The road to faery is lined with flowers and butterflies and paved with quartz-studded volcanic rocks. We (Rhiannon, student Stacey and I) hiked the arroyo today, up through the faery grounds and into the narrow, wetter paths where the Wild Valerian, Mountainspray and Gooseberries grow. Armloads of Beebalm were gathered and I plucked the last fresh Cherry flowers for one more tincture.

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There’s something innately enchanted about climbing through a narrow channel worn through stone by rushing mountain water. The rocks here are rich shades of black, red, purple and cream and speckled with deep pockets of crystal quartz. Pools of water remain here nearly year round, providing much need moisture to the animals and insects. Shy coatimundi and elusive lions can sometimes be seen here, and all around the birdsong sweetens the air.

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A Cherry tree erupting from itself, the main trunk dead and hollow, but the new shoots alive and well. There are stones cradled in the dangling tangle of roots, and the sun is just beginning to break over the canyon wall. If I were very small indeed I would curl up in this haven of wood, rock and the speeding thread of vital life emerging as leaf, flower, berry.

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New Mexico Locust drooped in great billows of lavender pink across the stone path. Their thorns caught in our skirts and hair as we wound our way up the arroyo. Blue winged insects with bright black shells spun and buzzed against the flowers, whizzing through the air in their hurry to rush from one bud to the next.

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The first of the Wild Roses, all thorns and sensual curves in the shadow of moist cliffs and towering Oaks. While Rose may sometimes be considered a minor remedy, this plant has provided me with profound medicine and is perhaps my most vital healing ally. The petals taste like the river swirling into herself, blooming against a wind swirled sky.

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All photos (c)2008 Kiva Rose

One of my favorite plants is in full bloom! Blisswort, otherwise known as Skullcap (Scutellaria spp) is a beautiful native perennial of the mint family. Ours grows in Ponderosa Pine forest in partly shady spots among pine needles, Wild Lima Beans, Golden Pea and Candytuft. They’re little pincushion plants, small and soft and round for the most part, though there’s some bigger, bushier plants this particular spring. The leaves are hairy and sticky with resin. The flowers are voluptuous, rich purple-blue and look very much like a deep hood.

I’ve written a bit about this wonderful nerve tonic here and here, and more tidbits can be found by looking up Blisswort or Skullcap in the search box.

Blisswort is a relaxant nerve trophorestorative, it rebuilds the nerves from the inside out while relaxing any impediment to the release of tension. It opens up the internal flow of energy and stress, helping to move it and let it cycle out. This is different from just sedating the nerves because it’s a nourishing, native process for the body. I feel that in addition to strengthening the nervous system, it also helps retrain the body to deal with stress in more productive ways, encouraging it move along rather than stagnating or sticking in one tired, manic part of your brain or body.

This herb tends toward the cooling and drying end of the spectrum, though I’ve not ever seen it aggravate dryness in any individual. It can have an overly cooling effect though, and that should be watched for and balanced by other herbs if appropriate. Again, it is a very ~moving~ type of herb, and not all people need to be moved along, some need more in the way of grounding and deepening from a nervine and so may find another herb more ideal. Another post on nervine differentials coming soon.

I have found that Blisswort is most appropriate for those who have anxiety from exhaustion, often accompanied by sensations of heat, flushing and/or sweating. It’s less likely to work well for those who have anxiety from excess causes, who are just too wound up to relax. It’s more of a supplementing food for frayed nerves in those who are deeply tired, and are finding that both their energy reserves and their bodily fluids are in the process of drying up. If they’re already dried up, and there’s signs of full on adrenal exhaustion with feelings of coldness and severe dryness, then I think Blisswort would be better in the company of Milky Oat tincture (specifically the tincture, not the infusion) and maybe some Ashwagandha too.

As with any herb, food or other form of healing, it will be more effective the more you engage it and have a personal relationship with the process. This is why herbs can sometimes work very very well on someone who’s indications are totally different than the classical description, it’s all about our connection our bodies, the process of healing, and the plants themselves.

A nice bedtime tea is 1 part Blisswort, 2 parts Rose and 2 parts Chamomile, it’s good for the belly and digestion too. Blisswort is often bitter (more or less bitter depending on the specific spp.) so often tastes better mixed with aromatic or sweeter herbs, and accompanied by a dollop of honey, or a bit of stevia if you’re inclined.

Right this moment, my favorite nervine combo is 2 parts Monkeyflower, 2 parts Wild Rose and 1 part Blisswort. It’s divine, nourishing and deeply relaxing. The blend of tastes (sweet/astringent Rose, bitter Blisswort and sweet Monkeyflower) is a cooling and soothing mix for the hot SW summer.

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Blisswort Pics (c)2008 Kiva Rose

some mornings
I lay my face
against
the canyon walls
and listen to the hum
of the river current

while trees tower
along the arroyo
flush with flowering
white petals littering
the path up stone
and earth crevice

and I climb fingers first
into every cool cave
searching for the green
vine of life
as it curls
into fine cracks
uncoiling from pools
dark beneath
the surface world

water seeping
out of arid mountains
moist veins to feed
the delicate embroidery
of green life
to unfold the ivory mouth
of yucca flowers –
desert lilies
that taste
of bitter silk
cold and smooth
on parched lips

life beneath the surface
is a song
that has flowed into me
liquid and silver
as dawn
on the river
as stone
erupting into quartz
as lupine
drinking dew
the flowers
all falling down
on my hair

I press
my hands
against
canyon walls
and feel
the river run

Botanical name: Eschscholzia californica spp. mexicana
Common Names: Mexican Poppy, Mexican Gold Poppy, Gold Poppy,
Taste: acrid, bitter
Energetics: very cool
Affinities: liver, gallbladder, heart
Actions: anodyne, antispasmodic, relaxant nervine, topical antimicrobial
Cautions: Moore suggest that Eschscholzia is probably inappropriate in pregnancy. Ingesting very large amounts can cause nausea.
Notes: Eschscholzia mexicana and Eschscholzia californica are interchangeable for the purposes of this monograph.

These gold flowered beauties are considered a subspecies (Eschscholzia californica spp. mexicana) of the more well known California Poppies (Eschscholzia californica). Common at lower elevations, I usually have to drive down to the little villages south of here to find a good harvesting spot. Where they do grow, they flourish and spread, carpeting the roadsides and grasslands with acres and acres of fire flecked gold. They often grow in the company of their cousin Golden Smoke (Corydalis aurea) and a small yellow bush Evening Primrose.

The plants are cool to the touch and the leaves and stems nearly succulent in texture, a welcome sensory respite in the midst of blowing sand, scorching sun and stickery plants. The Gold Poppies have this remarkable way of staying fresh forever after being harvested, sometimes even a week later still holding enough moisture to look like they could actually be planted back in the ground and be none the worse for the experience. This is quite a feat in the dry NM air where most plants are bone dry within a couple days. With their feathery leaves and paper thin petals, these flowers may appear delicate but are actually amazingly tough in and out of the ground. Mexican Gold Poppies are generally considered to be true annuals, though the California Poppies can sometimes be short lived perennials.

As medicine, I tincture the majority of my harvest and I gather the whole plant, root and all (being sure to make no visible impact on the population, leaving plenty to reseed and continue on their cheery way). Timing wise, I aim to harvest it when the plant has begun to make seedpods, but while their are still plenty of flowers. I have tried to make an infused oil with these multi-purpose beauties, but to no avail. Oil extracts just don’t seem to have the kick that alcohol extracts do. It does work quite well as a tea, but definitely lacks something in the tasty department. I do rather like the taste of the tincture however, and find it to be so useful I generally keep at least a quart on hand at a time. At the moment, I have three quarts. I’m unlikely to be sleepless anytime soon

Mexican Poppy is safe enough for children, non-addictive, formulates very well and is endlessly useful. It is first and foremost a nervine, it is cooling and dispersive, and excels at clearing stuck energy and heat (especially in the heart or liver) from the body. Stuck energy often results in anxiety, depression, poor circulation, chronic inflammation and emotional lability. The ideal person for this plant has a red tongue, a tendency to sighing, moves between anxiety and depression quickly, has bloating and a feeling of pressure beneath the ribs, may have a flushed face, impaired digestion (typically constipation, but diarrhea or rotating between the two is not uncommon) and is prone to headaches and insomnia. Mexican Poppy moves the energy, calms the spirit, cools heat and generally settles the irritability and anxiousness.

That said, this herb also makes a great general relaxing treatment, and has been used by native people to calm fussy babies for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. I have not used the tincture in very small babies or children yet, but have had success in using it in children three years old and up, especially when they’re overheated and overtired from an inflammatory condition or heating virus (think childhood eruptive diseases such as chicken pox). Mexican poppy is less appropriate when the child (or adult) is already cool, pale and quiet. For insomnia, fear or depression in such constitutions or cases, try a more warming nervine.

Mexican Poppy can be useful in any case of insomnia where sleeplessness or restlessness is caused by pain, especially sharp, hot or throbbing pain. Nerve pain such as sciatica fall under this category, and the tincture can be used both internally and topically to help allay the pain. For chronic pain that results in tremors, nervous system exhaustion and systemic inflammation try a formula of 3 parts Mexican Poppy, 2 parts Milky Oats and 1 part Golden Smoke.

As I mentioned before, this herb combines very well in formulas and that is how I typically use it. It’s lovely (but bitter) combined with Vervain and Evening Primrose for PMS with stabbing cramps, moodiness, digestive upset, feelings of heat and irritability (the kind that makes you want to break things and scream very, very loudly) and red, uncoated tongue. Milky Oats and/or Skullcap would also be appropriate if there is deep, underlying exhaustion with low libido and intermittent depression.

The tincture can also be used externally for nerve pain, and in the case of various kinds of infections and fungi, being a good overall anti-microbial and decent anti-inflammatory in my experience.

Some herbalists have used Mexican or California Poppy for weaning clients off opiate addiction. I haven’t yet had the opportunity to try this, but it’s certainly worth noting.

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Mexican Gold Poppy pics (c) 2008 Kiva Rose

For this month’s Spring Greens blogparty, hosted by Darcey Blue of Gaia’s Gifts.

Every year Loba and I gather pounds and pounds of fresh wild Grape leaves. From the time the first tender heart shaped leaves unfurl until the oldest, toughest leaves turn color and fall we spend a little while nearly every day gathering these tart, tasty greens.

We love them fresh, chopped or diced and added to stews, salads, chili and any number of other savory dishes. When they get big as the palm of my hand we use them to wrap up spicy curries, lentils, freshly grilled wild meat and whatever else we can scoop up. As the summer unfolds and the canyon is deeply shaded by the prolific vines, we gather even more leaves and add them to a gallon jar of salt water. Brined grape leaves are at least as good as the fresh and will last all winter until the next batch of leaves is ready.

Grape leaves also make an excellent salve or poultice for all kinds of swellings, bug bites and minor wounds. Internally, they’re a superb liver tonic and act as a gentle alterative for the whole metabolic system. They make a great all around nourisher for nursing mothers, pregnant women or those preparing for child bearing. They can be dried and used as an infusion or just eaten up as a wonderfully multi-purpose food. The leaves and berries are a traditional treatment for recovery from a long illness or general malnourishment. The entire Grape plant is loaded with minerals and other nutrients, and the berry is an unrivaled blood tonic.

I’m not sure there’s much Grapes AREN’T good for, actually. Extremely common here in the cool canyons of NM, I can find a Grape leaf for a wound or for lunch pretty much no matter where I am. I expect that eating the leaves and berries as a food is the best way to use the plant, but I also make a salve of the leaves and tincture the leaves and berries as well.

As a food, Grape leaves belong in nearly any Mediterranean dish, especially those including lamb or goat cheese! Loba and I’s favorite style of eating is a crazy and colorful amalgam of Mexican, Mediterranean and Asian cuisines, and Grape leaves find their way into the majority of our meals, especially during the hot summer months when the sour taste helps to cool the body and lighten the palate.

Just now, the tiny buds of the Grape vines are fat and just beginning to open. The scent of these provocative yet delicate flowers is as intoxicating as any wine, and fills the canyon with the heady aroma of fertility and sensuality.

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Grape leaf & bud pic (c) 2008 Kiva Rose

Last night I found myself wandering in the moonlight, perched barefoot on the edge of an ancient Mogollon indian pithouse where the most vibrant of the Wild Honeysuckle grow. I chose each bud, blossom and leaf carefully, grateful for the magic and medicine of these twining, woody creatures. When I brought my apron-full of flowers back to the cabin, I gently crushed them in my fingers before depositing them into a blue kettle of cool rainwater. On the old woodstove, I heated them slowly. The water came to a slow simmer before I removed the kettle from the heat and left it to steep while Loba and I planned the next day’s meals and prepared tea of Wild Mint and Roses.

One of the great blessings of the growing season is the ability to use herbs fresh for medicine and food. While all of naturally want to eat the freshest food possible, too many of us forget how useful and effective medicine fresh from the plant can be. Many people are familiar with fresh poultices and focused on fresh plant preparations like tinctures and oil, most don’t think to use herbs fresh for tea, infusion, compresses and the other myriad ways medicine can be prepared. But what bliss to gather fragrant and colorful herbs straight from the plant for healing!

In the Hispanic community here, fresh plants for medicine are considered immeasurably superior to dried in almost all cases. Teas and washes made from fresh Basil, Rue or Chamomile are revered and many try to keep the plants going year round in a sunny window just to have the vitality and power of the still living remedy. I have had a few old granny healers even tell me that dried herbs are next to useless compared to the fresh preparations, although I noticed they still kept small packets of carefully dried Manzanilla on hand despite their disdain. Certainly the vital spirit of the plant is more completely intact in the fresh herb, and seems to act more directly on the energetic level when worked with in this way.

Lately I’ve been completely enamored of compresses and soaks made from flowering Wild Honeysuckle, Mugwort and the tender pink new leaves of the shrub Live Oaks. The smell is delightful and the therapeutic value huge. When I use fresh plants for most medicines, I use about three to five times as much (by weight) as I would the dried. I don’t use a scale though I just go by feel and sight and have learned to adjust for each plant, depending on how water-dense the fresh plant is.

I also find that the simple act of harvesting, preparing and using all in one fluid progression of movements helps intensify our personal relationship to both the herbs and the healing process. The sensual engagement of scent, touch and taste is so completely integrated into the remedy and I find that clients and students feel more in sync with the experience when they participate in the full cycle, and are also more likely to fall madly in love with the herb this way. Herbalism is often the art of facilitating relationships between plant and person, and the closer the remedy is to its original state, the simpler our work in most cases.

And besides, what herbalist doesn’t relish a good reason to spend more time playing among the plants, listening to their sweet song in Spring’s  cool mornings and sunny afternoons?

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Wild Honeysuckle pic (c)2008 Kiva Rose

I tend to cover every level of herbal therapeutics, nutrition and materia medica that I feel qualified to talk about. I know this can be overwhelming for beginners who may feel completely intimidated by the sheer volume of information and plants here (though I do tend to talk about the same plants over and over again). Do remember that you can use the categories (over on the left side there) or the archive index (up in the page bar) to narrow down the posts. You might want to start with the Terms of the Trade series I’ve started that explains terms and concepts of traditional western herbalism. There’s also the medicine making category that is primarily simple ways of herbal preparation. And if you’re interested in getting down to the heart of working with plants, there’s the talking with plants category.

So anyhow, salves. You need exactly three items:

Fresh or dried herb
A jar
Some lard (any good rendered animal fat will work)

Let’s assume you’re using a nice fresh green herb, like Mugwort (or Beebalm or Roses or Grape leaves). Harvest your plant, being sure to thank it for sharing its medicine and life with you. Chop it up coarsely. Fill your jar loosely with fresh plant.

Now, lard is fairly solid at room temperature, so you’ll need to get it slightly warm to make it liquid. When it’s nice and fluid, cover your plant with lard, filling the jar to very near the top. Poke the plant and lard mix with a chopstick or butter knife to get the air bubbles out. Put the lid on.

You could just leave the jar to cold infuse, but I like the results of a warm infusion better so I store my jar in a warm place. My favorite place is in the woodstove warmer but any consistently warm area in the house should be fine. The idea is for the jar to get very warm to the touch but you should still be able to pick it up without burning yourself. I let mine steep (warm method) for about three weeks, but six weeks if using the cold infusion method. When the lard is done infusing, strain it (you may have to get it warm again for this) and bottle it.

Another, more traditional approach is to put the lard in a pan on low heat, then add the herbs. Stir frequently, and cover when not stirring if working with an aromatic plant. Let the plant gently cook for anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour depending on the plant. When the lard turns color and takes on the aroma of the plant and the plant matter is somewhat crispy (but not burned) it’s all ready. Strain, pour into jar, let cool. All done. Depending on what plant you used, it could also be used as a condiment (Beebalm lard is yummy!)

There you go. A traditional, incredibly effective medicine made in the same way that our ancestors on nearly every continent and every tribe crafted their medicine. Yeah, you could weigh things and create perfect proportions, but you’ll learn more if you eyeball it. Besides, it all depends on the plants you’re working with and who you’re making it for. Adapt, evolve and have fun!

We’ll get to the rendering of fat to make lard in another post.

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Grape flower buds and leaves photo (c) 2008 Kiva Rose

Here in the Gila, on the border between mountains and deserts, rivers and grasslands, countries and peoples, we are still very much immersed in the old ways. Hispanic wisdom, hardbitten mountain man sense and Native knowledge retain their hold. Bear fat is a cure-all here, nearly everyone knows how to use at least one plant for medicine and wild meat is valued above all other food. Outsiders sometimes see the landscape here as harsh or extreme while locals can’t understand why anyone would ever live anywhere else but all who pass through the enchanted lands of the Southwest recognize its magic, sensuality and power. The plants here tend to be exceptionally medicinally active, full of the wild energy of an untamed land. The terrain itself is eerily sentient, and often surreal in composition and color. Every morning I wake up amazed that this is where I belong and I revel in the joy of knowing the place I am called to.

There’s nothing quite as satisfying as healing that comes from home. The process of gathering plants by hand, preserving them with fermentation, fat or honey and then applying them in need, celebration or health is one that takes us deeper and deeper into relationship and intimacy with the matrix we belong to. In order to further this relationship, I continually simplify, looking for the vital core of what healing and herbalism is.

For me, this has meant becoming more and more locally based, and at this point there is only one plant in my primary materia medica that doesn’t grow here, although even this one has found its way into my garden this spring. The materials that form the base of my medicine also primarily come from nearby — local desert honey, wild animal fats (and hopefully local farm lard soon too), fermented herbal brews, homemade vinegar, wild teas and other traditional ways of preserving and delivering medicine. Lately I’ve almost completely stopped using oils for medicine simply because I can’t make them or have them made locally. Also, fat based salves appear largely superior in performance to me. They seem to work more quickly, create fewer complications and are simpler to make. I am still using the hardcore magic of Everclear since distilling one’s own alcohol is a no-no under federal law, but more and more I’m utilizing and exploring fermented herbal wines and ales as tonics and remedies, and save tinctures for a necessary convenience or when acute care is needed.

The goal is to become medicinally self-sufficient, for the herbs and preparations to all come straight from this bioregion and my own hands and the hands of my immediate community. This is a very practical stance, considering the soaring price of delivery of supplies to this tiny mountain village. But even if current times didn’t dictate a change, I would still need the intimacy, immediacy and intensity of living up close and personal with my food and medicine. As I grow more and more rooted in this volcanic rock and red clay, I am less and less able to use plants and foods from far away without it hurting my heart. And the simple joy of engaging the living spirit and vital energy of the mountains and forests has become deeper, and infinitely satisfying.

I know the Gila, this canyon, these forests and rivers like my own skin or the body of my love. My medicine is wild tomotillos and canyon grapes, rich green pesto and bone broths, bubbling berry brews and the aromatic flowers of Beebalm steeped in beaver fat. And it is laying in this cold, clear river and flowing with its insistent, healing pull.

Note: On a related line, check out Shawna’s amazing post on the importance of using animal fats for healing.

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Photograph of Yucca buds and blossoms (c) 2008 Kiva Rose

Early this morning I, Loba, Rhiannon and a student headed up the big arroyo to enjoy the gorgeous weather and flowers.  Stepping between the boulders and little green things, we made our way about a mile further up into the mountains. We were delighted on every side by the colors, smells and the little quick-footed lizards weaving between our feet. Virgin’s Bower vines wound out of every crevice and Wild Cherry flowers dangled above our heads. We stopped for a snack of pesto and veggies on a beautiful smooth stone that Rhiannon dubbed “The Fairy Table”. I’d managed to bring along my little digital camera so snapped a few shots of the various flowers and plants as we walked along. My photography (and camera) are nowhere near Wolf’s quality of color and composition, but I thought they’d make lovely blog pics nonetheless. Here’s the first installment, all of my current favorite flower (at least until the Roses bloom), the delicate spires of our local Chokecherry.

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All photos (c) 2008 Kiva Rose

Remember the Cellulitis from hell post? You probably thought that was long since resolved, right? Wrong.

Right after I wrote that, the client cut that same foot again on the same bit of weirdly venomous metal. One long ragged cut across the top of the foot. I could have cried. Despite nearly immediate treatmen the foot proceded to blow up bigger than it ever was, and the red rash spread rapidly up the leg. At this point, the toes were cold and numb, the pain intense enough to warran the use of crutches and color of the skin a disturbing purple/brown/scarlet. As it continued to swell (in spite hourly treatment, internally and externally) the skin started to split in places, leaving angry and inflamed wounds. Veins popped all over the leg and foot, resulting in bright red lines. Amazingly enough, there were still no signs of septicemia or similar, no swollen glands, chills, fever etc. The client felt fine besides the extreme pain and throbbing in the now immobile foot. But it was getting worse every hour, and I was deeply stressed about the whole thing.

At this point, I was recommending the client at least go to the doctor to see if they had any clue as to the exact nature of the infection and any constructive ideas for treatment. The client reluctantly agreed to make an appointment for the next day. As an afterthought, the client mentioned they’d been having some indications of a slight sinus infection. After a brief discussion I recommended a medium dose of Yerba Mansa to be taken until symptoms cleared. Client went to the doctor and the doctor was beyond baffled at the whole thing, she kept saying thins like “it looks like cellulitis but…” and “those look like broken blood vessels but…”  and “ummmm, I just don’t know” in the end, she couldn’t find a single distinctive pattern of symptoms to make a diagnosis with. She prescribed antibiotics of course.

Client went home and didn’t take the antibiotics. Continued suggested foot regimen plus the Yerba Mansa. Sinus stuff cleared up by the next morning, AND the food suddenly, miraculously turned a corner. After looking at the decreased swelling, I agreed we might be ok holding off on the antibiotics for another day or so, as long as it didn’t start to get worse again. Every day since then (about five days ago) the foot has increased in leaps and bounds. Every day the swelling receded a bit further, there was less heat coming from the foot, the skin splitting wounds healed and the dead skin slowly sloughing off to reveal healthy new skin underneath. Today, on close examination, there is NO heat coming from the wound or surrounding area. There is very little swelling, no redness except a faint pink directly around the most recent cut, no sign of cellulitis whatsoever, no numbness in the toes and best of all, no pain or impediment to walking, not even a trace of a limp. Client can actually wear shoes again without any discomfort (though I don’t recommend shoes much at this point except for needed protection).

The only remaining symptoms are a very small amount of residual swelling, some stiffness in the ankle joint, and slight sensitivity on the wound site. The regimen has been scaled back in the last three days to include foot soaks (Rose, Mugwort and Beebalm just now) four times a day, with a very light herbal cream applied afterwards and tinctures of Usnea and Yerba Mansa internally. Was it the Yerba Mansa that caused the shift or was it just ongoing intensive treatment by a stubborn herbalist? I dunno. I’m not stopping the Yerba Mansa for another few days though, just in case. Gentle massage has also been used for the last three days since the inflammation has died down in order to increase circulation and healing. The client feels that this is very helpful in this stage of the healing process.

I can’t even express my huge relief over this, as it was more than severe enough to freak out the doctor and had the potential to go systemic and therefor possibly endanger the life of the client. I am thrilled we were able to work through with herbs rather than resorting to what probably would have been multiple rounds of antibiotics.  I think I’d like to have a little foot party now, toasting the recovered foot with homemade prickly pear wine and strawberries.

Never underestimate the remarkable power of weeds!