This piece was written toward the middle of the pandemic. It feels like a nice way to share some herbal lore, plant wisdom and perennial power.
Something deep inside is awakening. It is true for me, but I get the feeling it is true in a broader sense for all of us. We are in a shared experience that no member of humanity is escaping (maybe there is some tribe deep in a forest somewhere who remains untouched, but by now, that is unlikely). In general, every single one of us is knee deep, no at this point, probably shoulder deep into the churning and discovering inevitable of this pandemic world. And very few pandemic survivors are with us from the 1918 flu, though surely the changes of the last century have made this an entirely different experience. So, while we can certainly learn from our ancestors as we transit the right of passage similar to that of a century ago, we also must learn by listening to our hearts for a way through the challenges, a way to alchemize lead into gold, inspired deeply by sipping on potions of sour lemons turned to mouth-watering lemonade.
What has welled up for me is a longing for a deeper connection to my roots. There are so many ways this could be imagined. The calling of ancestors and lineage patterns could be a thread, or maybe it is a return to lost passions and hobbies, or maybe it is an exploration of the alchemists' magic, roots of science and human mystery. The whisper from within turned out to be all of this for me and more: a true calling of the roots of Balsamorhiza sagittata and Lomatium dissectum, and a bit of the wisdom from our alchemy ancestors along with a long dormant passion for plants as well a long-standing love for the interconnected nature of the natural world, our Mother Earth.
I dove headfirst, even a little recklessly, into exploring herbs more intimately wondering where my feet were dangling behind me, only to discover they were grounded right there in the soils of our land. In the fall of 2020, I took a course with Darcy Williamson through the Sawtooth Botanical Garden where we tromped into the woods and sourced fresh Lomatium dissectum (Fernleaf Biscuitroot), a local resident, whose roots are loaded with anti-viral constituents. This hearty plant begins to grow before the snow is fully melted. And by growing early each year like this, this plant supports the local wildlife with newly sprouting leaves to munch after winter's long lull with often limited resources.
I respect this plant for its hearty offering even with the last of the thaw remaining a future possibility. We all need a little of that in our lives, a spark of possibility while the light at the tunnel's end seems a little out of reach. I like that. Maybe I can grow resiliently between the rocks of life’s harder moments and provide comfort and nourishment even before this wild ride is fully arrested. Lomatium is notorious for anchoring itself between the larger rocks on open scree of south facing slopes in the Great Basin and Pacific Northwest. It is heartily rooted and no joke to harvest. Take out your archeological tools to extracts this fragrant, resinous tap root using care to avoid damaging the relatively soft cream-colored flesh.
Interestingly, this plant was widely used by our native ancestors and the tribes of the Great Basin. (1) With anti-viral and anti-biotic properties, Fernleaf Biscuitroot is a welcome member in the anti-viral spray we were planning to make. Darcy shared with us that Lomatium dissectum was used quite successfully by Northwest tribes to fend off the 1918 flu(2). That seems like a nice synergy, a connection with ancestors, a little alchemical magic to extract the medicinal resources and a chance to thank the land for the offering.
And so we dug, harvesting the roots paying great attention to our sourcing site since Lomatium is an at-risk plant. We left the loftiest plants, the ones uphill, to seed downhill young next season and chose medium size ones to allow for enough root material for our needs, while leaving newer plants to establish and older ones to regenerate the species.
And along the same hillside we found broad leafed Balsamorhiza sagittata, Arrowleaf Balsam, also preparing for winter. In the fall, in rhythm with the season, the plants prepare for the long slumber and chill of winter, drawing nutrients back to their roots to save for the coming spring stored in the ground of their being. They draw their powers back to their protected center from the periphery where winter's frost will soon bite. In this tap root, reaching deep into the earth, up to 5-8 feet deep for the larger plants (3), is a storehouse of resinous resources resting for a winter nap. Sticky hands prove this truth once the root is fully exposed. We leave the large plants to seed the next generation choosing more modest sized ones both for ease of extraction and for preservation of the species. When you taste the pungent medicine from these plants you can feel the warming and drying qualities. Sinuses drain, coughs release and a warmth moves into the lungs (3).
Arrowleaf balsam has a strong tap root as well, but it is hearty to the touch and much less likely to be bruised by shovels and tools while harvesting. The outer layer of the root resembles pine bark, linearly ridged and dark brown. Some say the resins smell a bit pine-like. A nod to this is in the common name, balsam. To process this plant, we hammer the bark-like outer layer free from the creamy-white inner flesh revealing a stronger breath of the pine smell as well as an inner root structure that can be peeled into long striated strips for making the tincture. More surface area allows for more medicinal resources to be extracted. Root bark and flesh are both placed into the jar for our folk-tincture.
I cannot help but marvel at all the sacred lessons these plants teach just in being their magnificent selves, totally in harmony with the ever-shifting rhythms of light, temperature and seasonal moisture of the natural world. May I learn to be so adaptive and responsive. And so we dig these roots not only to harness their natural, resinous, anti-viral creations but also their essence of resilience, flexibility, and harmony with nature.
One final member of the trinity of helpers needs to be found. She is common, lanky and even willing to grow in disturbed soil. In drought conditions she expands. Grindelia squarrosa or in common language, curly-cup gum weed, or gum weed whose leaves and yellow flowers are a strong supplier of anti-oxidants and anti-inflammatory molecules awaiting extraction (2).
Gum weed is also very resinous. Have you ever touched it? Your fingers will come away sticky like you just completed a building project with your child and are covered in glue. While it does offer useful anti-microbial benefits, it also stops airborne microbes from entering the body, much like a spider's web, by simply capturing the germ in its sticky grip and then destroying it through contact with other constituents. This resinous constituent happens to be an expectorant as well, aiding in removing mucous from the lungs (2). I ate a flower while we harvested, and no it didn't taste good, but the congestion from seasonal allergies lifted almost immediately. I felt a draining sensation through the sides of my neck, below my eyes and from my sinuses. That was a welcome gift; lymphatic flow returning to an otherwise stuffy head.
Having found our third plant, it feels a bit like we have a holy trinity. Two powerful roots, anchored in the Earth, converting her minerals and nutrients to magical chemicals that fight infection and one lofty plant, reaching her leaves and flowers skyward adding ways to stop infection from transferring into the body. If that isn't alchemy, then what is? We added equal parts of the three plants to half-gallon size mason jars, another nod to our ancestors embracing the folk method for making our tincture. With plants covered in menstruum, using 80 proof vodka, now we rest and wait for the transformation of the tinctured miracle to arrive just in time for winters flu and COVID push. This particular straining 6-8 weeks later would be super strength. One more round of extraction yields a weaker tincture, but when the two are combined, the super strong first batch and the weaker second batch make a full strength anti-viral tincture that can be used on hands, sprayed in the throat and on masks. We have loved having the support of these plants and our ancestors at this time.
I am smitten. What could be more inspiring than learning from the cycles of nature and the plants, our true first ancestors who exhaled the gift of oxygen opening the possibility that we could someday walk the Earth. And then there are our human ancestors, who heard the plants with willing ears and open hearts, receiving plant whispers about their hidden medicines.
I bow to Earth's bounty, marvel at her beauty and cherish the interconnected nature we have almost, but not quite, forgotten as a larger culture. May the miraculous weave of our mutual interdependence once again rise into our way of life and awaken us to a greater possibility. Today. I weave the plants more deeply into my life and hopefully someday it is my prayer that the git of the plants and their tremendous bounty, even just as visual splendor on a fall hike, if nothing more, will seep deeply into the roots of our way of life, becoming once again culturally relevant and a staple of mainstream well-being.
(1) https://plants.usda.gov/plantguide/pdf/pg_lodi.pdf
(2) Notes from class with Darcy Williamson and Sawtooth Botanical Garden
(3) https://www.herbalremediesadvice.org/arrowleaf-balsamroot.html
(4) https://extension.usu.edu/rangeplants/forbsherbaceous/curlycup-gumweed
