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!