…as if it wasn’t obvious already.
I’m on a learning & practicing frenzy. I’ve been reevaluating my perspectives on socioecological health & herbal medicine, and reconsidering many of my assumptions…as well as working & practicing, which keeps a girl busy. A lot of reading too.
Be back soon with more (& better!) posts.
All my book-related posts are, I realized, drafted during the Winter months. I’ve always been an ethusiastic—nay, voracious reader. But during the other seasons I’m inclined to engage in and write about the more tactile & outdoor activities.
And that time is almost upon us. However, it’s still just over 40 degrees and raining here, and I’m still under blankets at 11am with hot tea and a pile of books. So. Here are the reads that are currently on my nightstand or kitchen table, and I think they’d pique your interest. Because I know you, and you’re a curious, interdisciplinary individual. While they’re not directly related to herbal medicine, they all espouse a novel concept, perspective or story that can deepen our practice & understanding. (And when you’ve finished, see How to Talk About Books You Haven’t Read on Brain Pickings, on the art of not reading. Thanks Michael DeMarco for the link!) Note: While I link to Amazon, I encourage you to purchase from a local bookstore if possible.
My mother is a biochemist, and has all the respect & admiration I could offer. We just started a mother-daughter book club, and this was our first pick. (Next we’re reading The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, a book that I’m ashamed to have not read yet.) Released in 2012, this book is an attempt by oncologist Siddhartha Mukherjee to get into the mind of a disease. Significant questions & themes are tackled: When did cancer first arrive? Is it a disease of civilization? We’re invited to learn the story of the discovery of genetic mutations, oncogenesis, and the development of chemotherapy, high-dose polychemotherapy, pap smears, mammograms, radiotherapy, and the like. It’s gorgeously written, with enough information to leave its pages informed.
The cover is what I’d call “slightly cheesy.” So it wasn’t until one of my fellow herbalists at the clinic (Jean) gave it glowing reviews did I leaf through a copy & pick it up. Now I consider this a true treatise on neuroendocrinology. Topics covered are stress & its effects on immunity, human development, memory, metabolism, cardiovascular health, reproduction, voodoo death, and pain.The author is also hilarious. Sarcasm is tough to pull off in print, but Sapolsky does it well. Highly recommended for any reader interested in the connection between stress & illness. You may have to take notes or reread it: it’s fairly dense if you’re not familiar with the endocrine system.
E.O. Wilson, the Harvard entymologist most famous for his advocacy of biological diversity, covers a lot in this book: eusociality strategies of insects & humans, paths to terrestrial conquest, and forces of social evolution. Essentially, insects’ evolutionary pace comparitively slow. They progressed (more or less) symbiotically with the biosphere, with the colony being a superorganism/genetic extension of the queen (and natural selection operating at this level, not at that of the individual). Human evolution stands in stark contrast, evolving quickly with natural selection operating at the individual and group level. This is a good pick for those interested in human evolution & social complexity.
I’m listening to the audiobook version of this, and will soon get a hard copy. I have to confess: I thought this was another book about resilience and robust systems. I was wrong, and apparently people like me (who initially confuse resilience and antifragility) annoy the author. Antifragility is the opposite of fragility. When volatility or a disruption occurs, fragile systems are disturbed (or, if unable to recover, collapse), robust systems are indifferent to some degree, and antifragile systems are invigorated. There are a lot of useful insights for medicine (things like hormesis). The author’s got a wicked sense of humor. A must-read for any systems thinker (looking at you, C3 grads & faculty).
One of my foci this season are trees and their medicine. In addition to reading Tree: A Life Story by David Suzuki (a biography of Douglas-fir trees, which you need to promise you’ll read), I’m also gracing through this book (a Christmas gift from my sweetheart). It’s a stunning compilation of naturalistic observations of trees through the seasons & their growth patterns. The photographs along are worth the purchase. Robert Llewellyn took several photographs of each plant part, each with a different focus. Layering the images, he presents a nearly microscopic view of tree parts that expands our senses & understanding of these majestic species. This is the book I leave on the coffee table to show off to guests. Anyone who loves trees & the study of botany will find delight here.
Emerging beech tree leaf. ©Robert Llewellyn
And I’d love to hear what you’re reading & learning about. Please leave a comment below!
“Trees were our first teachers,” Bruce Miller used to say. Bruce (Subiyay) was a Skokomish elder, teacher & leader who was a driving force behind the Salish cultural renaissance of the last few decades. I learned about him just a few months after my arrival at the Evergreen State College. Though he had already passed, Bruce continues to be a powerful inspiration. Many have since continued his work of revitalizing Salish culture and rekindling the connection between plants and people. (For more information, see links at the bottom of this post.)
One aspect of his work that always resonated is the consideration of tree as teacher. There’s something about trees that stirs something inside us. Humans have long felt a unique kinship with the trees. And their medicinal qualities haven’t been fully explored yet. Read More
Tea is the perfect theme for this month’s Wild Things Roundup. I truly love tea—it’s an art and, sometimes, a form of therapy.
In the depth of Winter, we confront dark, hard, uncomfortable things. I doubt I’m the only one recovering from the turmoil of 2012, ducking from the seasonal bugs whizzing through our communities, and trying to find solace & a silver lining from the horrific events we’ve witnessed in the last few months. It’s been a rough few months, I won’t lie. But tea—well, that makes everything a bit better. Teas (infusions & decoctions) make available some very useful compounds to rebalance our physiologies. But they’re also satisfying, comforting & soulful.
During Winter, I embrace the medicine of the trees, lichen, and fungi. I suppose part of it is out of necessity; there just isn’t much else in the way of aerial plant parts. But it’s the upward movement & verticality of tree medicine—the promise of new growth in a season of fog, mist, and pooling water—that lifts my spirits. For that reason, tree tips, branches & leaves find their way into many of this season’s botanical preparations. I use them in teas, baths, foot baths, infused oils & vinegars, and honeys.
Some of my favorite tea blends include:
All of these are prepared as a decoction. (See previous post in tea making.) Regarding amounts: I never measure. A pinch of this & that, eyeball the amount of water. I really only use measurements when I’m making lotions & creams, tinctures, and solid extracts. For infused oils, water infusions, decoctions, vinegars, honeys & salves, I don’t bother. I think those products fare better when you rely on your senses. For a little brush up, here’s a very speedy summary of some of the herbs named above:
So as I recover from one of Winter’s many middle fingers—the stomach flu—with a hot cup of ginger/lemon/honey tea at my side, I invite you to deepen & beautify your tea making practice. It’s good, sacred & brings you home to yourself.
UK-based artist uses a flatbed scanner to produce images that are paradoxically shallow & deep. See more on his website in the series “Flatbed Roam”.
On one hand, health is a right and it should be available to us all. This is the basis from which most healers practice. It’s even recognized in the UN Declaration on Human Rights. The World Health Organization Constitution “enshrines the highest attainable standard of health as a fundamental right of every human being.” Health is attainable and an inalienable right. We empower people to take charge of their own health.
But health privilege also exists. It lives in unexamined notions of health, disease, and shapes the meaning of these experiences. Much like racial, gender, or socioeconomic privilege, health privilege shames the individual for being ill, attributing illness to New Age judgements of spiritual impotency, or impure thoughts/actions. It rears its head when someone asks you if you’re “still taking those crazy medications?!” or tells you that daily consumption of bentonite clay would have prevented it. When you enjoy unexamined health privilege, you may think that someone is ill because they ate poorly, or haven’t learned a karmic lesson yet, possess stuck/suppressed emotions, lived dis-harmoniously with Nature, or lack chuztpah or spiritual willpower. And we pass judgement. In the clinic, this can disrupt the healing process. I think it can even cause harm.
Herbalists, specifically community-oriented ones, can better understand and serve our clients & communities if we examine the types of health privilege we enjoy. This way, we can be better allies and be more effective partners in the healing of people & planet by taking responsibility for our constructs of health & illness.
See more on her Tumblr.
As plants die back and the rains return in Autumn, the fungi take the stage. The flowers have faded, and the leaves have curled under, its chlorophyllic contents retracting as the plants draw their vitality back underground. In this season of separation, purification, and decomposition, the fungi rule.
The return of the Autumn rains awaken the slumbering mycelium, who stretch their hyphal networks through their respective substrates–eager to display their proud, bold fruitbodies. In eager anticipation of the wild delicacies (and especially the mycorrhizal species like chantrelles, porcini, matsutakes, and Candy caps, which resist human cultivation as they grow only in association with certain tree roots), mycophiles and foragers hit the forests…raincoats, wool hats, cute little baskets and all.
All mushrooms have their mystique. Like plants, they are their own universe. Being a plant person, I was truthfully more than a bit overwhelmed to begin learning about mushrooms. Structurally, they can resemble plants. But metabolically, they are more like animals—oxygen breathing, external-stomach-having, animalistic occupants of their own dikariotic kingdom. And throughout the centuries, certain cultures have been more mycophillic and mycophobic than others. Western Europe, for the most part, eschewed our fungal friends, whereas Asian societies embraced them for food and medicine for over 2 millenia (some sources say 4 or even 7 millenia). In the Western world, we’re beginning to befriend our fungal allies and, in the process, opening previously sealed doors of perception.
Mycelium concept painting by Leo Tsang http://ltsang.blogspot.com
Learning about and understanding other life often feels like solving a riddle. I know, I know—developing these relationships is not a problem to be solved. Nevertheless I often default to thinking this way. And Reishi is one of the Emperors of Mystery—a grand riddle to solve, a mystery to decode. What makes this enigmatic mushroom perplexing is its wide reach and numerous points of contact with the human animal. Its range is extensive. It can be found wild in North and South America, Asia, and Europe. Most of its traditional use is concerned with spiritual potency and longevity, and some of the names bestowed upon it include 10,000 Year Mushroom, Mushroom of Immortality, Herb of Spiritual Potency. Reishi translate into English as “Spirit/divine mushroom”. Its Chinese name Ling Zhi roughly translates to “Spirit plant”. Written in Chinese, the 3 characters mean “shaman” “praying for” and “rain”. The latin name Ganoderma lucidum is significantly more profane—Gan=“shiny”, derm=“skin”, lucidum=“shiny”. I’ll leave it to my most capable reader to deduce Reishi’s appearance.
San Shin, a Korean mountain spirit who universal love, compassion & benevolence.
Its historic associations with longevity, spiritual potency & vigor are evident in cultural artifacts of Ancient Chinese and Japanes culures. In Japan, emperor’s staffs donned a carving of the the sacred mushroom. It was depicted in temples, tapestries, and other works of art of the era. Kuan Yin, goddess of compassion, is often depicted holding it. In some settings, Reishi was regarded as a panacea. But looking at the scope of traditional use, 4 themes can seen: treatment for an assortment of liver ailments, lung conditions (asthma, bronchitis, etc.), hypertension, and nervous conditions (insomnia, nerve pain, the like). And in TCM, it’s regarded to be warming, nourishing, detoxifying, astringent, and dispersive of stuck energy. It was used to nourish the Heart official, which stores shen (or Spirit). It was used for those with deficient qi and blood, which underlies a host of pathologies. (It also held a place in folk magic. Hung above the door, it repelled evil spirits. Women also gifted men the antler forms of Reishi to express sexual interest.)
The antler form of Reishi, which occurs when grown in a high CO2 environment. ©Ron Spinosa
(A note on taxonomy: for the purposes of this post, unless designated otherwise, Reishi means Ganoderma lucidum. For the foragers, G. lucidum is found on hardwoods. If you see a similar polypore on a conifer, chances are good that it’s G. tsugae or G. applanatum, which are now thought to be the same species. While these other species haven’t been studied as extensively, the overlap in terms of energetics, constituents, and therapeutics is growing.)
Clinical studies on Reishi are extensive. It’s the most well-studied medicinal mushroom in Western medicine. PubMed results for Ganoderma: 1080. For the sake on comparison, Trametes versicolor (Turkey Tail) comes in at 511 results, Grifola frondosa (Maitake): 217. Research supports Reishi in improving host immune response, inhibiting the histamine response, supporting cardiovascular health, lung/respiratory support (especially when combined with Cordyceps sinensis), hepatoprotection, chemoprevention, as an adjunct to chemotherapy and radiotherapy, antiviral, and as an antiinflammatory. Read More
Ernst Haeckel
The more I learn, grow, develop new skills, reach out to new groups, try to engage creative social change, I’m consistently reminded that most of our thinking and decision making is driven by unconscious processes. (One of the articulations of this is Buddha’s metaphor of the Elephant and the Rider—where the rational, conscious mind is the rider, and the elephant, the subconscious. A crude metaphor, yes. But the take-away is valuable—where the elephant goes, so does the rider. It’s why marketers, politicians, and anyone else that tries to persuade does so through engaging your deeper emotional being, despite their methods appearing so artless to our neocortex.) And I think this is a source of a lot of resistance to creative change and evoluation in groups, communities, and societies.
I was at mycology seminar this past weekend, and spent a minute or two considering ecological innovation in leading the way for subconscious thought transformation. The developments in mycology today are jaw-dropping—medicinal mushrooms and their ability to support immune system adaptation, mycelium to filter agricultural waste and water-born contaminants, bioremediation of petrochemicals & nuclear waste, mycopesticides. And I’m thrilled to be working so closely with them.
Rosemary sprigs, Tera Warner, 2010.
The rains returned this weekend. We’ve had a clear, crisp, exlated & majestic late summer and autumn–maple leaves waning in chlorophyll, leaving the anthocynanins to dazzle our retinas will their brilliant hues of red, orange, and gold. But the cool rains have tapped us on the shoulder every now and then, as if sending a text that it’ll be here in a few days or so. (Is that too far a stretch? Living in the smartphone era…) It’s as if we were being tempered to the onset of the season of Water, given that we’d all dried out like little lizards over the past 3 months. But the grey, misty curtain is redrawn over the Pacific Northwest, as the Earth begins its rest for another season of growth ahead. Me, I’m a sun creature, but I can pony up. It’s time for the rains.
Wilting Oplopanax leaves near Olympia, WA.
Much like late summer, a palpable feeling of being rushed is afoot. The stark green leaves of the flora of the forest twist into golden, rusted filaments. As the plants pull their energy down to their roots, it’s optimal harvesting time for these medicines. So just when you want to rest, drink mulled cider & read books all day, it’s time to put on your rubber boots, woman up, and brave the rain to craft medicines to stock up your apothecary.
The posts on the medicine of our Cascadian roots will follow. For now, let’s glance in the direction of one of our most abundant, enchanting, and ancient remedies: Rosemary. Also known as Dew of the Sea (Latin: ros (dew) marinus (sea)), Elf leaf, Guardrobe, Polar Plant, Compass Plant. Rosemary’s a particularly good one to know and to have on your side (and kitchen, tea canister, above your doorway, incense blend, etc.). Its origins lie in the Mediterranean, so it’s an evergreen in our climate. I’m unsure exactly how Rosemary migrated to this region, but I’m inclined to think that it was brought over by European colonizers and spread throughout the continent because of the lack of documented use in North American first peoples. It’s likely that Europeans brought it over for its medicinal and preserving qualities, where it’s since become such a popular garden herb and ornamental. But I don’t feel comfortable being definitive on its introduction to North America.
This full-sun-loving plant is easily propagated by cuttings and planted as an ornamental outside of many local restuarants. It flowers twice annually: in the early Spring, as well as the early Fall. Bees just love its elegant, otherwordly flowers that are reminiscent of tiny, ethereal dancing fairies. There’s a legend of how Rosemary got its pale, alluring blue-purple flowers. It’s said that they were originally white until the Virgin Mary and her family was fleeing Egypt and took shelter in a Rosemary bush. As she drug her cloak over the plant, she effectively left her mark by transforming the pure white flowers into a symbol of the deity’s caress. Hence, “the Rose of Mary.”
Courtesy of Herb Companion.
You’d be hard pressed to find someone that hasn’t used rosemary—at least culinarily. Its notable aromatic qualities lend a flavor to soups, roasts, cookies, sorbet, lemonade (I could go on endlessly) that is truly majestic. But its history in medicine goes far back to the distant reaches of our ancient civilizations. It’s one of our oldest plant medicines. Ancient Greek physicians (namely, Dioscorides) established its use, which was soonafter adopted by Arabic physicians for strengthening memory. Notable European herbalist Nicholas Culpeper advocated its use as a digestive aid, claiming its virtues in alleviating “gastrointestinal windiness”. Sebastian Kneipp, 19th century Bavarian priest & one of the world’s first naturopaths, used Rosemary for cardiac edema and congestive heart failure, and thought it to be especially useful as a remedy for elders. He particularly liked prescribing a Rosemary-infused white wine. (Not a bad idea, eh?) On a related note, Juliet de Baircli Levy treasured this plant as one of her cure-alls for cardiac conditions (including CHF). But she also regarded it as a tonic nervine (especially when infused in honey) and a wound remedy.
Rosemary continues to appear in contemporary Western herbalists’ formulas and materia medicas. Its use in practice stems mainly from its warming, drying, dispersive qualities and affinity for the cardiovascular system, brain, and GI tract. With all its notable volatile oils, Rosemary helps disperse stuck, damp, cold, stagnant energy. It’s particularly helpful, I’ve found, with cold, damp, lymphatic stagnation that often accompanies the chronic infections, sluggishness, melancholy, and general malaise that we see here in late Winter. Especially when stinky discharges are concerned. If you know someone who’s got cold, damp hands & feet, brain fog, is depressed, pale, thin, deficient, Rosemary might be a good herb for them. Read More
I had the pleasure of having a conversation with the amazing, inspiring folks at Poppyswap, where I shared some information and background on the Olympia Free Herbal Clinic and the Dandelion Seed Conference: Herbal Medicine for Community and Social healing. Check out the post here. Here are some excerpts to tantalize you.
I think we’re going to be seeing the emergence of a new model of herbal practice and education, for a couple of reasons: An adaptation to changes in the healthcare industry and regulatory agencies, and to engage the larger social system and other social and environmental movements in large-scale change. Herbalists are uniquely positioned to be agents of change and transformation because they stand and work at the nexus of human and Nature, and are oriented to affirming and nurturing life in all its manifestations.
Herbalists innately understand life, complexity, diversity, and resilience. These ideas and topics are now becoming very in-vogue and seen as innovative with social change theorists, social entrepreneurs, activists, etc. But they’re the very foundation of herbal practice, and that’s been with us since the beginnings of mankind. This is our heritage; the torch we carry onto the next generations.
And when asked advice I’d give to new herbalists:
I think the most valuable piece of advice I could give is to encourage people to stay open, curious, and inquiring. It’s so often the case that we get extremely inspired or even overwhelmed by the work of others. It can either light up, expand and energize us, or fold and turn inward, closing us and inciting insecurity, envy, and smallness. Herbalism is a beautifully brilliant, dazzingly complex and dynamic field. People spend their whole lives developing mastery, and always feel like there’s more to learn. My best teachers have been ones that I’ve observed to be open, humble, inquisitive, and ever supportive of other herbalists. It’s being a stepping stone, and someone that empowers others, even if it doesn’t feed your ego. Just be open, be happy to learn, support the success of others, and welcome the hard and necessary lessons. Try not to take things personally. And also, try not to be a jerk. (It’s just a good life strategy in general.)
Ann Armbrecht, Ph.D. (author of Thin Places: A Pilgrimage Home and creator of the film Numen: The Nature of Plants) and I were able to talk last month about my recent work with a Salish ethnobotanical education program, as well as larger issues of traditional medicine and community healing. I had a great time doing this, and got to reflect on these important topics. Check it out here. Her blog is also chock-full of interesting, thoughtful & engaging conversations with some truly dynamic & creative people. Enjoy!
This article originally appeared in the Autumn 2012 issue of Plant Healer Magazine. If you haven’t subscribed to this eclectic, thoughtful, extremely original publication, I highly recommend it. Subscriptions are affordable and support the Anima Lifeways & Herbal School, one which I proudly attend. Enjoy.
I absolutely love writing outside in the Summer. In the Pacific Northwest, clear, open skies can be rare. When it’s sunny and pleasant, we are like solar panels, soaking up every available ray, letting our spirits be infused by the blooming Nootka roses, the ripening salmonberries, and the glaring, spectacular foxglove stalks. In this exalted light and heat of Summer, I have some special things I want to share with you. (And you can bet I’m writing it outside!)
Flowers of lavender, thyme & sage.
In June, I completed my Master’s thesis—a culmination of a 10-month ethnography exploring the role of plant traditions in diabetes prevention and addiction treatment in Salish tribal communities. Additionally, over the last year and a half, I’ve been collaboratively running the Olympia Free Herbal Clinic (OFHC) as a member of a collective of 7 herbalists. We are presently forming a nonprofit called The Dandelion Seed Community Health Project, which will feature the free herbal clinic as one of its programs. This type of endeavor is a complex labor-of-love and juggling act, involving obtaining business licensure, organizing and recruiting a Board of Directors, managing volunteers, organizing a conference, teaching workshops, maintaining apothecary inventory, organizing a host of outreach and fundraising activities, and the list goes on. As a collective, each of us wears many hats. But we all definitely bear the title of Manager of Chaos. So I finished my thesis, graduated, and now have a bit of space to sit back, gaze at the flowers, and reflect. Specifically, I’m reflecting on the last few years of working with plant traditions to inspire social change in collaborative and community settings. It’s my desire to share these musings with you and the herbal community as a whole. I’ve learned so much from those who have walked before me, as well as those who walk with me now on this path of plants and healing.
The world of plants has inspired me since childhood, being an endless source of fascination, enchantment, and wonder. In following this allure and heeding their call, my passions have broadened. Currently, I’ve been intrigued by how plants affect social and ecological identity, and have come to understand that plant traditions are indeed an inextricable aspect of it. The network of symbiotic relationships and connections between humans and other life forms orient us in our habitat and in the cosmos. I’ve also noticed that this connection is an overlooked one in mainstream American social change and innovation practices. And that’s unfortunate, because revitalizing and creating herbal traditions and ethnobotanical practices can spur authentic and systemic social change through a variety of ways, by:
Working with plant traditions (in their revitalization as well as creation) are fascinatingly paradoxical. They are simultaneously old and new, ancient and innovative. These traditions carry knowledge so ancient, vast, and are the foundation of our species biological and cultural evolution. They are also new, innovative, and deeply pertinent to the challenges of a contemporary, global society.
Plants traditions are also simultaneously simplex and complex. They can be as simple as passing down a grandmother’s cold remedy or gathering dandelions in the backyard; And yet can be as complex as articulating cultural contexts of plant practices, assessing constitution, or learning phytochemistry and pharmacology. The relationships between plants and people are so profound, complex, and encompassing. And they’re fundamental in building culture. And if we can help or facilitate the emergence of a culture of health, diversity, and resilience, countless lives can be all the more nurtured. Read More
