Herb History, Myth, and Lore
The Golden Apples of Jotunheim
by Linda Raedisch 
T here are few landscapes as haunting as the apple orchard in winter. The bare trees against the snow resemble bronze figures of the Hindu god Shiva, twisted limbs upraised in the celestial dance. Neglect only heightens the atmosphere of mystery, for a less than well tended apple tree might offer itself as a host to parasites. Here and there we spot the unearthly glow of tiny moons against the bark’s lichened patina. These are the white berries of the mistletoe. We’ve all heard how the Druids revered the clusters of mistletoe they found growing in oak trees, but the apple tree is actually a far more common host.
The mistletoe, with its roots in the sky, plays a prominent role in one of the most celebrated Norse myths, the Death of Balder. But we have come to hear the story of another of the Aesir, the gods who dwelt in Asgard. She is the goddess Idunn. Her name, most scholars agree, has to do with youth and rejuvenation, for her task is to keep the gods young. There she is, standing barefoot in the snow, her form half hidden by the snaking limbs of the oldest tree in the orchard. Her face is turned from us, but we can see her golden hair rippling to her ankles, her bright garment thrown carelessly over her shoulder.
One cannot imagine what one has not already seen, which is why I envision Idunn much as the artists of the nineteenth century did: young and guilelessly beautiful, dressed in what looks more like a Greek chiton or Indian sari than anything a Norse housewife might have worn. Danish artist Lorenz Froelich offers us a rather thick-limbed Idunn in green draperies, one arm threaded casually through the handle of a golden lunch pail. Idunn never goes anywhere without her apples, though sometimes she carries them in a basket and at other times a bowl. In Prose Edda, twelfth-century Icelandic poet Snorri Sturluson tells us that Idunn keeps her apples in a bag. Later, however, he refers to a casket made of ashwood in which the all-important apples reside.
Here within the walls of Asgard, it seems to be a box that our Idunn is carrying inside the embroidered folds of her garment. As we advance, the goddess retreats, the apples rattling noisily as her footfalls quicken over the crust of the snow. We really can’t blame her for being wary, not after that episode with the jotun Thiazi. Jotun is almost always translated as “giant,” but this is a little misleading. It is not the size of the jotnar but their wild nature that is important. The jotun creed is the antithesis of the order and discipline that (usually) reigns at Asgard. While the jotnar are dangerous, uncivilized creatures, the stories suggest that they can also be fair to look upon, and there are more than a few instances of mutual attraction between the jotnar and the gods.
Well, after a disagreement concerning some ox meat, the jotun Thiazi compelled the god Loki to deliver him the goddess Idunn along with her magical apples. The unscrupulous Loki lured Idunn outside the walls of Asgard with the promise of even better apples to be found in the forest. She should, he told her, bring her own apples along for comparison. As soon as Idunn arrived in the wood, Thiazi swooped down in the shape of an eagle, seized her, and bore her away to the wild wastes of Jotunheim. Loki eventually made good, flying to Thiazi’s mountain aerie to rescue Idunn. Just in time, too, for, deprived of the apples, the gods were quickly growing old and gray. Loki returned with Idunn (apples intact), Thiazi was killed, the gods were saved, and a revenge plot on the part of Thiazi’s daughter Skadi was quashed by a gesture of goodwill.
Skadi is actually my favorite character in the whole escapade. When her father was killed, she clapped on her skis, threw her braids over her shoulders, and hightailed it to Asgard to avenge him. But when she arrived, she was offered the god with the prettiest feet for a husband. Who could say no to that? Judging the Aesir by their feet and calves alone, Skadi believed she was choosing Balder (later to be slain by the mistletoe, thanks to Loki’s conniving), but the winner of this unusual beauty contest turned out to be the fertility god Njord. God and jotun took a stab at married life, but Skadi was unhappy in her husband’s boathouse by the sea, just as Njord was not quite comfortable in wolf-ridden Jotunheim. They parted ways, Skadi, in her snowshoes, trudging back to her ancestral home in the mountains.
You might wonder why I am running on about Skadi when it is Idunn we are pursuing across the frozen orchard. The truth is that Idunn is little more than a poster girl for everlasting youth. She has almost no backstory, and little to say or do once she has been safely returned to Asgard. If we want a really good story, we must turn to the apples themselves.
If we are to trust those nineteenth-century artists, then the apples that Idunn guards so closely are some smallish but sweet heirloom variety, such as a Spitzenberg or Danish Gravenstein. Unfortunately, those varieties date back only to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Besides, if you listen closely, you will notice that the apples rolling around inside Idunn’s box sound more like wooden balls than anything you might want to eat. So just what kind of apples did the skalds have in mind when they first sang of Idunn over the crackling of pips in the fire?
In Central Europe, we can trace the genetically engineered apple, or cultivar, deep into prehistory. Oetzi, the five-thousand-year-old ice mummy, had no apples in his kit or in his gut, though scientists did find the remains of wild berries and blackthorn fruits. Still, that does not mean Oetzi never tasted an apple. The Copper Age Lake Dwellers of Switzerland and southern Germany ate apples raw, roasted them, and brewed a drink from the pulp. The sites of Robenhausen and Wangen-Hinterhorn have yielded the remains of both domesticated and wild apples. We do not know if the former were bred from the latter or acquired through trade with the Mediterranean.
We do know that the apples of the Hesperides, the apples celebrated through the Roman goddess Pomona, as well as all of the varieties eaten today were bred from a wild apple of Central Asia. The Germanic tribesmen living within the bounds of the empire were quick to adopt the Romans’ Malus domestica and incorporate it into their native religion. On the eastern shores of the North Sea we discover the goddess Nehalennia sitting beside a basket of fat, juicy apples. Though Nehalennia was a Germanic goddess, she came to enjoy the trappings of Classical civilization, including Latin inscriptions on her shrines and orchard-grown apples.
Such luxuries, however, were not yet available to the inhabitants of Barbaricum or even to the much later Vikings. The richly furnished Oseberg ship burial of 834 CE contained a fancy bucket filled with apples. The bucket, with its bands of delicate, open bronzework, is believed to be of Irish or British workmanship. One might expect to find Romano-British apples inside, but the bucket held wild apples such as one could gather easily in southern Norway.
Traveling on, we arrive outside the Danish trading hub of Haithabu. It is late summer. Wattle fences protect the kitchen gardens from the shaggy cattle now lounging in the black mud of the water meadow. Close beside the framework houses we find beds of horse beans, leeks, and a variety of herbs. Here and there is a plum tree and over there, beside that large house with all the thralls going in and out of it, is a peach tree. There are, however, no orchards, and no apple trees. But here come the children, clattering across the wooden planks laid over the mud. They have just returned from the untamed spaces beyond the earthworks, and their baskets are brimming with blackthorn fruits, elderberries, wild cherries, and, yes, wild apples. Here in the North, even the southernmost portions of the North, the diet is hardly more varied than Oetzi’s was four thousand years before.
The very word, apple, informs us that the sacred apple of Germanic myth was not the Asian-derived Malus domestica. If it were, we would now expect to call our own apples by some name derived from the Latin pomus or the Greek milo. Instead, it’s an apple, a word closely related to the German apfel and the Old Norse epli. This is because apple belongs to an especially ancient strain of Indo-European spoken north of the Alps and dubbed “Old European” by German linguist Hans Krahe. Epli, then, refers to Malus sylvestris, the wild European crabapple. But discovering that those are actually crabapples rattling around inside Idunn’s gold-hinged box does not explain why the ancient Scandinavians should have chosen to celebrate such an unpalatable fruit. Could the epli really have been as bad as the sour marbles we now associate with the name crabapple?
Probably not. The town of Haithabu was staked out by Danish Vikings only around the year 800 CE, to be snuffed out by the Slavic Wends about two hundred years later: not quite time enough to establish the widespread Germanic tradition of the apaldr. Apaldr can mean “tree,” or, specifically, “apple tree.” Even more specifically, it can refer to an apple tree that stood close to the family home and was identified with both the ancestors and the family’s fortunes. Archaeological evidence shows that Malus sylvestris enjoyed a special status not extended to other wild fruit trees. The roots were spread with dung, the branches pruned, and, if the wassailing of later centuries is any indication, the tree was sung to and offered libations. By the time the Roman apple cultivars arrived on the northern scene, shortly preceded by the plum and the peach, these hallowed native crabs had reached a semi-domesticated condition: edible, palatable (especially when fermented), but probably not delicious.
The Romans were suitably unimpressed with these Germanic apples, planting their own cultivars in neat rows throughout the empire. Unable to compete with the larger, juicier Malus domestica, the fruit of the ancestral tree slipped back into the forest, its seedlings quickly discarding their grudging sweetness in favor of hardiness and, true to its Rose family nature, thorns. There are now endless varieties of crabapple in the wild, but Idunn’s apples are no longer to be found.
The seventeenth century presents a situation analogous to that of the Roman frontier. When the French arrived in eastern Canada, they found the Iroquois growing apples of their own, possibly a variety of Malus coronaria, one of the New World crabapples. Rather than just planting one or two trees outside the longhouse, the Iroquois tended whole orchards of these trees. The French acknowledged that the fruits were bigger and sweeter than the Old World crabapple. Even so, like the Romans, they set about establishing their own Rainettes and Calvilles. It was not easily done. In 1670 an Ursuline nun of Quebec wrote of how the apple trees in her convent’s garden had all succumbed to the late spring ice while the native apples were unaffected.
The nuns had then to wait for new stock to arrive from France, for the only way to propagate a specific variety of apple is to take a shoot, or scion, from the desired tree and bind it to the stump, or rootstock, of another tree. The rootstock might be of another variety or even another species, such as the crabapple. Compared to the taking and planting of a seed, this seems a rather brutal method of reproduction.
The term scion has also come to refer to a human heir. In the Norse epic Volsunga Saga, the distinction between the two types of scion is often blurred. The crabapple, it must be noted, is sacred to the Anglo-Saxon god Wodan. In Volsunga Saga, when the grandson of Wodan’s Norse counterpart, Odin, proves sterile, the god summons his wish maiden, Hljod, to help. The saga does not make it clear what a wish maiden is, but it does tell us that Hljod is the daughter of the jotun Hrimnir. Much as the jotun Thiazi turned himself into an eagle to seize Idunn and her apples, Hljod transforms herself into a crow, flies over the burial mound where sits the childless King Rerir, and drops an apple in his lap. Rerir shares the apple with his queen.
The story goes on to feature the birth of the child Volsung by Caesarean section—the scion quite literally cut from the parent—and a great hall dominated by the blossoming boughs of an apaldr named Barnstokkr, meaning “child trunk.” For a time, the viability of the Volsung line seems assured, but Odin is continually stepping in to choose a scion, oversee the pruning of extraneous sons, and to cut down that scion when he has passed his prime. Later, the forging of Sigurd the Dragonslayer’s sword from the two broken pieces of his father Sigmund’s blade (which Sigmund had pulled from Barnstokkr’s trunk) is reminiscent of the grafting of a scion onto a rootstock. Nowhere in the saga is the apple identified outright as a sacred symbol, perhaps because its sanctity was taken for granted by the poet and his audience.
Leaving Sigurd to his tragic end, we return to the winter orchard where Idunn’s footsteps have slowed, the half-tame specimens of Malus sylvestris rattling less noisily in their wooden box. As we catch up with the goddess, she turns. And to our astonishment, she has grown old. Her golden hair, white now, is bound on the top of her head, and her face is as wrinkled as an old Boskoop.
This is no longer Idunn, but Frau Holle, the elderly White Lady of German fairy tale who brought forth blossoms from the apple trees in spring, who rewarded diligence and punished sloth. One of the tests she set for her would-be votaries was to present them with a groaning apple tree, heavy with fruit. She rewarded those who stopped to shake the boughs and give the tree some relief, while she punished those who ignored the tree’s cries. Frau Holle may be a late expression of the goddesses Freya and Frigga. Likewise, Idunn may be only an aspect of the many-named Freya, hence her lack of dimension.
Here in the winter orchard, the trees, too, have grown old. They are no longer able to lift their limbs in the cosmic dance. Given our violently shifting climate and the dwindling number of apple varieties, it is not impossible that Malus domestica might someday succumb to a widespread blight, as the American chestnut did in the early twentieth century. Would this mark the end of the good eating apple?
Perhaps for a time. But listen! Someone is calling our Idunn from the boundaries of the orchard, drawing her toward the tangled wood beyond. While it is always a calamity when one of the goddesses is carried off from Asgard, female jotnar like Skadi and Hljod were welcome to enter and infuse the Aesir with new blood. At first, Skadi’s mistaking of the older Njord’s feet for the beautiful Balder’s would seem surprising. But Skadi, forced to choose blindly as Mother Nature does, instinctively picks out the older but sturdier rootstock, the one less likely to be taken out by an infestation of mistletoe. Or is it Skadi who is the rootstock and Njord the scion? Either way, the message is clear: the apple’s vitality lies in the wild. If we should ever lose our Golden Delicious, our Macintosh and Rome, we will have to return to the wilderness of Jotunheim, if there is any of it left. There, we must seek out the enduring crabapple and start all over again.
References
Almgren, Bertil, et al. The Viking. Twickenham, England: Senate Publishing, 1999.
Byock, Jesse L. The Saga of the Volsungs. New York: Penguin Books, 1990.
Davidson, Hilda Ellis. Roles of the Northern Goddess. New York: Routledge, 1998. Transferred to Digital Printing 2005. Printed and bound by Antony Rowe Ltd., Eastbourne.
Erichsen-Braun, Charlotte. Medicinal and Other Uses of North American Plants: A Historical Survey with Special Reference to the Eastern Indian Tribes. New York: Dover Publications, 1979.
Fischer-Fabian, S. Die Ersten Deutschen: Ueber das Raetselhafte Volk der Germanen. Bergisch Gladbach, Germany: Bastei Luebbe, 2003.
Keller, Ferdinand. The Lake Dwellings of Switzerland and Other
Parts of Europe, Volume One. Translated and arranged by J. E. Lee. Digitized by Google. London: Spottiswoode and Co., 1878.
Lindow, John. Norse Mythology: A Guide to the Gods, Heroes, Rituals and Beliefs. New York: Oxford University Press, 2001.
Renfrew, Colin. Archaeology and Language: The Puzzle of Indo-European Origins. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1988.
Sturluson, Snorri. The Viking Gods. Translated by Jean I. Young, Jon Thorisson, ed. Reykjavik, Iceland: Gudrun, 1955.
by Suzanne Ress
T here are known to be more than 400 different species of the genus Artemisia. Most of these perennial plants have a preference for dry, rather poor soil. Many people believe that the genus Artemisia takes its name from the ancient Greek goddess of wild animals and the moon, Artemis. Since these plants really have nothing in common with the moon, and do not usually grow in wooded areas, it is probably more likely that the genus name comes from Queen Artemisia II of Caria (Greece/Persia), a highly skilled botanist.
Most Artemisias have strong, often quite bitter aromas and tastes. This is due to their content of terpenoid volatile oils and sesquiterpene lactone compounds. Terpenoid oils are organic chemicals, made use of in many cases by the perfume industry, the processed food and drink industry, and by the pharmaceutical industry in antibacterial and anesthetic preparations. All aromatic herbs contain volatile essential oils, but the Artemisias have one of the highest percentages of terpenoid oils of all. Some of these are camphor, estragole, linalool, thujone, absinthol, and eucalyptol.
Sesquiterpene lactones are the organic chemical compounds that may cause allergic reactions, and are partially responsible for a plant’s bitter taste. Certain sesquiterpene lactones found in members of the genus Artemisia have valuable antibacterial, antifungal, antiparasitic, and antihelminthic properties that modern medical science has only recently begun to discover and make use of.
The Artemisias usually flower at the end of the summer, and northern species may not flower at all. Their flowers are typically small, insignificant yellow or brownish yellow panicles (balls) at the stem tops, which cannot be pollinated by bees or other insects, but rely on wind pollination. Some Artemisias produce no seeds, and many are best propagated by division or cuttings.
The five most common species of Artemisia are tarragon, southernwood, mugwort, wormwood, and sagebrush.
Tarragon
Of all the Artemisias, only tarragon is used regularly in cooking. But beware! There are two types of tarragon: French (Artemisia drancunculus) and Russian (Artemisia dracunculoides). French tarragon is, by far, superior for culinary use. If you buy a packet of tarragon seeds to plant, it won’t be French tarragon, for this plant produces no seeds! If you want real French tarragon in your herb garden, you will have to buy or otherwise procure a small plant or cuttings. Even then, check a leaf or two carefully for taste and aroma.
Other common names for French tarragon are estragon, little dragon, or dragoncello. Its slender, pointy leaves have the look of a dragon’s hackles, and, if you dig up the plant, its roots are twisted and curved like a dragon’s tail. The flavor of French tarragon could also make one think of a cute little dragon, for it has a warm, almost liquorice-like bite to it.
The main terpenoid oil in French tarragon is estragole. This oil also occurs, in much lesser amounts, in basil, pine oil, turpentine, fennel, and anise. It is highly prized by perfumers, processed food manufacturers, and cooks everywhere. Tarragon is one of French cuisine’s four fines herbes, which also include parsley, chervil, and chives.
French tarragon’s leaves can be chopped and used fresh (but sparingly!) in fish, egg, chicken, or potato salads. A classic use for tarragon in the kitchen is in infused vinegar; add a long sprig and a peeled clove of garlic to a bottle of high-quality white wine vinegar, and leave for a month or more before using. This, combined with olive oil, is excellent on green salads or cooked vegetables such as potatoes, carrots, peas, or asparagus. Tarragon’s flavor pairs very well with almost all fish or chicken dishes, but can also be tried successfully with pork, and even beef, as in béarnaise sauce. Fine-tasting liquors can also be concocted by adding several sprigs of tarragon, plus a mix of other herbs of one’s choice, to a bottle of grappa, gin, or vodka, and left to macerate several weeks before straining and mixing with simple sugar syrup or mild honey, in equal or lesser amount, according to the strength desired.
Southernwood
Also known as “old man,” southernwood is a woody, stemmed, very pretty plant with a strong scent of camphor or lemon, depending on the variety. It contains high percentages of volatile oils camphor, eucalyptol, and absinthol, which are responsible for its aroma and its bitter, almost inedible taste. Despite this bitterness, southernwood is not poisonous and can be used in miniscule amounts to flavor such hearty dishes as beef or mutton stew.
Southernwood is more useful, however, as an insect and moth repellent, and can be used to very good effect in sachets for closets, drawers, and knitting baskets to protect wool and other fabrics.
Southernwood’s delicate silvery foliage, so lovely in an herb garden, is often used in both dried and fresh flower arrangements, where it not only looks beautiful but also adds a fresh, brisk scent that lasts for weeks. Its leaves can be used in the bath for a soothing session of hydrotherapy that, due to the eucalyptol and camphor oils, also helps clear the sinuses. A strong antiseptic mouth rinse can be made by steeping its leaves in hot water, then letting it cool, and straining before use.
Old wives’ tales say that a scalp tonic made from southernwood and rosemary will make hair grow back on balding heads or start a beard on a young man’s face; hence southernwood’s other folk name, “lad’s love.”
As with most Artemisias, southernwood flowers at the end of summer, if at all, with unattractive yellowish panicles. Propagation is by division, cuttings, or seed.
Mugwort
Mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris), sometimes called old woman or sailor’s tobacco, is the plant you have probably seen growing along the side of unkempt country roads or at the edges of overgrazed pastures, and thought it was a weed. It grows to about two feet in height, with coarser, larger, darker leaves than most other Artemisias, and thick, but not woody, purplish stems. If you rub its foliage, it gives off a spicy floral aroma, which can be attributed to its linalool content. Linalool is a terpenoid also found in lavender and bay laurel. Other volatile oils in mugwort are thujone, camphor, and eucalyptol.
For centuries mugwort has been used as a strewing herb, because of its pleasantly clean scent and antiseptic properties. In Chinese medicine it holds an important place as a cure for rheumatic aches, where it is used in moxicombustion. At certain acupuncture points, a wad of mugwort, called a moxa, is burnt upon the skin of the afflicted person to create a small burn scab, which apparently works to heal joint pains.
There is so much wild mugwort growing around where I live that I have never considered putting it in my herb garden, but one could easily plant it from seed. Mugwort blooms in late summer with brown panicles which then quickly go to seed—its main means of propagation. It gets its folk name sailor’s tobacco because it can be dried and smoked in lieu of regular tobacco, although this is not recommended, because it contains thujone, a muscle convulsant. Its smoke will quickly clear the air of insects.
Wormwood
Artemisia absinthum was made infamous because of its role as an ingredient in absinthe, the evil European liquor popular among artists in the late 1800s. Along with rue, wormwood is considered one of the bitterest of all herbs. Wormwood is mentioned in the book of Revelation, in the New Testament of the Christian Bible, as being the name of the star that signifies the end of the world!
The volatile oil absinthol is what gives wormwood its bitterness, but the plant also contains the terpene thujone. In large amounts and/or with prolonged use, thujone can have unpleasant and dangerous effects on human beings, including insomnia, anxiety, muscle spasms, convulsions, and eventually death, but wormwood contains only a small amount of this particular terpene, which, when steeped for use in alcoholic beverages, is generally considered safe in moderation. Wormwood is used in other beverages besides absinthe, including vermouth, bitters, Moroccan mint tea, and the Italian digestive genepì.
Previous to the days of absinthe, or “The Green Fairy,” wormwood’s main claim to fame was as a vermifuge, and hence its name. It is also an effective insect repellent and useful strewing herb. One of wormwood’s sesquiterpene lactones, artemisinin, has been used in Chinese medicine since 200 BC for its anti-malarial function. Only in 1972 did medical scientists “prove” that artemisinin does indeed kill the bacteria that causes malaria.
Because of wormwood’s extremely bitter taste, no one would likely want to eat it, which is fine because its foliage is considered unsafe for human consumption. However, the leaves of the plant can be steeped in boiled water to make a strong tea in which to soak compresses. These will relieve joint pain due to arthritis, rheumatism, or mild athletic injury. A warm footbath with several sprigs of wormwood and a tablespoon of coarse sea salt added will relieve tired, sore feet, with the additional bonus of the plant’s antifungal and antiseptic properties thrown in.
Wormwood thrives in poor, dry soil, in full sun. It is propagated by cuttings, division, or seed, but be aware that, because of its high content of absinthin oil, which is toxic to most other plants, nothing will grow close to it.
Sagebrush
Artemisia tridentata is also known as big sage, black sage, or sacred sage, and is native to the western plains of the United States. Despite its name, it is not a member of the sage genus! It is a gray-leaved, woody-stemmed bush or small tree, and, like other Artemisias, thrives in dry soil. Strongly aromatic, and redolent of actual sage (Salvia officinalis), it contains the terpenes eucalyptol, thujone, camphor, and linalool.
Although its taste is unpleasantly bitter, cattle and other ruminants left for long periods on the plains of the United States and Canada’s Great Basin will graze on it, lacking anything better. The highly antiseptic terpene oils then kill the natural bacteria in these animals’ rumen, which eventually leads to death.
Sagebrush is a strong vermifuge, and was used by Native Americans for that purpose, as well as in cleansing and purifying rituals and as an insect repellent. Compresses were soaked in sagebrush tea and used to treat infections.
Sagebrush’s yellow blossom at the end of summer is Nevada’s state flower, as the plant is the primary vegetation of that part of the United States.
Using Artemisias in the Garden
Many people like to plant species of Artemisia in moon gardens because of their genus name, and why not? These beautiful, often silvery or lacy-leaved perennial plants look splendid under the light of the full moon, and make an excellent backdrop or neighbor to night-blooming flowers such as sweet-smelling white, pink, or red tobacco (Nicotiana alata), delicate climbing white moonflower (Ipomea alba), white or violet fragrant four o’clocks (Mirabilis jalapa), the majestic yellow scented evening primrose (Oenothera biennis), night-blooming white lilies, and perfumed white jasmine (Jasminum).
If you choose to plant Artemisias in your herb garden, give them a section all to themselves, where their potent terpenes will not inhibit other herbs’ growth. Make sure they have plenty of space to spread, and full sun, and they will flourish with little or no nurturing. At the end of summer, after they’ve finished blooming, they will likely be very tall—as high as two or two and a half feet. Their tops will begin to look tangled, dry, or just plain ratty. Look at the base of the plant and you’ll see the new, fresh green foliage already beginning to grow in. This is the time to cut down all the old growth. That new little bunch of green at the base will overwinter easily, in temperatures as low as −30° F. In the early spring, divide the plants for your own garden or for someone else’s, and be ready for another perennial growing season of Artemisias.
by Calantirniel
H ow many of you have heard offhand comments from people that “herbs do not work,” only to discover they never really tried herbs properly? Most herbals on the market are written for the layperson, and unfortunately lack a deeper background on how to integrate herbs into our nutrition and health regimens. This requires an entirely different and expanded, holistic viewpoint rather than the compartmentalized, specialist-oriented lens through which we usually examine the world in our current culture. And to be fair, even the herbals that are written with proper background of herbs could be consulted only as a reference where the user looks up the herb or symptoms in the index and never reads the important introductory material in the front of the book.
Here is one example of a person with a negative opinion of herbs based on misinformation. This man had a headache, so he Google-searched “herbs for headache” and discovered feverfew at the top of the list, since it is popularly marketed for this purpose; but he failed to research the underlying cause of his headache. Upon purchasing capsules at the grocery, he took them according to the label. They did not work to resolve the headache, because unbeknownst to him, feverfew was not the right herb for his headache. Yet based on this one stand-alone experience, he came to the drastic and rather irrational conclusion that all herbs do not work for any health problems!
While this may seem like an isolated incident, there are indeed many people who have had similar experiences. Since people are extremely busy with their lives nowadays, it is discouraging to know that many people do not have the drive or the time to truly discover this wonderful healing modality. What is also sad is that people often just want the symptoms of pain to go away without regard for the method through which this would be accomplished. Prescription and over-the-counter drugs have a suppressive effect on the body (antibiotics being the only exception, and they have their own problems) and do not solve the underlying issue. However, the underlying issue is never acknowledged—only the fact that the pain has temporarily left. But as we all know, there comes a point where suppression of symptoms doesn’t work anymore and there are likely even newer problems that have become rather evident, and quite persistent.
We are taught that pain is bad, when technically it is at times the only way our body can communicate with us that something is out of balance. We need to retrain ourselves to be thankful for the pain experience (as unpleasant as it is) rather than suppress it. We instead need to find a way to correct the underlying issue that is responsible for the pain signal in the first place.
When the body has what it needs, it uses everything in balance to create homeostasis, or sustained health. When thrown out of balance for any reason, the body will use its vital life force in ways hard for us to imagine to re-create that level of homeostasis. This beautiful process is what could be termed vitalism, and the vitalistic approach for healing is to give the body what it needs and allow it in all its wisdom to heal on its own. So what does the body need?
Basically, what the body needs may be nutritional, or it may facilitate the body to properly eliminate. Herbs support this vitalistic process because plants are entirely better chemists than we are. Should this be a surprise? Not really, when we think about how much longer plants have been on the earth than we have! They need to remain rooted in soil and cannot move to get away from predators, and in turn they have developed some amazing living chemistry. We can choose to build a relationship with the gifts of the plant kingdom to inspire life and health on all levels. How can we do this?
First, we develop a relationship with our bodies, where communication (in the form of feelings) can relay important information about what the body needs. Often, the state of disease (that is, the lack of ease) can impart lessons for us to learn, and we can implement spiritual or energy work here if desired. This can be quite a process on its own, especially if conditions are considered hereditary.
Then, we need to learn about, and deeply respect, members of the plant kingdom (and the fungi kingdom, since many healers are also here). While some plants are quite poisonous, other plants are friendly for humans and are even considered food. And some plants are in between, providing strong medicine when it is needed that moves the body toward a healing response. With a proper approach, harvesting, preparation, and consumption, we can achieve true healing that addresses and corrects the underlying issues.
Herbalists spend much time studying known plant properties as well as developing relationships with the plants themselves so they know the right herb (or herbal combination) to address each of the areas of the body that need attention—and this also means gaining a working knowledge of illness in general, with all its various expressions. They also need to develop a relationship with the person for whom the herbal protocol is intended, since everyone is different (not unlike the plants).
To reframe this idea, pretend you are an owner of a business who needs to fill a position. You could hire a person to do the job, or you could purchase a robot that does only a specific task. While that particular task may be perfectly done by the robot, it may not be cost-effective since the company’s needs will change and shift over time, rendering the robot inefficient in the long run. A person, on the other hand, can not only learn new things when placed in a new environment, but can adapt and possibly even figure out better solutions to reach the goal. Putting a different person in the position means different talents will be brought to the table. This new person could be more efficient in some ways, whereas the prior person was better in other ways.
To explain: the company is your body, its goal of success is in essence creating health and vitality, and the job opening is where the company isn’t running so well (i.e., illness). Implementing an herb is similar to hiring a person, and using a prescription or over-the-counter medication is likened to hiring a robot that does only one task. To take this example even further, plants do have a well-documented history of efficacy (which we will call their resumé), but if asked by the body to do something different, it is possible for the plant to “stretch” its abilities in new ways and areas, and while it may never be better than another plant at a particular action, it seems that available plants often “make do” toward bringing the body to a healthier place. Medications can never change their action—and in fact are actually designed to force a particular action whether it is needed or not. You can easily see how some herbs can work together for an even better result, where mixing medications could cause more problems.
If you are using medications for chronic conditions and wish to switch to herbs in your health protocol, it is advisable to work with a knowledgeable team to see how this can be accomplished with the least distress possible. The actions of herbs work very differently, and the mixed messages can make the body go into shock. With some medications, like blood thinners and blood pressure drugs, it is imperative to very closely monitor vital signs during the transition.
So, let’s go back to the example of the man who decided to use feverfew for his headache, but this time he has a better understanding of how herbs work. Perhaps when he Google-searches “herbs for headaches,” he may discover there are many underlying causes of headaches, each of which may require a different herbal protocol. For example, it is surprising how many people with headaches find relief when they use herbs that gently expel the colon; constipation is one of the top causes of headaches, and hydration with good drinking water can also go a long way toward headache relief. Another cause (especially for females) is hormone imbalance, and often herbs that clear and renourish the liver will help immensely. If a headache is a result of having the flu, there are herbs that will quiet the nerves and soothe the circulatory system while assisting the body in ridding itself of the invading virus and strengthening the immune system. Still, a headache could have been caused by an old or new head injury, which requires herbs that clear the blood and may even be specific to the head area.
Once the underlying cause of a health issue is being addressed, herbs that can accommodate these main actions can be combined with other herbs for nutritional support as well as herbs that calm the nerves, lessening the pain response. If the cause is not clear, think about the problems you started having first and you may find clues. If this still doesn’t help, consult an herbalist or other knowledgeable holistic health care provider to help untangle the body’s signals and find the perfect herbal program for you. I hope this article helps you achieve a deeper level of health and vitality!
Resources
Wood, Matthew. The Earthwise Herbal: A Complete Guide to New World Medicinal Plants. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books, 2009.
———. The Earthwise Herbal: A Complete Guide to Old World Medicinal Plants. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books, 2008.
Wood, Matthew. Vitalism: The History of Herbalism, Homeopathy and Flower Essences. Second Edition. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books, 2005.
Internet Resources
Many herbal resources can be found here: The AstroHerbalist, AarTiana, http://astroherbalist.com.
by Kelly Proudfoot
Numerology has long been considered the key to all things in the universe. The ancients believed that everything could be understood through the numerological components that are inherently contained in people, objects, events, and even animals and plants. Along with planetary influences, numerology is an interesting guide to understanding the meaning of life and the things within it.
Nicholas Culpeper, who is famous for his work—notably his book the Complete Herbal, published in 1653—believed in working with the planetary influences involved with the propagation, growing, harvesting, and use of herbs and plants. A lot of modern-day herbalists and gardeners take into consideration the phases of the moon when planting and tending their gardens, whether the gardens are used to produce vegetables, fruits, and herbs or are just for ornamental use.
The properties of herbs and plants can be understood from a numerological perspective, especially when you want to align those properties with a particular purpose. Whether it be because you want a certain outcome or certain energies involved in the creation of herbal sachets or mojo bags, potpourris, oils, or teas, numerology enhances the understanding of their properties.
I admit that it might seem odd to apply numerology to plants. When I’ve tried in the past to research correspondences regarding herbs and numerology, I’ve often hit brick walls. But as a numerologist and a Hedgewitch who has her own herbal garden and uses herbs and plants in ritual, I found I had the information right at my fingertips. Using plants and herbs can be complex when determining the correspondences for the desired purpose. There are scores of books on the properties of herbs, some of which are good; but it can be daunting to break it all down even further and to understand rudimentary things such as planetary and numerological influences.
You don’t have to be an expert on numerology to utilize the numerological aspects of herbs and plants. Using the base numbers, 1–9, and understanding the basic meaning of each number is enough to be able to plan what herbs and plants are to be used for any purpose.
Before we look at the basic meanings of each number, let’s look at how to calculate your Personality and Destiny numbers. These are the two basic numbers that you will use most often.
When using numerology, I use only the base numbers, 1–9. All numbers can be reduced to a single digit, and all numbers above 9 are formed using the base numbers. This is the way I was taught and the way that has proven to be the most correct and exact for me. If you like using Master numbers such as 11 or 22, that’s fine if it works for you. But I find it’s best to keep things pure and simple.
To calculate your Personality number, reduce the day of your birth to a single digit, unless it’s already a single digit, such as a 2. So if you were born on the 23rd of the month, then just add 2 and 3 together to make 5.
To calculate your Destiny (or Life Path) number, total the numbers in your whole birth date. For example, September 5, 1966, becomes 9 + 5 + 1 + 9 + 6 + 6 = 36 = 3 + 6 = 9. Always reduce to a single digit.
The Numerology of Plants
The first chart given here lists the keywords, planet, and color associated with each base number. The second chart lists the herbs, plants, and purposes associated with each base number.
There are many other attributes for each number, but in order to keep things simple I’ve included just the main properties. When choosing herbs and plants for particular purposes from a numerological perspective, these charts will help you get on the right path.
|
Base Number |
Keywords |
Planet |
Color |
|
1 |
Creation, |
Sun |
Yellow |
|
2 |
Balance, unity, |
Moon |
White |
|
3 |
Expression, vision, inspiration |
Jupiter |
Orange |
|
4 |
Structure, discipline, restrictions |
Saturn |
Black |
|
5 |
Freedom, change, |
Mercury |
Green |
|
6 |
Responsibility, love, healing |
Venus |
Pink |
|
7 |
Spirituality, learning, analysis |
Neptune |
Purple |
|
8 |
Wealth, ego, |
Mars |
Red |
|
9 |
Universal consciousness, completion, compassion |
Pluto |
Navy blue |
Chart 1: Keywords, planet, and color associated with each base number.
Chart 2 (following): Herbs, plants, and purposes associated with each base number.
|
Base Number |
Herbs/Plants |
Purpose |
|
1 |
Cinnamon, oak, |
To gain independence |
|
2 |
Lemon, cucumber, |
To promote unity |
|
3 |
Sage, nutmeg, anise, cinquefoil, clove, |
To strengthen |
|
4 |
Solomon’s seal, ivy, cypress, poplar, |
To ensure stability |
|
5 |
Almond, mint, |
To gain freedom |
|
6 |
Catnip, apple, |
To gain love and peace |
|
7 |
Bodhi, angelica, sandalwood, valerian, mugwort, thyme |
To promote |
|
8 |
Chili, cumin, |
To attain prosperity and success |
|
9 |
Ash, mulberry, |
To develop compassion and wisdom |
In order to manifest any of the energies you wish to emulate, choose three to five herbs/plants for the particular number and carry in a mojo bag of the related color. You might also like to experiment with things such as the number of petals on a flower or the number of leaves. Think about the color of the herb/plant and see if that corresponds to its numerological properties. Take into consideration the season or blooming time for the plant. What planetary hour does it correspond to?
Using numerology is a great way to personalize your workings and align the properties of herbs and plants with any purpose.
A Dinosaur in Your Backyard:
Meet the Horsetail
Susan Pesznecker
Every spring, without fail, my yard is overrun by dinosaurs: greenish brown, scaly dinosaurs that run in dense tribes and seem to appear everywhere I look. Has my land been invaded by sauropods? Nope. My dinosaurs go by the name of Equisetum: the common horsetail.
The genus Equisetum, comprising plants known as horsetails or horsetail ferns (although they are not ferns at all), is, in fact, a living fossil that is more or less unchanged from Equisetum species that flourished 400 million years ago in the Paleozoic era. It’s a fascinating plant with a rich ethnographic history and medicinal uses as well.
The horsetail probably gets its common name from its bushy tail–like appearance. Other folk names include bottlebrush, Dutch rush, horse willow, paddock pipes, pewterwort, puzzlegrass, scouring rush, shave grass, snake grass, and toad pipe, each reflecting either the horsetail’s appearance or a common use. Its scientific names comes from the Latin equis (“horse”) + seta (“bristle”), again conjuring up that image of the bushy or brushy tail.
In Paleozoic times the horsetail was a tree that could reach 80 to 100 feet; today’s version is a bushy perennial that might reach 3 to 4 feet, depending on species and local conditions. Horsetail is found on every continent but Antarctica, but favors damp, lowland locales with loose soil and good drainage. In warm climates it thrives year round, while in colder climes it dies back in winter and reemerges each spring. It’s a perennial and spreads by deep, somewhat brittle rhizomes, making it very difficult to dig out and eradicate. (Translation: If you miss or break off a one-inch section of rhizome, a new plant will grow from it!) The plant is not sensitive to traditional herbicides. In some locations it is classified as a nuisance weed, and in others (including my own Oregon) it’s considered a noxious plant.
The typical horsetail plant has between one and five stems, each with a number of brush-like “leaves” that don’t look like leaves at all. The stems are hollow and ridged and connected by “joints” that can be pulled apart and reassembled. The plants reproduce through spore-bearing structures on the tips of some stems. Horsetail is rich in silica; as the plant matures and then begins to dry and fade, the silica crystals within the desiccating plant make it feel rough and scratchy.
Medicinally, the aerial parts of the common field horsetail (E. arvense) are used in a number of medicinal treatments. Dioscorides noted horsetail’s value in staunching bleeding and treating wounds, and today’s herbalists know that a simmered decoction of horsetail and water is effective for treating skin irritations, small wounds, and inflamed gums. An infusion of fresh or dried leaves is useful for lung problems, stomach ulcers, and menstrual problems, and juice taken from the fresh plant acts as a diuretic and treats anemia, edema, and bladder infections. Recent research has proven horsetail’s antioxidant nature and has suggested it—because of its high silica content—as a possible treatment for osteoporosis due to silica’s role in regenerating connective tissue.
Note, however, that horsetail isn’t innocuous. It may bind with thiamine (vitamin B1), causing levels of the vitamin to drop below normal. Because the plant contains trace amounts of nicotine, it should not be used to treat children. If taken internally, exacting recommendations must be followed to avoid toxicity. Only E. arvense should be used medicinally; other species are toxic.
Ethnographically, horsetail had a number of practical uses. Because of its high silica levels and abrasive feel, ancient peoples used it to scour cooking vessels; hence the folk name “scouring rush.” The young stems may be harvested and eaten raw or may be steamed and eaten like a type of spring asparagus. Older stems are dried and powdered to make a thickening agent for stews and soups. The young green leaves make a green dye, and some woodworkers today still use dried horsetail plants as a type of sandpaper for fine polishing of wood projects. The writer and biologist Dr. Jim Pojar also tells of the plant’s use as a tool in analyzing the amount of gold in a liquid solution, as the plants take up gold quickly and at a predictable rate.
The plant may have mathematical relevance, too. It’s been suggested that Scottish mathematician John Napier, when observing the arrangement of horsetail’s nodes and whorls, may have used his observations to identify and describe the idea of logarithms. Or perhaps you’re looking for a more romantic tale: how about the one that tells of using horsetail stems to create fairy whistles for calling the fae folk?
Horsetail poses a bit of a challenge for those who find it in their gardens (as I do), for it spreads voraciously by rhizome, posing interesting gardening challenges. If you simply yank it out of the ground—and it does come up easily—you break the rhizome; now, instead of one plant, you’ll have two. Digging the rhizome is effective but painstaking, and again, if you leave any broken rootstalk, more plants will appear. The plant is sensitive to certain chemical herbicides, but even so may be almost impossible to eradicate. My means of dealing with horsetail is to cut it or pull it up as I find it. I toss it onto the lawn, where my mulching mower pulverizes it and gives its nutrients and minerals back to the soil. Sometimes I just toss it into the compost pile.
To harvest horsetail, cut the stems during summer and air-dry. Store in jars in a cool, light-tight cupboard for up to 1 to 2 years.
If you have a farm and feed large animals, be wary: horsetail is poisonous or toxic to livestock and must not be harvested with the hay cutting.
Sources
“Horsetail.” University of Maryland Medical Center. Reviewed March 5, 2011. http://www.umm.edu/altmed/articles/horsetail-000257.htm.
Pojar, Jim. Plants of the Pacific Northwest Coast: Washington, Oregon, British Columbia & Alaska. Auburn, WA: Lone Pine, 2004.
Sacks, Oliver. “Field Trip: Hunting Horsetails.” The New Yorker. August 2011.