China Bayles' Book of Days (15 page)

By 1780, the success of Dr. Withering’s clinical trials encouraged him to recommend foxglove to his fellow practitioners. Five years later, he published his now-classical study,
Account of the Foxglove.
Eventually, the plant’s compound was synthesized, and digitalis—as it was now called—came into common use.

If you use digitalis, you can thank Mrs. Sutton for making the recipe available to Dr. Withering. You can thank the good doctor for his careful trials, and his patients for their courage. And you can thank Mrs. Withering for inspiring the doctor’s interest in plants. Yes, sometimes it does take a village.

Read more about plant-based medicine:

Green Pharmacy: The History and Evolution of Western Herbal Medicine
, by Barbara Griggs

The fascinating question thus presents itself: how many other country remedies—like the foxglove, unrecorded in the herbals—have never met their Withering, and have been lost for ever to orthodox medicine?

—BARBARA GRIGGS, GREEN PHARMACY

MARCH 7

A Jesuit priest living among the Onondaga of New York—and probably taught by them—wrote the following about sassafras’s healing powers: “But the most common and wonderful plant . . . is that which we call the ‘Universal Plant,’ because its leaves when powdered heal wounds of all kinds in a short time.”

—ALICE THOMS VITALE, LEAVES: IN MYTH, MAGIC & MEDICINE

Sassafras, the “Universal Plant”

Tea made from sassafras twigs and leaves was my Missouri grandmother’s favorite spring tonic, which she prescribed liberally for internal spring cleaning and as a cold and flu fighter. As a child growing up in Illinois, my favorite treat was a frosty mug of root beer—originally a product of the sassafras tree. When I lived in Louisiana, I learned that Creole filé gumbo just wasn’t the same without filé powder, made from sassafras. And recently, I’ve seen fabric dyed a deep, pretty yellow from sassafras bark. No wonder it’s been called the “universal plant”!

The sassafras tree (
Sassafras albidum
) is common throughout the eastern United States. It was the New World’s first cash crop, and made quite a sensation in the early 1600s in Europe, where its health-giving roots and wood were more prized than chocolate and tobacco, two other wildly popular New World herbs. Its popularity declined sharply, however, when word got around that it was being used to treat syphilis. Its main constituent, safrole, is now considered carcinogenic.

Because of this concern for toxicity, root beer is now made from artificial flavors, and people have been warned to reduce their consumption of sassafras tea. (My grandmother would undoubtedly have gone right on drinking it.) Used in small quantities as a flavoring, the leaves are safe and are available, in the form of filé powder, from many supermarkets. If you want to make your own filé, dry the young sassafras leaves until they’re crisp, then powder them. To flavor and thicken gumbo, add the powder at the very end of the cooking period, after you have taken the pot from the heat, and add it only to the portion you plan to serve. (Filé powder becomes stringy when it’s heated or reheated.)

Read more about sassafras:

Sacred and Herbal Healing Beers: The Secrets of Ancient Fermentation
, by Stephen Harrod Buhner

Wild Roots: A Forager’s Guide
, by Doug Elliott

Fill me with sassafras, nurse
And juniper juice!
And see if I’m still any use!
For I want to be young again and to sing again,
Sing again, sing again.
—DON MARQUIS, “SPRING ODE”

MARCH 8

In the early church, rue was dipped in holy water and shaken in front of the doors and in the aisles to repel demons and evil. By the sixteenth century, the plant had come to be associated with the idea of ruefulness and repentance, with sorrow for one’s wrongdoing. Perhaps that was why the poison pen writer had put it into the envelopes. Rue, regret, repentance, grace. It was a powerful symbol.

—RUEFUL DEATH: A CHINA BAYLES MYSTERY

Rueful Death
: About China’s Books

When I chose rue as the signature herb for the fifth of China’s herbal adventures, I didn’t have a very clear idea of how I was going to use it. Once I began to work with the herb, however, I quickly turned up two interesting things. The first had to do with rue’s symbolic association with ruefulness and repentance. The second was inspired by a remark in Steven Foster’s book,
Herbal Renaissance
: the frequently reported “burns” caused by rue sap are the result of “photosensitization resulting from a reaction of the furocoumarins in the fresh leaves to sunlight.” Putting these two things together, I came up with a plot in which a poison-pen writer includes a leaf of rue with her messages and is betrayed by the rue-burns—photodermatitis—on her arms.

I have to confess to being less interested in the mechanics of the plot, however, than in the herb itself, for rue’s rich symbolism brought a special depth of significance to what was a fairly simple mystery novel. The plant gave me a way of seeing and understanding the events of the story: a special dimension, symbolic, allegorical even. And although readers don’t have to perceive this dimension of the book in order to understand its plot, it can certainly enrich the reading experience.

When I was doing research for
Rueful Death
, I harvested many fascinating snippets about the plant. Here are some:

• Rue lends second sight. With it, you’ll be able to see a person’s heart and know whether she’s a witch. —Medieval folklore

• If gun-flints are wiped with rue and vervain, the shot must surely reach the intended victim, regardless of the shooter’s aim.—C. M. Skinner,
Myths and Legends of Flowers, Trees, Fruits, and Plants

• Rue in Thyme should be a Maiden’s Posie.—Scottish proverb

• What savor is better, if physicke be true For places infected than Wormwood and Rue? —Thomas Tusser,
Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandry
, 1580

• And from Shakespeare’s
Hamlet
, famously and memorably:
I wear my rue with a difference.

Read more about rue:

Rueful Death: A China Bayles Mystery
, by Susan Wittig Albert

MARCH 9

I plant rosemary all over the garden, so pleasant is it to know that at every few steps one may draw the kindly branchlets through one’s hand, and have the enjoyment of their incomparable incense; and I grow it against walls, so that the sun may draw out its inexhaustible sweetness to greet me as I pass.

—GERTRUDE JEKYLL (1843-1932)

It’s Not Easy, But You Can Do It

Yes, you really can grow rosemary from seed. Rosemary (
Rosmarinus officinalis
) seeds have a fairly low germination rate (around 25 percent) and germination may take anywhere from a couple of weeks to two months. But if you plant 100, you’ll have 25. It’s certainly worth a try.

Sow the seeds on the surface of a small container of sterile potting medium (do not cover with soil). Moisten, and put the container into a plastic bag in a warm, light place—light helps them to germinate. As soon as you can handle the small green plants (some 10-12 weeks from now), transplant them to individual pots, using good soil, enriched with compost and

plenty of sand for drainage. Keep them on a bright, cool windowsill, then move them outdoors in stages: from the windowsill to a protected porch, bringing them in on cold nights; from the porch to an outdoor spot with morning sun and plenty of moving air; then (still in the pot) to the bed where they’re going to grow; and finally, into the ground.

Growing rosemary from seed is one of those things you just have to want to do. But think of your friends’ surprised shock when you say, with a casual wave of the hand, “Oh, those rosemarys? I grew them myself, from seed.”

Read more about growing from seed:

Growing Herbs from Seed, Cutting & Root: An Adventure in Small Miracles
, by Thomas Debaggio

To make Conserve of Rosemary Flowers.—Take two Pound of Rosemary-flowers, the same weight of fine Sugar, pownd them well in a Stone-Mortar; then put the Conserve into wellglaz’d Gallipots. It will keep a Year or Two.

—SIR HUGH PLATT, DELIGHTS FOR LADIES, 1594

In the floral calendar, today’s flower: daffodil.

MARCH 10

Native Americans called the March Full Moon “The Sap Moon.”

Botanists say that trees need the powerful March winds to flex their trunks and main branches, so the sap is drawn up to nourish the budding leaves. Perhaps we need the gales of life in the same way, though we dislike enduring them.

—JANE TRUAX

Sap’s Rising!

Throughout the Northeast, March is the month to tap the trees, an activity that was an important ritual in Native American Indian cultures, where all six maple species (especially
Acer saccharum
, sugar maple) would be tapped, as well as birch, butternut, box elder, and hickory trees.

For the Mohawks and other tribes, tree-tapping was preceded by a major religious ceremony. Before the sap—the tree’s lifeblood—was collected, tobacco was thrown onto a fire of maple twigs in a ceremony of thanksgiving for what the tree was about to share. A community feast followed, and then bark sap baskets were attached to the trees to be tapped. The sap was boiled down into syrup and sugar. Maple bark was also used to prepare a blood purifier, eye medicine, and cough medicine.

MAPLE AND BALSAMIC VINAIGRETTE

Try this sweet-sour dressing on a hearty spinach salad, with sliced red onions, crimini mushrooms, cherry tomatoes, and feta cheese.

1 teaspoon chopped cilantro
3 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
2 tablespoons maple syrup
1 tablespoon lime juice
1 clove garlic, minced
1 cup extra-virgin olive oil
½ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Mix together the first five ingredients. Whisk in oil. Salt and pepper to taste. Refrigerate.

•
Sap from a maple tree flows faster before a rain shower.

•
You’ll get more sap if you hang the buckets on the south side of the tree.

•
Maple leaves curl up at the edges when it’s going to rain.
—MAPLE LORE

Read more about maple lore and cookery:

Maple Syrup Cookbook: 100 Recipes for Breakfast, Lunch & Dinner,
by Ken Haedrich

MARCH 11

In March, the Moon being new, sow Onions, Garlic, Chervil, Marjoram, white Poppy, double Marigolds, Thyme and Violets. At the full Moon, Chicory, Fennel, and Apples of Love. At the wane, Artichokes, Basil, Cucumbers, Spinach, Gillyflowers, Cabbage, Lettuce, Burnets, Leeks, and Savory.

—GERVASE MARKHAM, THE ENGLISH HOUSEWIFE, 1615

From Onion Sets to Green Onions

This is the time of year when you’re likely to see onion sets—little onions ready for transplanting, bundled in bunches of 60-80 plants—in your local nursery, feed store, or grocery store. Growing onions from sets is probably the simplest and quickest way to obtain “green onions,” small onions that are enjoyed as much for the green tops as the white bulbs. Purchase firm, dormant sets early, before they begin to grow in the heated store. At home, keep them in a cool, dry, dark place until you can set them out in the garden.

You can plant onions as soon as you can till the soil. They will grow almost anywhere, but they appreciate a fertile, moist (but not soggy) soil, and cool temperatures. To produce green onions, plant the sets one inch deep and almost touching. (Green onions are harvested before crowding becomes a problem.) Start pulling your onions when the tops are 6 inches tall. Their flavor will be stronger as they get larger; you can use them in cooked dishes when they’re too fiery to eat raw.

The onion has been used medicinally since antiquity. It was also thought to repel evil spirits, and bunches of onions were often hung outside the door or over the manger in the barn to keep witches and bad fairies away.

Read more about the power of onions:

The Onion Book: A Bounty of Culture, Cultivation, and Cuisine
, by Carolyn Dille and Susan Belsinger

Onions, Leeks, & Garlic: A Handbook for Gardeners
, by Marian Coonse

Onion skin, very thin,
Mild winter’s coming in.
Onion skin, thick and tough,
Coming winter cold and rough.
—TRADITIONAL

The onion had many uses. The inside of an onion skin placed on cuts and scratches acted as a type of elastoplast . . . An onion placed on a wasp or bee sting soon took the pain away. A mixture of onions and sugar in water was a cure for whooping cough. Rubbed on the head it was believed a cure for baldness.

—ROY VICKERY, OXFORD DICTIONARY OF PLANT-LORE