China Bayles' Book of Days

by Susan Wittig Albert

  Here is a good project for you and your children. Make a list of the 10 most important indigenous herbs in your region, collect specimens (where the plant is not endangered), and study their various uses. But please don’t experiment with medicinal plants until you’ve done your homework!

  Read more about the herbs used by Native Americans:

  Native American Ethnobotany, by Daniel E. Moerman

  The landscape changes shape when you start noticing which plants grow where, which plants are good for what. Good-for-nothing backlots turn into fruitful havens. Weeds in the garden look as good as the vegetables. Forest underbrush begins to tell a story as intricate as an illuminated manuscript, once one takes the time to read it.

  —SUSAN TYLER HITCHCOCK, GATHER YE WILD THINGS

  SEPTEMBER 28

  Tomorrow is the beginning of the Celtic Month of Ivy, according to some sources. Its power to cling and to bind was thought by many cultures to be magical. Ivy was associated with the moon.

  The custom of decorating houses and churches with Ivy at Christmas was forbidden by one of the early Councils of the Church, on account of its pagan associations, but the custom still remains.

  —MRS. GRIEVE, THE MODERN HERBAL (1931)

  Living Ivy Wreath

  Because ivy was associated with many pagan rituals, it was often considered to be a “dangerous” plant. In England, for instance, holly was brought into the house for the Yule season, but not ivy.

  But for most of us, ivy is perfect for holiday decorations. And if you start now, you can have an elegant living ivy wreath as a centerpiece for your holiday parties. As you work with this familiar plant, remember that through the centuries, ivy (Hedera helix) has been an important herb. European healers described ivy leaves as useful in treating intestinal parasites and lowering fever, as well as healing burns. In ancient Greece, ivy leaves were simmered in wine and drunk to reduce intoxication.

  To make the wreath, you’ll need:

  a wire wreath box frame 16‘ diameter

  sphagnum moss

  10-12 ivy plants in 4‘ containers (there may be several plants in one container)

  potting soil

  slow-release fertilizer pellets

  flexible copper wire

  How to do it:

  Lay the wreath frame flat, open side up. Soak the sphagnum moss until it is moist. Cover the inside of the frame, pressing the moss against the outside. Remove the ivy plants from the containers and settle them into the frame, spacing equally and tilting the plants slightly to cover the root ball of the adjoining plant. Add potting soil where necessary and sprinkle slow-release fertilizer pellets, following package directions. Wrap the copper wire (it will be nearly invisible) around the frame and between the plants to secure them in place. Lay sphagnum moss between the plants. Keep moist and shaded, and water when the bottom of the wreath feels dry. Indoors, place on a tray. (You can use this same technique with many other herbs. Some possibilities: prostrate rosemary, thyme, dwarf nasturtium, mint, hen-and-chicks.)

  Learn how to use many live herbs and plants in wreaths:

  The Living Wreath, by Teddy Colbert

  SEPTEMBER 29

  Today is the feast day of St. Michael the Archangel.

  According to one legend, Angelica was revealed in a dream by an angel to cure the plague. Another explanation of the name of this plant is that it blooms on the day of Michael the Archangel (May 8, old style), and is on that account a preservative against evil spirits and witchcraft: all parts of the plant were believed efficacious against spells and enchantment. It was held in such esteem that it was called “The Root of the Holy Ghost.”

  —MRS. GRIEVE, THE MODERN HERBAL, 1931

  Angelica

  Angelica (Angelica archangelica) was held in high reverence in medieval Europe, when healing plants were viewed as very nearly sacred. The religious names of many plants indicate their importance and value—Saint-John’s-wort (Hypericum sp.), St. George’s herb or valerian (Valeriana officinalis), and Our Lady’s thistle or blessed thistle (Cnicus benedictus)—but angelica was valued even more than these, perhaps because of its reputation for dispelling the plague. Described by an herbalist of the 1570s as “that happy counterbane against contagions, sent down from heav’n,” angelica came to be regarded with great reverence and even greater superstition.

  Angelica can grow to six feet in height, with large, tropical-looking leaves and hollow stems 2-3 inches in diameter. In addition to its medicinal uses (as a remedy for colds, pleurisy, rheumatism, urinary tract infections, and typhoid fever), it has been widely used in perfumes, candies, and sweets. In the 1600s, the juice was distilled and used as a flavoring, the root and stalks were candied, and the thin-sliced stalks were used to decorate pastries. The oil is still used as a flavoring for liqueurs.

  If you live where the summers are relatively cool and moist, the plant would be an unusual and impressive back-of-the-border herb. And perhaps you would like to use the stems in Martha Washington’s recipe.

  TO CANDY ANGELICO STALKS

  About A weeke in aprill, take of ye stalks of Angelico, & boyle them in faire water till they be tender, then pill ye thin scin of them [pull the thin skin off them] & squees them betwixt 2 plates till all ye water be out, then brayd [abrade] them If you like it, & boyle them to A candy in sugar as other roots be done. Then dry them in a stove.

  —MARTHA WASHINGTON’S COOKBOOK

  Read more about “old-fashioned” herbs:

  Gardening with Herbs for Flavor and Fragrance, by Helen Morgenthau Fox, 1933

  Never eat a blackberry after Michaelmas Day, for the devil spits on them all.

  —ENGLISH LORE

  SEPTEMBER 30

  Sukkot, the Jewish Feast of Tabernacles, may be celebrated about this time. The “tabernacles” are the tiny makeshift huts in which the Israelites stayed as they journeyed through the wilderness. They may also represent the temporary huts in which ancient farmers stayed while they harvested their crops.

  The Four Herbs of Sukkot

  On the first day you are to take choice fruit from the trees, and palm fronds, leafy branches and poplars . . . Leviticus 23:40, New International Version

  In Jewish practice, the choice fruit from the trees is interpreted as the etrog or Citrus medica—familiar to us as the citron, a lemonlike fruit native to the Holy Land. The palm fronds, called lulavim in Hebrew, are supposed to be at least two feet long; palms are a symbol of victory. “Leafy branches” are represented by a branch of the myrtle tree—a symbol of divine generosity—with leaves in clusters of three. Jewish tradition interprets “poplars” as willows. In the Temple, the etrog is carried in the left hand and the palm, myrtle, and willow (bundled together) are held in the right, as the congregation sings psalms and hymns of praise.

  The Sukkot’s festival menu would include stuffed dishes made with chopped fillings, such as these traditional stuffed mushrooms, filled with herbs:

  HERB-STUFFED MUSHROOMS

  12 large mushrooms

  2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese

  1 garlic clove, minced

  ¼ cup finely chopped green onion tops

  1 tablespoon roasted sunflower seeds, chopped

  ¾ cup dry bread crumbs

  1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley

  1 teaspoon minced fresh oregano

  2 tablespoons butter, melted

  4 tablespoons olive oil

  Preheat the oven to 350°. Clean mushrooms and remove stems (save for another use). Mix remaining ingredients, except for olive oil. Stuff the mushroom caps, pressing the filling firmly with a spoon. Place mushrooms in a casserole dish greased with 2 tablespoons olive oil. Pour the remaining oil over the mushrooms. Bake 20 minutes. Serve warm.

  The citron was the first cultivated citrus fruit, with records dating back to 4000 BCE. It was a common fruit in the Mediterranean region, and today is cultivated primarily in Sicily, Corsica, and Crete, Greece, and Israel. The peel is candied and used
in a variety of desserts.

  You might also want to read:

  In Search of Plenty: A History of Jewish Food, by Oded Schwartz

  October November December

  OCTOBER 1

  In China and Japan, today begins the Month of the Chrysanthemum.

  I closed up both shops at the usual hour, then drove over to the theater to add a few last-minute plants to the landscaping: more rosemary, some lemongrass, and several santolina, and another dozen of chrysanthemums. In my opinion, it is theoretically possible to have too many chrysanthemums, but I have personally never reached that point. When they’re in bloom, they’re bronze and red and gold and pretty; when they’re not, they’re green and pretty. Such a deal.

  —DEAD MAN’S BONES: A CHINA BAYLES MYSTERY

  Chrysanthemum: The Royal Flower

  As a flowering herb, chrysanthemums were cultivated in China around 1500 BCE. A decoction of the roots was used to soothe headaches, the young leaves and petals were eaten in salads, and a tea was made from the leaves. In Japan, the Imperial court held its first chrysanthemum show in 910 CE, when the plant was declared the national flower and adopted by the ruling family as its symbol. National Chrysanthemum Day is still celebrated there. For many, the flower typifies the East in the same way that the rose typifies the West.

  The flower was brought to Europe in the seventeenth century. It was named by Karl Linnaeus from the Greek prefix chrys-, which means “golden” (the color of the original flowers), and -anthemon, “flower.” When it began to appear in England in the late 1700s, it became popular as a bedding plant. It never caught on as a medicinal herb, however. In Europe, the chrysanthemum is mostly used as a funeral flower and connotes sadness and grief; in contemporary America, it is a celebratory flower, summoning up thoughts of football games and homecoming dances.

  The colorful petals of garden chrysanthemums add a festive touch to salads and vegetable dishes. (Never use florist varieties, which may have been sprayed.) According to Susan Belsinger (Flowers in the Kitchen) some varieties may be bitter. In China, the greens are stir-fried with garlic, ginger, and dried chile peppers and served over noodles.

  Learn more about chrysanthemums:

  Chrysanthemums: The Complete Guide, by Baden Locke

  If the new moon appear with the points of her crescent turned up, the month will be dry: if the points are turned down it will be wet.

  —ENGLISH WEATHER LORE

  OCTOBER 2

  There is an old tradition that the Elder tree must on no account be burnt or even cut down without the permission of Hylde-Moer, the Elder tree mother.

  —MRS. C. F. LEYEL, HERBAL DELIGHTS, 1937

  Elderberry-Sumac Rob: Susan’s Journal

  When I was a girl growing up on the farm in Illinois, I remember early October as a time of crisp, cool days: the skies clear and blue, the sumac berries turning scarlet, and the elderberry bushes heavy with ebony berries—a time for jellies and jams, certainly. But I was reading Bertha Reppert’s Twelve Month Herbal the other day, and found that in early October, Bertha’s thoughts are turning to elderberry-sumac rob. “They claim there’s a witch residing in every elder tree,” she says, “and rob is surely a witch’s brew, turned into pure ambrosia.”

  Rob? It’s not a noun I know, but a quick search through the Oxford English Dictionary yields this definition: “the juice of a fruit, reduced by boiling to the consistency of a syrup and preserved with sugar; a conserve of fruit.” The word, we’re told, is Arabic: robb or rubb, meaning fruit syrup.

  Ah, yes, fruit syrup. That, I understand. And Bertha’s instructions for her rob are understandable, as well. She harvests sumac berries (she doesn’t say which variety, but here in Texas we have Rhus trilobata, better known as the lemonade-bush, the fruits of which produce a lovely, tart juice). She cooks them with water, strains them, and uses the sumac juice to cook her elderberry harvest. She tosses in cloves, nutmeg, and a cinnamon stick, and boils it all together for half an hour. Then she adds a cup of sugar for each quart, stirs until it dissolves, strains it again, and bottles it. “Served with great ceremony in tiny glasses, it is the most elegant of drinks,” she says.

  It would be an elegant jelly, too, with the addition of pectin and more sugar. And healthy, I must add, for the elder’s flowers and fruit are respected as remedies for colds and flu, and sumac has a reputation as an aid to digestion. It’s nice when something delicious and elegant is also good for you. And doubly nice when reading about it brings back those crisp October days of bright sumac and dark, rich elderberries.

  Read about Bertha’s adventures with elder:

  Mrs. Reppert’s Twelve-Month Herbal, by Bertha Reppert

  There is no better reason for preferring this elderberry bush than that it stirs an early memory, that it is no novelty in my life, speaking to me merely through my present sensibilities to form and colour, but the long companion of my existence that wove itself into my joys when joys were vivid.

  —GEORGE ELIOT, THE MILL ON THE FLOSS

  OCTOBER 3

  There is apparently no truth to old tales that the fiery horseradish (Cochlearia armoracia) is so named because it was once used to cure horses of colds, or because it made a good seasoning for horse meat. Horse is used as an adjective before a number of plants to indicate a large, strong or coarse kind. Other examples include the “horse cucumber,” “horse mint” and “horse plum.”

  —ROBERT HENDRICKSON, LADYBUGS, TIGER LILIES

  & WALLFLOWERS

  Horseradish: Rooting for Flavor

  If you have horseradish in your garden, it’s time to think about harvesting your crop. Dig the roots carefully, cut off the foliage about an inch above the crown, and store them in a cool, dark place. Process by grating or grinding, mixing with vinegar (¼ cup vinegar to 1 cup ground horseradish), and packing into small jars. Ground horseradish will keep in the refrigerator for 4-6 weeks, or may be frozen.

  HORSERADISH IN THE MEDICINE CABINET

  Like mustard, horseradish has long been recognized for its medicinal properties: stimulant, laxative, diuretic, and antiseptic. The juice was used to relieve coughs and colds; a syrup treated sore throats; and the root itself staved off scurvy. (Horseradish is a source of vitamin C.) It was also used as a vermifuge. William Coles [1656] observes: “Of all things given to children for worms, horseradish is not the least, for it soon killeth and expelleth them.” (The worms, not the children.) The leaves were used as a rubifacient for sciatica and as a compress to relieve toothache.

  HORSERADISH ON THE MENU

  Horseradish is hailed as a spicy sauce for meats or fish. But the zippy flavor makes it a natural for other dishes, as well. Try adding a spoonful of grated horseradish to coleslaw, beans, chicken salad, deviled eggs, meatballs—the possibilities are endless. Of course, it works as a dip, too—a healthy, versatile, all-round good-for-you herb.

  ZIPPY HORSERADISH DIP

  1 pint nonfat sour cream

  16 ounces cream cheese, softened

  6 tablespoons grated horseradish

  2 teaspoons finely chopped green onion

  1 teaspoon red pepper flakes

  parsley, for garnish

  Combine all ingredients in mixer bowl, with mixer on slow speed. Refrigerate 1 hour. Garnish with parsley and serve with vegetables for dipping.

  If the oak wears his leaves in October, you may expect a hard winter.

  —GERMAN WEATHER LORE

  OCTOBER 4

  October’s Theme Garden: A Garden of Old Roses.

  Oh, no man knows

  Through what wild centuries

  Roves back the rose.

  —WALTER DE LA MARE, “ALL THAT’S PAST”

  Old Rose Charm

  Remember your grandmother’s roses? Large, loose, floppy blossoms, delightfully fragrant—and very different from today’s neat, compact, scentless roses. A garden organized around a collection of antique roses will not only be beautiful, but will take you back in time, as well: �
�through what wild centuries,” as de la Mare says. Here are five old roses, representative of the five classes of important European roses: Alba, Centifolia, Damask, Gallica, and Moss. Each is cold-hardy, with a spectacular spring bloom, and each one has a past. If roses interest you, perhaps it would be fun (and enlightening) to dig up the stories behind each one.

  • Félicité Parmentier, 1834 (Alba). Sweetly scented, delicate pink blossoms, gray-green foliage, and a small bush (4-5’) that is ideal for a smaller garden.

  • Autumn Damask, before 1819 (Damask). A repeat bloomer with richly fragrant, ruffled, deep pink flowers. Prized for its superb scent, wonderful in potpourri. Damask roses were brought to Europe from the Middle East during the Crusades; they are named for the Syrian city of Damascus.

  • Henri Martin, 1863 (Moss). Crimson buds, fragrant crimson flowers, a prolific spring bloomer. Heat tolerant in my Texas garden. The mosses take their name from the prickly fuzz of the bud.

  • Shailer’s Provence, before 1799 (Centifolia). Hundreds of lovely lilac-pink petals, in clusters of three, delightfully scented—the old-fashioned cabbage rose (4-5’).