Plants, past and present

Recently, I met one of the prior owners of my house, a couple who lived there approximately 35 years ago. They moved out in 1977, but had been in the house a few years. They purchased it from a widower, who, they surmise from the condition of the inside of the house, did not do much to the property, inside or out, for the 20 years he was in the house. That said, the backyard was teeming with gardenic splendor, and had raspberries, a plum tree, currants, and lots of other things to eat. It kept the owners I met fed and satisfied. That is, except for the back part of the property, near the fence, because of a black walnut tree, which alleleopathically prevented most anything else from growing. Since those times, the new-ish garage is back up against the fence; the black walnut tree is no longer, and hopefully the soil is starting to recover its ability to support new life and growth. With this as a preface, the conversation I had with the prior owners of my property made me think about the history of the land. Just imagine of all of that energy that went into the property to coax it along to produce vegetables and fruits, and how, since then, it is mostly grass and gravel, and shade from “weedy, European” Norway maples. What does the land “want” to be? I have a vision of the possible now, but what would be nature’s progression if simply let be? It will take a fair amount of work and soil enhancement to produce again, and what will my template be for a satisfying use of the property. As I contemplate (template!) My Year of Plants, the issue of goals and objectives for interacting with the plant world, necessarily involves the history of the land. People have done this before! And, what they did with the land affects what I can do with the property, with any property actually. Years of black walnut toxicity would make my gardening efforts difficult, and, had they snipped off those small maple seedlings 40 years ago, I wouldn’t now be faced with the task of trimming branches or clearing the trees all together. What’s right for the land, I ask again? What should I do with the property? Only what I want to? What produces the most? What looks the best? What used to be there? Perhaps the history of the property provides a glimpse into the answers to these questions. Though, as I have been hinting at all along, the REAL answers and details to this fascinating topic (like all of the other monthly queries and explorations) will be found in the corresponding chapter of My Year of Plants. Check it out when it is printed and enjoy.! And, thank you for a great year of your attention and interest in plants, our interaction with the green world, and some ideas for the future of humans, food, medicines, and the Earth. I hope that it has been a fun, insightful journey, and I welcome any thoughts you have had along the way!

Plants and Culture

Lately, for a variety of reasons, I have been struck by the malleability and diversity of plant knowledge. I say malleability because it seems that we humans are always shifting and changing our interaction with the plant world. Think of recipes. I thought that I had the best pizza dough recipe (which, interestingly, I copied from a newspaper article posted in a chain pizza restaurant), until I tasted a pizza crust at a pot luck. I had been usurped! What I did next was, of course, search for the “owner” to demand (ask?) for the recipe. My cuisine and related cooking skills needed updating. I also see this behavior in the medicinal plant world. I have been honored to meet people from many different countries now living in Madison, Wisconsin, and who believe in and use plants for healing on a regular basis. Some botanical “friends” have come out my meetings and interviews, including chamomile/manzanilla (Matricaria recutita), and garlic/ajo (Allium sativa), but I have been pleasantly surprised with tricks and pearls in the use and ingestion of these plants. I have noticed some nuances relevant to the way that people use plants, and this use seems to vary country-by-country. Most fascinating are the lively inter-country discussions about the correct way to prepare a plant, when to use it during a particular illness, and the freshest, most effective source. I have good friends of Italian heritage, and the medicinal plant debates sound a lot like the Italian feuds over whose sauce, wine, soccer team, etc is the best. People form strong opinions about plants, herbs, food, healing, and for good reason: our livelihood, literally and figuratively, depends on an optimal, and I would argue, mutual plant-people interaction. I love learning about plant-use diversity for its own sake, and because it helps me add to my plant knowledge, that is, improve in the way plants are a part of my life.

An apple a day...

I guess that I should watch the of that adage (I am a physician after all), but it seemed apropos! Now, let it be known that I like a good, crisp, tart/sweet (depending on my mood) apple, just like the next guy. So, I welcome fall and the arrival of apples at the local farmers market and our Madisonian food co-ops. I love the box or bushel basket full of non-uniform sized fruits, labeled merely as a price per pound and the farmer’s or farm’s name; it is the name that I have to remember when I check out. “Are those Glen’s or Penny’s apples you have there”, the clerk queries. No bar codes or stickers when we return to take a step back (forward?) to Mother Nature, that’s for sure. In Wisconsin, I am finding it easier to branch out from the main apple varieties. My home of almost 15 years and comparison state is Washington, a prominent apple grower, and, it seemed to me, exporter. Many of the apples we found in the bigger grocery stores were Fujis, Red Delicious, and Granny Smiths from New Zealand. The co-ops and farmers markets captured some of the local apples before they were whisked away, but, in a pinch, I was stuck with marginal apples that had traveled thousands of miles to reach my kitchen, or, well, teeth. Now, I’m swamped, and almost literally have apples coming out of my ears. It has been fun to explore the Wisconsin Apple Growers Association website, but the “Find an Orchard” tab only scrolls down to “10 miles”, so I won’t be walking or biking anywhere quickly to pick a piece of fruit for lunch. Under “General Info”, then “Educational Materials,” I located the “Favorite Apples” pdf, listing 18 varieties, but I know there are more, both within the city (I love the feral apple delight on occasional, but watch out for the worm, or worse, the half-worm) and in the one orchard I visited last fall. Either way, it is going to be very fun to venture into Apple-land and find the best for eating, cooking, baking, pressing, and, we’ve all done it, throwing. An apple a day….

Beer

Fall makes me think about “the harvest”, even though when was the last time I participated in a full-blown harvest? Possibly never, but, nonetheless, right now plants are producing, and people are picking, storing, preserving, and enjoying. Then, somewhere in that harvest process, my mind jumps to beer. It’s natural, both the process of fermenting grains and adding other plants in order to create fermented beverages such as beer, and the fact that my mind gravitates towards beer this time of year. I think it’s hard-wired; I remember that lecture in college when Professor Tim Allen made a compelling case that agriculture was developed and societies formed not to more efficiently raise food to eat, rather to drink the results of the fermented grains stemming from agrarian efforts. And, don’t get me wrong. I think about beer during other times of the year; the lager on a hot summer day, humidity dripping off the ice-cold bottle, or that winter stout meant to fortify our system and, well, midsection against the cold, inhospitable winter. But, fall, FALL, and its beer festivals (my favorite, the Quivey’s Grove Beer Festival, outside of Madison, Wisconsin, just happened), seems like just the right time to get a batch going, as well as enjoy the efforts of biermeisters throughout the region as they release the latest India Pale Ale, Oktoberfest or Amber. As I delve more into this topic in the book that I keep referring to in this blog, the medicinal aspects of some of the additives to beer most keenly attract my attention. Just the other day, in Marquette, Michigan, I saw advertised in an attractive, ground floor bar, a beer named the “Honey Citral IPA”. Citral, or the aromatic essential oil in lemon, lemon balm and lemon grass, probably anything lemon, has anti-spasmodic and anti-microbial properties, interesting medicinal effects for our barley beverage. And, the literature on hops is extensive, as are the flavors and unique ingredients making its way into microbrew coolers around the country. Maybe the medicinal effect is yet another reason to twist off the cap on your local brewski.

Wildcrafting

A fascinating word that seems to promise both adventure and art, wildcrafting refers to the harvesting of plants from the wild, most often for their use as medicines. In the theme of My Year Of Plants, I decided to wildcraft some of my favorite plants that grow in Wisconsin. Due to the generosity of proprietor Tom of Nature Nooks Retreat (www.naturenooksretreat.com), my friends Lynn and August, and myself were able to explore his property with a shovel and clippers, hoping to procure the raw materials necessary to make healing medicines for the next few months, if not beyond. In preparation for this adventure, the night before was spent perusing a variety of herbal texts (see photo),

trying to determine which plants might be best harvested this time of year, how to do it, and for which medical conditions they would be useful. I was hoping for an anti-viral or two, a tonic (to "build up" my system for the cold weather to come), or any other intriguing plants. The red herring, and, well, art to this endeavor was the fact that I had no prior experience with this property (and Lynn and August just one prior visit), and therefore the translation of our book smarts to usable raw material was a bit of a challenge. The property was beautiful (see another amazing Kiefer photo)

so just the process of walking around exploring was enough to markedly improve my health. We found only one burdock plant (on our wish list), so in the name of conservation we left it behind. Elderberry (Sambucus nigra, I think!) however was in abundance (see photo), leading to a full bowl of berries that would make a great anti-viral syrup.

That step, though, is too much information for this lowly blog; please buy my book someday to learn, in detail, about herbal medicine making and use!

She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not: Flowers!

July is all about flowers in the Midwest. Yes, we have our Spring bloom, our winter bulbs that poke through the newly worked soil in April, May, June and show off their wares. But, it’s the flourish of summer when Nature preens, shows off, impresses. Some of the perennials do their thing in July, having survived the greenhouses, the crazy flock of green thumbs that pick them over during plant sales or Saturday morning in the landscaping companies parking lot, and haphazard (I might be a bit autobiographical here) transplanting with probably not enough compost, probably too much water, and not even close the right depth in the soil. Sound familiar? Other plants that were started from seed, or survived in situ the winter pummeling, also begin to express a little floral color in July. However, I do not think that our household and yard plantings are the origin for why this month is so special when it comes to flowers. We need to venture out, off the roads, on the dirt paths, into our local prairies and woods to see that there is a true swelling of the land. There isn’t much time to sprout, shoot, and flower, but the prairie forbs seem to have found that way, and late June, and definitely in July, August, and September, are the most glorious yellows, purples, whites, and reds imaginable, on all sizes ands shapes of green stems that would make even Claude Monet go running for the oils and palette., maybe even jumping for joy, screaming something about “Impressionism.” My meager attempts at home are but a reminder of the truly great things happening elsewhere, humbly realizing that elsewhere means “anyone else’s yard”, but, most importantly, the untouched, or restored areas outside or next to human development. If you are one of the avid blog readers, my trusty followers longing for the full, ripe chapters that will surely be filling “My Years of Plants”, the flowers treatise will eventually include such tidbits as the Kiefer versus Varmint battle over sunflowers and whether or not the 4th sunflower generation of 2012 survived; floral parts and botanical taxonomy and the relevance of this somewhat geeky topic to your daily life, medicinal quandaries, and scientific discourse with friends during meals or over a beer; “She loves me, she loves me not”; edibles and medicinals and what might be the difference; and much, much more. What should you do with this tease, this prelude to the future? Well, as with past chapters, stay tuned!

(Fill-in-the-Blank) Berries

Perhaps it is fitting that the June "My Year of Plants" entry actually takes place in mid-July. The pace of plant-related activities and responsibilities achieves a whole new level as summer hits full stride. There is watering to be done, before and after work, especially in this year of record drought and high temperatures. The Japanses beetles finally found my grape vines, so I have to spend time picking them off the leaves and brainstorming about ways to prevent their friends and cousins from following suit. And, not to mention the hours planting, transplanting, tying up, mulching, composting, and fixing fences. Who has time to write? Had none of these (wonderful) tasks infused my life, I would have dedicated June to berries, spurred partly by the picking and enjoying/eating that took place during that month in a friend's raspberry patch. Berries are clearly the hot topic nowadays in the media, for both our local varieties (an interesting push is occurring in Wisconsin about the chokeberry, Prunus virginiana) and for the many interesting tropical fruits touted for their impressive antioxidant levels and purported health effects. Sure, I consider health and vitality when popping a berry into my expectant mouth, but I'm more of a simpleton: the taste, the texture, the fact that often I have just picked this from some unsuspecting thorny cane, these are my motivators. I can't seem to get enough. Furthermore, berries are where my past meets my present and then shakes hand with my future; I find that I remember working in my grandmother's garden as a child and now try to re-live the recipes in my summer life. Not to mention the plans I have for jams and jellies, and frozen berries that make their way into smoothies, taking advantage of a new and powerful blender. I could go on and on, and, in fact, I will in this chapter of "My Year of Plants." The pending book will be your guide to berries, smoothie recipes, and insider scoops about weeding a strawberry patch in northern Wisconsin. You can't wait, can you?

CSAs in Madison, WI

May was my month to discover the world of Community Supported Agriculture, and Madison, WI, is full of amazing farms and programs to choose from. Starting with an amazing introductory fair at our convention center to advertisements in newspapers (with grids describing possible plans, included vegetables, timelines, etc.), I found a vibrant community. The topic of "Which CSA are you going to select?" was on the tip of everyone's tongue this month and last. And, starting two weeks ago, the produce started flowing from the CSA share that myself and three friends shared. I would give you more details, pictures, favorite vegetables, and more, but I am busy trying to sort through on-line recipes and whipping up delicious recipes as we speak. More later? Ahhh, that is what My Year Of Plants is for. As with prior months, please stay tuned!

The (Potential) Vegetable Garden

My childhood memories of working in either my mother’s or my grandmother’s vegetable gardens include abundant green and hyper-productive plants. Eden, essentially. The picture below (#1), taken when I was less than one year old symbolizes all of that perfectly: working hard, smiling, large plants everywhere, the assumed overflowing salad bowl not far away. Well, with my new house and empty palate in the backyard, my memory is meeting head on with stark reality: it’s not as easy as I thought. Yes, yes, I could have planned better. I know, I should have read more and laid out a grid, started plants indoors, called experts, interviewed “green thumbs” and cataloged success stories. The bottom line is that I am hoping that millions of years of evolution (plants know how to grow, don’t they?) and Mother Nature come to my rescue. At times I had to act quickly: a cousin gave me pre-soaked bean seeds, so that day I had to put them in the ground somewhere. I removed a swath of sod and sowed my first veggies. Then, miraculously and counter to all of the pundits, they sprouted, necessitating my immediate need to build a fence to fend off the million or so fat rabbits that I see grazing the neighborhood (picture #2_. Other times my garden approach has been merely opportunistic. I had basil seeds, why don’t I start them indoors? No success yet (picture #3). Then a neighbor offered to rototill my plot. I accepted. Another expert gardening friend offered, in the form of handmade coupons, free labor and advice. Again, I accepted. So, like I said, I think that there is a potential vegetable garden in the works!

A Spring ritual: Maple syrup making

It’s definitely that time of year. A Spring rite of passage. I can remember traipsing around the northwoods with my grandfather, looking for pails full of maple sap hanging from trees scattered around his and his neighbors’ property. It was fun for a kid, a bit of a treasure hunt looking for the fullest pail. And, the whole process was full of magic. Grandpa had me taste the sap once, and it tasted like water, perhaps with a “natural” overtone; I can only imagine the sap-tasting cheat sheet, fashioned after wine connoisseurs, and what it might say: “watery”, “light twig aftertaste”, “very watery.” Then, bringing the pails back to the boiler for evaporation, the stoking of the fire, the smoke, the heat, and voilà, thick, brown, sweeter than sweet, syrup trickles into the cool little glass bottles. Nature’s Magic Brew. I loved it.

So, of course, come 2012, maple syrup making, or “sugaring”, would be part of My Year of Plants. I had some of my grandfather’s equipment, including his old “dipper” and hydrometer, so I wouldn’t be starting from scratch. In addition, we still had most of the same family land up north, and friends on nearby property who were actively involved in the industry, both as a money making venture and hobby. I would have the chance to re-learn a lot.

One problem surfaced. Mother Nature was not in agreement with my 2012 sugaring interests. A bizarre winter, thought to be partly or completely due to a La Niña phenomenon, brought 70, even 80 degree, temperatures in February and March, grinding the sap flow to a halt. Maple syrup making is full of superstition, and daily gossip centers on when and how much the sap will flow, which trees will be the biggest producers, if the syrup will taste good this year, what color it will be, etc. All of these factors are very hard to predict, but some producers develop a knack for reading some of the signs in nature that give them some wisdom in answering these questions. I do not understand many of the relevant variables, but the simple rule, and one which was lacking in this year’s mild temperatures, is that a cold (below freezing) night and subsequent warm (above freezing) day helps the sap to run well. The year 2012 may very well be known as "the year that the sap stayed put."

Hence, some of the commentary on this fascinating art and the photos you will see if you purchase the final book, are from my 2011 sugaring experience. To give you a little taste, picture yourself in an 8x10 foot sap boiling shack, full of steam, about 110 degrees hot, participating in a ritual that predates the arrival of Europeans in North America, and one that continues with almost every pancake, waffle or French toast breakfast!

A winter tonic

I think I probably need a winter tonic. I am sure that I could use extra strength, resistance against disease, a “boost” to my immune system, and overall energy, to paraphrase from some of the accepted definitions of herbal medicine “tonics,” or adaptogens. In all seriousness, I have been intrigued by this genre of plants for some time, ever since reading some convincing basic science research reviews, and learning that many cultures have plants in their repertoire that fit this purpose for the promotion of health and wellness. Recently, I took my interest to the next level by writing two scientific articles about the topic, but it still didn’t feel very close to home, until a conversation I had in August, 2011.

One of my colleagues at the university studies a genus of plants from Europe that has many uses, including as a red wine extract meant to be ingested in small doses during the winter for its tonic effects. My eyebrows perked. I asked her to say more. So, the genus is Juglans, what we know as the black walnut tree in this area, and the species is Juglans regia. The only catch for my quickly forming do-it-yourself plans is that the species in Wisconsin is Juglans nigra. It can’t be THAT different, right? OK, a bit more: in Europe, a specific quantity of the leaves of Juglans regia are placed in a container with red wine (no specific vintage or type mentioned) for a few weeks, and then strained, and stored until needed, which apparently is every day (a small amount) for its health effects. This was going to be fun, but fall was quickly approaching, and I would have to act fast in order to harvest healthy looking specimens for my experiment in winter tonics.

The ensuing process was a fascinating one. From traipsing through the woods on the way to work, filling up plastic bags with the freshest Juglans nigra leaves I could find, to the extraction process (think mad scientist), and then a flurry of emails to herbal medicine experts mixed with my own trolling of the literature to determine whether or not there was any cross-species translocation of winter tonic effects to my local tree. I stumbled upon pitfalls that are probably quite common for those of use trying to use plants for healing, but only having some of the necessary information. It is really not that different from the confused walk down the dietary supplement aisle after a web search of some physical symptoms, or swapping out ingredients when following a complicated recipe and realizing that you’re missing something key. We do the best we can with the information we have plus that added boost from our hope that these plants will be an important part of our life. This is the essence of my blog, and, yes, the book that follows, and I am hoping to fill in the gaps to ensure success in our plant endeavors.

Speaking of the book, we’ve reached the point in this month’s blog where I defer to the subsequent book for the exciting conclusion to the winter tonic experiment. Did it turn out? Was it effective? And, just as important, was it safe? The process, I will argue, is just as important as the outcome, because I want all of us to be able to “access” plants, to add them into our lives when we see an exciting way to do so. This month, for me, it was the winter tonic. For other months, for other people, it might be a different plant or plants. I believe that we can do this, that we can successfully, and safely, weave plants back into our industrialized life, hence “My Year of Plants: A How-To Guide.”

House Plants

As I thought about how to structure My Year of Plants, I realized that I needed some ground rules, pun intended. I considered it the equivalent of the mission statement that companies painstakingly hash out over day(s)-long retreat, followed by guidelines meant to keep me focused on the task at hand. All of this would hopefully maximize learning if not success on each month’s topic. I understood that this may be a work-in-progress, but, nonetheless, in the interest of having some thoughts on paper from the very beginning…

“My Year of Plants” Mission Statement: To investigate all aspects of one plant-based topic monthly, focusing on the improvement of health and an increase of knowledge, skills and connection to plants.

Particulars:
1) One topic per month
2) Emphasize science with practical, easy-to-implement offshoots relevant to our daily lives
3) Provide references for further reading or learning
4) Spend less than $100 monthly in supplies, books, materials relevant to that month’s topic; this needs to be affordable and reasonable for the general population
5) Walk the talk: really work to make that plant topic a part of my life, and share the results. Hopefully this information and experience will help others to do the same and save my readers from having to “reinvent the wheel.”
6) Add media, in the form of video and pictures and links to the internet whenever possible to foster learning and, well, entertainment. This, after all, should be fun to be sustainable in our lives!

With this framework established, let’s launch into January’s topic: HOUSE PLANTS.

The context of this month’s topic is that I had just moved into a new condominium in Madison, WI, and was facing a winter of drab, white snowscape, sans anything green. I wanted that to change. In addition, as you learned in the introductory blog posting, 2011 was the year when I watched the last of my un-killable cacti die a slow, rotting death in the small, cute blue ceramic pot I had received from someone likely trying their best to “liven” up my place with a little bit of greenery.

Shortly after the thought of increasing the number of my house plants from “zero” to “something other than zero,” I passed off laudatory comments to a friend about his thriving indoor garden, which led to the generous gift of several starts, including pieces of jade that would “grow simply by placing it on moist soil” and some unnamed plant that is “taking over the southwest” because it is so precocious.

I transported home these plant pieces in folded paper and geared up for the big planting the following day. But, what to plant them in? My friend had some opinions about soil type, but he seemed flexible about that variable in the description of his house plant success. I would see if I could get something free from nature or, more likely, a family member. Heck, as much as it takes a community to raise a child, perhaps the same would be said for our plants and their role in our lives. I would look around for help from the very beginning.

The bottom line is that donations poured in, providing me with pots and potting soil, and the resulting triad of soon-to-be-jungle botanical starts pictured here. This, I realized, was only the beginning. With the foundation in place, now the real work would begin. Let’s assume I am able to let most of my plants grow, thrive, and achieve their potential as the evolutionary success stories that they are, the more compelling questions to be answered centered around the types of plants that were “best” for us and our indoor dwellings. As a physician, I am most interested in health and healing, so are there some plants better for us, healthier for us, more suited for us to look at, live near, and, yes, well, eat or smell?

These questions and more will be percolating in my mind, and hopefully yours, as I launch into the next month’s topic. Stay tuned to this blog for relevant updates and future musings!

Welcome to "My Year of Plants"

Welcome to My Year of Plants, a monthly investigation into what these (usually) green creatures mean to us humans in the modern world. It is somewhat ironic that my decision to embark on this venture coincided with the proverbial last straw: I inadvertently and finally killed off the last of my of house plants, including two cacti that were considered impervious to neglect and incompetence. But, no more! The year 2012 is, for me and for any of you reading this blog, the year of the plant. What role do plants have in my daily life? With Google at my fingertips, do they really matter? Who can hope to grow anything in the urban-scape in which most of us live? What do I eat, and what should I buy from the grocery store? These questions and many more will be addressed in this blog, every month during 2012.

You will be treated to tips, pictures, recipes, links to websites, book favorites, (hopefully) interesting and instructive anecdotes, and much more from the plant kingdom. However, only a taste, pun intended, from these topics will be found in this blog. The meat (sorry) of the plant-based information I wish to share with all of you will be the subject of my book entitled “My Year of Plants”, to be published in early 2013. The book, as with the blog, will be divided into 12 parts, chapters, or entries, depending on the medium, each of which will be dedicated to one plant-related monthly topic. For example, in January you can look forward to everything you ever wanted to know about house plants, my attempt to find penance after the 2011 fiasco alluded to above, and to delve into the important topic about how we should best beautify, using greenery, our indoor living spaces. February will be dedicated to…well, you will just have to stay tuned to this blog to find out more.

So, eat another salad, grow something healthy, wear a sweater embroidered with sequined flowers, and join me for a fun, fascinating year of plants!