other crimes

Today was visually undocumented for 2 reasons–1) too hot for our brains to function properly and remember cameras and 2) we committed crimes against the medicine fairies that I for one don’t want to be reminded of. It was 80 degrees by the time we met at 9:30 and only got hotter–95 in town that day. We had more bed shaping and digging to do (sweaty JOY) and we had some mature perennials that had been dug elsewhere and needed to be put in the ground right away. Unfortunately, right away meant on this blistering day that spelled disfigurement and misery for some of the babies. Blech. We gave everyone lots of water with fish/seaweed emulsion and the usual rescue remedy given to all transplants, but it was still just terrible. If I’d been working outside of the schedule of the apprenticeship, I never would’ve done it, but this was what we had so we went with it. Still a teaching moment–what NOT TO DO.

So, now we have some arnica plants that were ready to bloom beautifully who are currently recuperating and giving a good showing of flowers–though not what it would’ve been–on somewhat browned stalks with some shriveled leaves here and there. I think we’ll snip them all and hope for a second bloom. A couple of the earlier transplanted st. john’s worts didn’t appreciate the heat either–even though they didn’t get moved at all that day. On a brighter note, the calendula and valerian we put in look just fantastic, so it wasn’t a total disaster.

The day ended with some folks taking the first swim in the local icy brook. Too early for this sort of heat.

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May 17th: new beds, amending soil, transplanting, greenhouse!

We had to skip meeting on the second Monday in May and so came together again after 2 weeks. What a difference! Unfortunately, it was mostly a difference in weed size. We had a lot of digging to do, especially to reclaim some of the rocky, clay-filled corners of the garden that hadn’t been worked before. We also had a lot of amending to do–especially in beds that had been home to greedy potatoes–and in others that are just too full of clay for most plants to absorb nutrients or respirate properly. We added tons of compost to improve nutrients and aeration and a bit of wood ash to raise the pH. Medicinal herbs are far less picky about soil conditions, especially pH, than veggies, but we decided we might as well adjust our slightly acidic soil to give them the best environment possible.

Here’s the whole crew hard at work on those rocky corners and other weedy pursuits.

reclaiming the corners

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May 3rd: garden rehab, seed-planting, peony, raven blessing

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About Patera, a physic garden for healing and learning

medicine faeries taking a break

This blog in part chronicles the adventures of building and maintaining a large herb garden, with rotating teams of intrepid apprentices. As a medicine garden, it’s meant to provide healing in the form of beauty, relationship with plants, soil, insects and each other, and in the form of herbal preparations that we’ll make and share with our community. Ancient gardens of this nature were built to educate the day’s physicians–so were called physic gardens. We named our particular garden Patera, after a bowl used to hold medicine in ancient Greece. The patera was especially associated with Hygeia, the goddess of preventive medicine and Asclepius’ daughter. In most depictions, she offers her medicine to a snake who represents humankind. The snake must help itself to the medicine, just as we humans must also care for ourselves by using the good medicines of rest, fresh air, whole food, and the plants that are all around us. We offer this garden as a container for healing and learning, like the physic gardens, but for the education and delight of all.

 

We’re working together on a ridge in the Green Mountains of Central Vermont, in zone 4b. We began with the architecture of an old garden–some beds in tact, others waiting for strong backs and compost. We were at first a gathering of 10: 2 seasoned gardener/herbalist/teachers, and 8-12 apprentices to the garden, with various levels of experience. Our ongoing goal is to create a teaching and learning lab where we can learn from the plants themselves. We’re growing European herbs, Asian medicinals and native plants, experimenting with inter-planting according to their uses and energetic qualities in both Western and Asian herbal traditions. Since one of us is an acupuncturist and Chinese herbalist and others of us are Western herbalists, we are excited to have fruitful conversations about cross-system translation.

The garden continues to be supported by numerous individuals, businesses, and organizations, through contributions of funds, seeds and plants. Significant support originally came from: Horizon Herb Seeds (www.horizonherbseeds.com), Goddard College Faculty Development Fund (www.goddard.edu), and Vermont Center from Integrative Herbalism (VCIH; www.vtherbcenter.org). Each year the apprentices are enrolled in a VCIH program called Herbs from the Ground Up, as well as in our 1 year program, The Family Herbalist. This means we’re gardening two days each week, 6 months of the year, with 20-30 different individuals rotating through. Much of what we harvest from the garden goes to the VCIH apothecary in support of the sliding-scale community clinics, staffed by students and professional herbalists, that we operate around central Vermont.

We are also incredibly grateful to our big-hearted community of gardeners and herbalists for generously sharing plant divisions and extra starts. These include Jeff and Melanie Carpenter (of ZackWoods Herb Farm), Amy Goodman, JoAnn Darling (of Garden of Seven Gables), Rosemary Gladstar (of Sage Mountain Retreat Center), Sandra Lory (of Mandala Botanicals), Annie Wattles,  Jane Hulstrunk, and, of course, VCIH folks Guido Mase, Betzy Bancroft and Anne Jameson.

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