Sometimes it Happens

Sometimes it happens like this.

You have something else in mind for the afternoon, like gathering stinging nettle, and you're biking along the path when a carpet of purple catches your eye. The violets are blooming! You slow down just enough to get a sense of size and readiness and suddenly you are enveloped in sweet, heady perfume. Yes, without a doubt it's violet season. Your heart sings and your brain effortlessly switches gears to process this new information.

Ok, the nettles will stand being picked first and do just fine waiting in the bike basket. The delicate violet flowers definitely need to be picked last and returned home as quickly as possible. This decision gets made in a split second. The bike carries you on, you haven't stopped. You gather the nettles and are mildly relieved to see they haven't grown as much as you thought since your last visit, due to lack of rain. There is still a long season to harvest ahead of you yet. At the same time, you worry a little and hope the forecast for rain the next day comes to pass.

Then it's back to the violet patch. You fold your body down onto the ground in the middle of them all, inhale the scent deeply and happily settle to your task of gently plucking the cheerful, little flowers. You become aware of the sound of the wind in the trees, various birds calling, squirrels chirruping. You vaguely register other people passing by. You feel the space where your thighs rest on the cool, damp earth. You watch a bee stop to gather nectar. You slip into a state of utter relaxation and peace. You think, "I am so content right now."

And sometimes it happens like this.

You take the way home through the woods and see a carpet of trout lilies. And there through the trees a patch of ramps, and another over there. And there, the trilliums are up but not yet blooming, and are those...? Yes, in amongst the trout lilies the spring beauties are in full bloom. You don't harvest a single thing. Instead you take it all in and admire the diversity of this fragile, forest eco-system in the middle of the city. The sun comes out from behind a cloud washing everything in a late afternoon glow and you think, "I am so grateful that this place is here and that I am a witness to it."

And sometimes it happens like this.

You take an early morning walk along the edge of a lake. The first thing you notice is that you can't hear the sound of single vehicle. Something inside of you relaxes a little. You feel the warmth of the sun on your back as you make your way along the narrow path. You watch the wind send ripples across the water, a bird circles overhead riding an updraft. You come to a stand of alders growing right up near the water's edge. Drawn to them you approach carefully, picking your way over the sodden ground. You notice both the male and female flowers, the catkins having already released their pollen. You see the beginning leaf buds and pluck one. Tasting the bud you think, 'Bitter. Cooling. Maybe stimulating too.' You have been wanting to work with the medicine of this tree for a while now and wonder if this is the right time. You reach out and place a hand on a slender trunk, close your eyes and ask a silent question. The answer is 'no'. Respectfully you move along the the next tree. This time the answer is 'yes'. You gratefully take out your trusty leatherman tool and start making clean cuts of the smaller side growth, snipping the twigs right at the growing node. You move through the stand asking, leaving some, gathering from others. The sun climbs. This being the first time getting to know the tree, you only take a small amount. Just enough to make a half-pint each of tincture and oil. You take comfort in the fact that this is just the beginning of a relationship that will hopefully last for many, long years. You retrace your steps along the edge of the lake deeply relaxed, at peace and filled with gratitude.

And sometimes it happens like this.

The world outside is dark. The light shines out of your window into the night. Inside is warm and cosy. Dinner dishes dry next to the sink. Music plays. You choose two jars, clear a space on the counter and spread out the alder twigs onto the cutting board. Using a pair of scissors you meditatively cut up the twigs into small pieces that fill the jars. Into one jar you pour in olive oil, into the other 90% alcohol. As you are doing all this, sometimes singing along to the music, you realise that a growing feeling of joy is filling you up until you're practically bursting with it. You let the feeling wash over you as the reddish brown twigs pass from your hands into the jars, trying not to think too hard about what makes this moment different from all the other moments of you standing in the same spot with plants in your hands. You understand that this is not a moment for thinking, but for quietly observing and experiencing, simply being. For one fleeting instant you move beyond thought and knowing, language leaves, time stops.

Your new favourite song comes on, you put lids on the jars, label them and think, "There is sunshine and lake water and joy in this medicine." You fill up the kettle for tea.

This is how it happens, sometimes.

Easter Lilies

One of the bonuses to visiting family is the opportunity to forage in different environments. I visited this patch of daylilies on my dad's property last weekend and harvested some bulbs and shoots.
Later in the day, my dad took me to his ramps patch. They are growing on a sold lot in a new housing development area and are probably going to get destroyed when construction begins.
My dad has been digging them up and transplanting them into his bush as well as collecting seeds. And of course we gathered some to eat too.
The patch was full of trout lilies, so I harvested a handful while there.
And stopped to admire the blue cohosh in bloom.

The flowers, though small. Are stunning. My dad is going to try and transplant some of these as well.

In the kitchen I set to cleaning and preparing the day's harvest.









And lightly sauteed everything in olive oil, seasoned with just a touch of salt and pepper. My dad, step-mom and I enjoyed a tasty dish of wild, lily family plants!

In the Garden

Here are some of the herbs and wild plants coming up in my garden.

Yellow dock (Rumex crispus)

Mullein and catnip (Verbascum thapsus, Nepeta cataria)

Lady's Mantle (Alchemilla vulgaris)

I love how raindrops sit on the leaves, sparkling like jewels.

Wintercress (Barbarea vulgaris)

Look at this cutey! I think it is a wood frog.


The nettles are up too. (Urtica dioica) Yum!

Bloody dock (Rumex sanguineus) This is a new edition to the garden, just added last summer.

So much was up that I was able to gather my first wild greens harvest of the year with the dock, nettle, wintercress, dandelion and daylily shoots. Hurray for fresh, free, local greens! I declare the 2012 foraging season officially open. :)

Spruce Pitch Oil

It might be premature to post about this project, since it's my first time trying it and I'm only part way through and don't have any final results to report on yet. However I'm really excited and have a good feeling that it's going to turn out awesome. So but just caveat lector, k?

And, I couldn't resist sharing these pics with you. I warn you though, the first one is admittedly funky looking. It reminds me of old, dirty grease that some sweaty line cook named Bubba just scraped out of the deep fryer, dontcha think?

Ah, but don't be fooled. Because if you could close your eyes and stick your nose into the jar and take in a deep, robust lungful, you would immediately be transported into a vast evergreen forest, surrounded by aromas of spicy, citrus-y coniferousness (yes I just made that word up). This bit of matter is the gooey, oozy, sticky secretions of the Picea genus. It's spruce pitch! And I'm so excited to be working with it.

Spruce pitch or resin is the sticky fluid that you can often see dripping down the bark of many conifers like pines and spruces. (I used spruce pitch for this, but hope to work with pine as well.) Look for it especially around branches that have been cut off or broken and other areas of damage, because this is the tree's mechanism for sealing up and healing open wounds. Now having said that, it is really important to keep this in mind when harvesting the resin. If you take too much or expose the wound the tree is trying to protect, you slow the healing process and increase the tree's risk for infection and disease. We don't want to do that!

What I have learned from experienced herbalists is that it is ok to harvest the overflow resin. So if the tree produces excess resin, you can take some of this as long as you make sure you aren't removing it directly from the open wound.

When I harvested my resin I actually spread and pressed some extra resin back into the wound, hoping that I might be helpful to the tree. I don't know if that is a valid assumption or not, but at least I don't think I did any harm. Perhaps someone who knows better can correct me.

Anyway, expect that your fingers, and anything they come in contact with, will get very, very stick in this process. Try doing this while walking your boss's dog, with leash and poo bags in one hand and resin jar in the other. It's fun! But don't worry, a little bit of vegetable oil on your hands with some soap and water, cleans them up good.

My plan is to infuse the resin in oil so I can make a salve from it (a combo of almond and olive oil in this case). I filled the jar with two parts oil to one part resin.
To extract the medicinal constituents like resin acids and terpenes like alpha and beta-pinene and limonene, moderate heat seems to work well. A bain marie on the stove would work fine no doubt, but it being the first day of spring yesterday, I brought the sun oven out for the first time this season and used that.
So here's how the infusion looked after a few hours in the sun oven. The oil is no longer clear. It has turned a deep orange/amber colour. Some bits of bark and needles have floated to the top and quite a bit of sediment has settled on the bottom. The oil smells divine already. I'm infusing it again today and will see how it looks later. The next step will be to strain the oil so it's ready to be used as is or turned into salve. I can't wait!
So what can you use it for? Well since this is my first attempt, I can't speak from experience, but there is a long history and even longer list of ailments that spruce resin has been known to treat including insect bites, removing splinters, skin infections, cold sores, eczema, sprains and strains, as a chest rub for respiratory infections...

Like I said, the list is long and I don't have experience using it to treat anything yet, but I'm looking forward to getting to know and working with this plant medicine.

I found this fascinating article on how the Gwich'in people traditionally used spruce resin and other parts of the spruce tree for food, tools and medicine.

Revealing the Hidden Harvest

These people are my friends. I heart them. They radiate awesomeness. And so does their new project.

"Ensuring Ottawa's fruit and nuts are valued, picked, and shared.

Hidden Harvest Ottawa is a social enterprise launching this spring, supporting Ottawa's urban orchard through planting trees and organizing harvest events.

We will be seeking lead volunteers to organize community harvest events (training provided), as well has volunteer harvesters and tree owners who would like the bounty from their edible trees to be put to good use.

Sign up to be the first to hear when we are accepting applications for volunteers and harvest locations.

Together we will make good use of healthy, local food. We will be addressing climate change with our forks, and building community by sharing our urban abundance!"


If you live in Ottawa, you should check it out!

A Winter Weed Walk

From the moment my love affair with plants began, a favourite past time of mine has been IDing plants in the winter. Well, I should clarify that. I'm not keying out and IDing plants that are new and unknown to me, rather I am recognising familiar and beloved plants in their winter dress.

With a growing passion for plant medicine and wild foods, I really value getting to know the plants in every stage of their growth, in all the seasons. For example, knowing the difference between the first and second year growth of a biennial plant and what the season is, determines whether or not the plant can be harvested. Recognising seedlings in the spring with their adorable cotyledon leaves and tiny first set of true leaves is exciting and full of anticipation. The lushness and riot of colour of plants in the summer engages all of the senses until you're drunk on the sights and scents around you.

But plants in the winter have a special magic and mystique too. They often show parts of themselves that are difficult to see at any other time. They add a wonderful architecture to the winter landscape, and sometimes even a splash of colour. I find the yellow of delicate willow branches so cheerful on grey days and the dark red of red osier dogwood against a backdrop of snow makes for a nice contrast.

Winter plants also serve an essential function in the eco-system providing food and shelter for birds and animals, like the galls on goldenrods that house two species of cold-hardy insect larvae. I can't help but have respect for all the stalks and stems that remain stoic in the face of buffeting winds, freezing temperatures and icy conditions.

When IDing plants in the winter, I find it helpful to already have an idea of where certain plants are growing. I found this boneset (Eupatorium perfoliatum) plant while out for a walk at my dad's place, because I've observed boneset growing along that stretch of road for a few years.

Knowing the unique features of a particular plant can help with ID as well. Boneset has perfoliate leaves, which means that the leaf is united around the stem and appears to be pierced by the stem. It's a bit difficult to tell in the photo (clicking to enlarge the photo might help), but I could clearly see the perfoliate leaf, and so I knew that I found boneset.
I don't usually like to stand around for too long, especially when the temperatures are really cold, so I'll often bring a specimen home where it's warm, where I can take a closer look, with a mug of hot tea. I could clearly see the sepals on this boneset, now that the flowers had all died back.
The umbels of Queen Anne's Lace (Daucus carota), and its distinctive bird's nest shape, make this an easy plant to spot in winter.
The seeds are covered in hooked, bristly hairs.



The flat-topped corymb of this yarrow (Achillea millefolium) plant looks completely different in the winter, than when it is in flower, and I might not have recognised it were it not for the few remaining, feathery leaves on the stalk.
Burdock is one of those plants that you can identify from a vehicle going 100kms an hour, it's so obvious in the landscape.
A closeup of the burrs reveals the hooks which inspired the invention of Velcro, and is the bane of dog owners everywhere.
Finding rose hips in the winter landscape is a special treat. Pick the best looking, plumpest ones and bring them home to make a wonderfully tart tea. Be sure to leave some for wildlife though. They need all the help they can get at this lean time of year.
I have yet to figure out what this fruiting shrub is, but the horizontal marks on the bark make me think it might be in the Prunus genus.
My winter walks have taken on a whole new dimension of wonder and exploration. It's no longer a time of stark, barrenness that leaves me longing for spring. Each outing offers something new to observe, and to me, the plants are just as beautiful in their winter dress as they are in their summer finery.

Wordless Wednesday

A Lifetime of Quiet Adventure

Well it's official. I completed my permaculture design course! It was such a rich, full course with fantastic instructors and a great group of fellow participants. My brain has a lot to digest over the coming months and years. I recently heard permaculturist and author of Edible Forest Gardens Dave Jacke say in relation to the practice of permaculture that, "we have a lifetime of quiet adventure ahead of us." How lovely is that? A lifetime of quiet adventure. Yes! Bring it on.

Now that the course is finished I finally have time to do all my fall gardening, foraging and harvesting. Everything's getting done in much smaller chunks now that the days are rapidly shortening, but I like the pace. It means I'm home with plenty of time to make dinner and can also spend some time catching up on chores inside the house. Things tend to descend into a state of organised chaos during the summer months when most of my free time is spent outside, but come fall I like to fluff up the nest and give it a thorough cleaning in preparation for hibernating.

I'm planting garlic right now and I'm so grateful for the mild weather we're having. We'd like to double our garlic harvest next year, so the 140 bulbs or so are going in 20 or 30 bulbs at a time in various patches throughout our four plots. In true permaculture fashion I'm stacking functions by harvesting dandelion roots at the same time.

Yes folks, it's dandelion season! I harvest roots in the early spring too, but I find the fall roots have a richer flavour. It's a good time to harvest leaves as well, as the frosts will have taken some of the bitterness out and sweetened them up a bit. For me though, I'm all about the roots. I love roasted dandelion root coffee, and this year I want to harvest enough to last me all winter.

My method is pretty simple. If I see a dandelion growing in my garden beds, I welcome it with open arms and give it room to grow. I'll harvest flowers and leaves and if it starts taking up a bit too much space, I might cut it back once or twice. I make sure to let some flowers go to seed, ensuring a continual crop. Some dandelions I leave for a season to get nice and big. But when it's time to work and plant a bed (like I'm doing now with garlic) I harvest any dandelion roots in the bed by gently loosening the soil around the roots with a garden fork and pulling them out of the ground.

Yes, washing, chopping, drying and roasting is lengthy and labour intensive, but I find it enjoyable work and I know the rewards will be great. Amazing even. It's that good. Here's a nice description of the process.
And some more sources on the awesomeness of dandelion:
Steve Brill on Dandelion

Dandelion: Unsung Heros of the Plant World

Mother Earth News

Speaking of quiet adventure, I borrowed a friend's van and the ADG and I went out last night and liberated about 40 bags of "yard waste" from the neighbourhood and brought them to our plots where we'll use them to mulch beds and create leaf mold. Hopefully, one day I won't need fossil fuels for the job, because the food forest that is in my future will generate its own!

I hope you all are having many wonderful, quiet adventures!

Wordless Wednesday: Winter is Coming