Dead Man's Lagoon

Have you ever fallen in love with a place at first sight? It happened to me last week. After we'd gone back to Italy, my son and I went back to Eraclea Mare for a week at the sea. We'd been there last year and loved it (see here), but what we didn't realise was that we'd missed the best bit.


Eraclea Mare is situated not far from Venice, along the north west Adriatic coast. You probably know that Venice itself is built on a lagoon, but in fact lagoon areas extend much further up the coast. There is one, for instance at Caorle, where we used to spend our holidays until we discoved Eraclea, made famous by Hemingway who used to go duck shooting there.



Eraclea's lagoon is different. It's smaller - only two square kilometers, is (thankfully) a nature reserve, and until 1935 didn't exist at all.

La Laguna del Mort (Dead Man's Lagoon) was formed when the River Piave, which used to run parallel to the sea for a couple of kilometers, overflowed its right bank, flooded the strip of land between the river and the sea, and changed course overnight, reaching the sea a couple of kilometers further up. The land between the old mouth of the river (pic above) and the new (below) became a lagoon.

Why didn't we explore it last year? Firstly because we had the rest of the area to get to know, and secondly because I was aching too much after a morning on horseback to contemplate the bike riding or walking necessary to get there. This year all the work in the garden in London must have made me fitter - I managed to do both.

From the village you can either cycle through the fields to the far end of the lagoon, or walk along the paths which lead through the sand dunes and pinewoods which border the wetland area. We did both, several times, and in later posts I'll blog about the plants and the wildlife we saw there. But for now, just enjoy the landscape.

Why the name? Not sure. If the net is to be believed there was once a corpse in the lagoon which every so often would rise to the surface to frighten passersby. Hmm - none of the local people seemed to have heard of that one. They appeared to think the "death" referred to the death of the river (though I've translated the name as Dead Man's Lagoon, a more literal translation would be The Lagoon of the Dead One, so it's not impossible). That seems strange though, as the river didn't actually disappear. I'm keeping an open mind.

We were there at the end of the season, and on a cloudy day. We had the place almost to ourselves. The beach however is well-known for being a naturist beach and (again if the net is to be believed) a rather steamy one at that. Oh well, the beach is separated from the lagoon itself by sand dunes and I guess it's big enough for both naturists and naturalists. I for one shall be going back.

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The only herb you'll ever need ...

About ten years ago, browsing around a German supermarket, I came across a packet of herbs with the name Bohnenkraut. Well, that translates as "bean herb" and as I cook with beans a lot, I thought I'd give it a go.

It was wonderful. Following the suggestions on the packet, I added it to anything which contained tomatoes, beans, lentils ... and soon I was hooked. But what was it exactly?

It tasted a bit, but not quite, like oregano - though I preferred it by far. Could it be a blend of various herbs? A bit like the French Herbes de Provence? I decided it must be.

I couldn't find anything like it anywhere else. I tried in Britain, in Italy - but nowhere had a German blend of herbs with anything like the name bean herb.

And so, for about ten years I just stocked up every time I went there, bringing home enough packets to last me till I went again or someone visited and could bring them out. And added it to just about everything. Roast chicken, beef stew ... I don't think two days go by when we don't have Bohnenkraut in something. I confess - I'm an addict. The recipes say oregano? basil? sage? Forget it - stick in some Bohnenkraut.

And then, while I was there this Christmas, I went to the local garden centre to buy some seeds and found .... Bohnenkraut. So it wasn't a blend after all. But then what the heck was it?

I'll cut a long and Google-dominated story short. It's savory.

Now that's a herb I'd heard of, but if you'd asked me if I'd ever tried it, I'd have said no.

Try looking for recipes with savory on the web. You will find them, but they're few and far between. Why is it so ignored? If the web is to be believed it's used a lot in Canada,and also in Bulgaria and Romania, but here in Southern Europe is largely unknown - odd because apparently it grows here. I did find the Italian name, Santoreggia, and then remembered having seen it in a little greengrocer's which specialises in heirloom fruit and veg, but apart from that I've never heard of it being used.

Needless to say, when I came home after my trip to the garden centre, there was a packet of savory seeds tucked firmly into my bag. I've bought summer savory (Satureja hortensis),an annual which is apparently milder in flavour than the perennial winter savory (Satureja montana). I've no idea which one my dried herbs are - I'll find out when it's big enough to harvest.

If you can find it, I recommend strongly that you try it. If you grow from seed, it will germinate at 18-20°C (65-70F), so start it off indoors or in the greenhouse any time from now on. And then it likes the sun.

Apart from the fact that it tastes wonderful, it also acts against the anti-social effects that can often come from eating food like beans - all these years of wondering why the beans I cooked didn't cause the problems they were supposed to ...

And (or but, depending on how you look at it), according to the ancient Romans, it's an aphrodisiac. Now, I've been feeding it to my husband for the last ten years and I have to say.... But no, perhaps not. I'll leave you to try it. You can find out for yourselves.

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The balcony kitchen garden - sweetcorn included

For me, balcony gardening has always meant flower gardening. And even though each year I have a vision of a non-stop supply of fresh vegetables issuing cornucopiacally from the containers, so far it’s never happened. The nearest I’ve ever got was a feeble attempt at tomatoes, but as I didn’t pinch them out or pollinate by hand they went straggly on me, gave no fruit and in the end succumbed to red spider mite. I did once produce a half grown melon, but I’d planted too late and winter arrived before it was fully grown or ripened.

This year though is going to be different. Back in February I stocked up on seeds, and started buying herbs, and the balcony kitchen garden is now well under way. As I can get herbs from the supermarket at €1 a pot, and needed them immediately to cook with, I stocked up with rosemary, mint, oregano and thyme – all of which have taken well and doubled in size since I got them, despite constant clipping. I also sowed two different types of basil back at the end of last month, but so far have seen nothing. Although we can usually expect temperatures of around 20°C (68°F) in April, the last three weeks have been filthy – cold grey and rainy. The temperature has been averaging around 6° -12°C (43°-54°F), and sometimes lower, so it’s been too cold. There’s no sign of a change at the moment, but presumably it can’t go on for ever ...

But many of the seeds have started to sprout and things like the courgettes and dwarf beans will be transferred to permanent containers this weekend. I hadn’t got round to buying the new containers and potting compost when I wanted to get the seeds in, so I started them off in seed pots. They’ve just sprouted and I’m presuming they’ll transfer. The lettuce is coming on well too. It’s a type with long thin leaves - I shall let it grow as a mass then start thinning out when they become big enough to eat.

And as you can see from the photo, the sweet corn is also coming through. Sweet corn. Yes – maize. You know, that 8 foot high stuff. On the balcony. And I was complaining about lack of space?

I hasten to say that it was not my idea. When my son saw that I’d pulled out a load of vegetable seed packets, he showed just a tiny flicker of enthusiasm for the idea of gardening. Keen to fan the flame, I suggested that he might like to grow something himself. And then added the fatal words : Choose anything you like.

Two seconds later he was rifling through the hamster’s food box and pulling out four kernels of sweet corn. So there we are, sweet corn on the balcony. Oh, and he threw in a few sunflower seeds for good measure.

I'm late with my tomatoes, but I shall be trying again. I’d intended to get some seeds started in the house as far back as January, but never got round to it. The garden centre have promised they’ll have tomato plants in by this weekend, so I shall nip round and buy some. Perhaps I should go for the dwarf varieties. I suspect I’ve already got more than my fair share of large stuff ....

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My 2007 Calendar - December

We've finally arrived at December, and at the last page of my 2007 calendar. This month's plant is hedera helix - English ivy.

I hadn't heard of it as a medicinal plant before, but checking on the web found that it's a common remedy in Germany for dry coughs. As this is a German calendar, it's not surprising that that was one of the uses mentioned. However, the use that interested me most was as a remedy for cellulite. In case like me you belong to the orange peel thighs group, here's the recipe:

Take a handful of ivy leaves (carefully - the sap can irritate the skin), 10g of rosemary leaves, 10 grams of fennel seeds, half a ginger tuber, 15g of juniper berrries, and the finely chopped peel of one lemon. Put everything into a glass container together with half a litre of cold-pressed olive oil or sunflower oil. leave it in a warm place and shake daily for 3 weeks. Then drain and store in a dark bottle. The massage oil will be ready in 3-6 months and should be rubbed in vigourously daily. Well, that's what the calendar says ...

Hedera helix is of course only one species of ivy, and every species has loads of varieties. Click here to see some of them. Ivy generally prefers slightly alkaline soils - if you're trying to grow it in an acid soil area, add lime. most types are hardy, but some canariensis varieties will succumb to frost. Dark leaved types are fine for growing up exposed northern facing walls, while yellow and silver leaved varieties prefer full sun.

There are various myths associated with ivy. In Greek and roman mythology it is associated with the god Dionysus/Bacchus - the god of wine. When Dionysus was born his stepmother Hera tried to kill him. So his nurses, the Nymphai Nysiades, covered his cradle with ivy-leaves to keep him hidden and safe. Later, when once he had been kidnapped and was being taken to Egypt to be sold as a slave, Dionysus made ivy grow around the oars and sails of the boat he was on, clogging them and preventing the boat from making progress.

Dionysus is often portrayed wearing a wreath of ivy and the association of the plant with the god of wine led to the plant being seen as a cure for intoxication. Greek and Roman drinkers would wear ivy wreaths to protect them from the effects of alcohol - you could give it a try at Christmas I suppose.

The trouble with ivy of course is that its aerial roots can damage brickwork when growing up walls and houses, and can gradually smother trees. In this context, my favourite ivy poem is Hardy's The Ivy Wife. But who knows if he was really talking about the plant ..

I LONGED to love a full-boughed beech
And be as high as he:
I stretched an arm within his reach,
And signalled unity.
But with his drip he forced a breach,
And tried to poison me.

I gave the grasp of partnership
To one of other race--
A plane: he barked him strip by strip
From upper bough to base;
And me therewith; for gone my grip,
My arms could not enlace.

In new affection next I strove
To coll an ash I saw,
And he in trust received my love;
Till with my soft green claw
I cramped and bound him as I wove...
Such was my love: ha-ha!

By this I gained his strength and height
Without his rivalry.
But in my triumph I lost sight
Of afterhaps. Soon he,
Being bark-bound, flagged, snapped, fell outright,
And in his fall felled me!

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November - a puzzle

This month's calendar is a bit confusing. It's supposed to feature matricaria recutita, or camomile. Well that's what the heading says, but the picture is quite different and the text describes a variety of plants, presumably all of the same family. There is a small picture inserted in the text, and that does have the typical daisy like flowers of camomile. However, the big picture is chamaemelum nobile, and, after a bit of detective work on Google, I think I've identified it as chamaemelum nobile 'ligulosum' - although on another site, the same plant seems to have a yellow centre. The yellow centred variety is similar to what I grew as matricaria nana last year (see the picture below). In any case, it's quite unlike what I would normally think of as camomile, and according to the text, more likely to cause allergies.

So - sticking to traditional camomile, what's it good for? Camomile has been used medicinally since the time of the ancient Egyptians, who - because of its bright yellow centre - associated it with the sun god Ra and considered it to be sacred. It's also mentioned by Hippocrates, Galen and Pliny the Elder. The most important active ingredient, found in the flower heads, is the essential oil chamazulene. Camomile tea is well known as an "unwinder", useful as a pre-bedtime drink to help you sleep. This extract is from a poem by Katherine Mansfield called Camomile Tea :

How little I thought, a year ago,
In the horrible cottage upon the Lee
That he and I should be sitting so
And sipping a cup of camomile tea.

Here in Italy, it's frequently given to children just before they're put to bed. It's also used widely to lighten fair hair - even in commercially produced shampoos and hair treatments. The calendar suggests using it for a variety of other things including stomach problems.

And if you remember Beatrice Potter's The Tale of Peter Rabbit, when Peter had stomach ache after gorging himself on the lettuces in Mr McGregor's garden, his mother gave him "a teaspoonful of camomile tea", and put him to bed.

The name matiricaria apparently derives from the Latin for womb, and was given to the plant because of its widespread use in treating women's gynacological complaints, in particular menstrual cramps. This is also the basis of its common German name Mutterkraut - mother's herb.

But that's not all. The calendar says it's also useful for a load of things that I can't find a translation for, while on the web it's suggested for everything from arthritis to healing wounds. And according to one site it's a carminative, cholagogue, diaphoretic, and emmenagogue. Well, now you know. And I thought I was having problems with the German ...

But according to some research carried out in Britain and reported by the BBC, there's sound scientific evidence for many of the traditional uses. Five cups a days for a fortnight will apparently also ward off cold symptoms (should you ever have a cold that lasts a fortnight, that is).

Even if, like me, you loathe camomile tea, it seems that matricaria recutuita is well worth growing in the garden. It is said to keep neighbouring plants free of pests and diseases, and to have a curative effect on sick plants around it. It's especially useful if grown in the company of other herbs containing essential oils - basil, marjoram, thyme and so on.

It can also be used to make a lawn, as an alternative to grass, which lets out a characteristic fragrance when walked upon or cut. In Mary Wesley's novel, The Camomile Lawn, the lawn becomes a symbol of tradition, permanence, and the youth and innocence of the characters as they meet on holiday in Cornwall, all of which is lost they meet again after the Second World War.

Matricaria recutita is best sown in the autumn or spring, in light sandy soil. It's a sun lover, which needs little fertilisation. And even if you don't want to drink the tea, it's worth collecting the flowers as you can spray it on new seedlings as a fungicide to prevent damping off.

Another good reason for collecting the flower heads is that, if you don't, it will self-seed and before long you'll find it everywhere. As Shakespeare said in Henry IV Part One :

For though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows,

Yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.

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A Daisy Chain

The flower which I found on the October page of my calendar came as a surprise - bellis perennis, or the common daisy. It's not a plant I would really associate with autumn, and even the calendar admits that April to August is the best time for collecting the leaves and flowers of the plant for medicinal uses. I suppose calendar compilers are a bit like bloggers - there ar some months when you just can't find anything current to write about ...

Daisies have been used medicinally since the ancient Assyrians, who used it to combat eye problems. It's most common use, in ointment form, has probably been to treat wounds and bruises - hence its common name Bruisewort. Other uses over the ages have included to cure ulcers, arthritis, rheumatism and liver complaints.

The calendar suggests using it for coughs, dry skin and eczema. For coughs make a tea by adding 250ml hot water one to two teaspoonfuls of leaves and flowers, leave it to stand for 10 minutes and then strain. You should drink it three times a day. For dry skin or eczema you can add it to your bath water. Mix up equal quantities of dried pansies (flowers and leaves, daisies (flowers and leaves) and calendula flowers. Steep 30 grams of the mixture in two litres of boiling water for 20 minutes. You then drain it and add the liquid to your bathwater.

There's a lot on the web about daisies - growing them, their medicinal uses throughout history, legends and sayings. They come up a lot in literature too. So here's my "daisy chain" of links....


Four sites discussing the cultivation of daisies; medicinal and other uses throughout history; sayings, legends and symbolism regarding daisies :

Plants for a future

My Garden

Flower and Garden Tips

PaperTheTown


Daisies in literature

Chaucer on daisies (scroll down)

Shakespeare on daisies

Wordsworth on daisies

Tennyson on daisies

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Hollyhocks

The last day of the month and the last chance to write about this month's featured flower on my calendar - hollyhocks.

Hollyhocks are one of my favourite flowers and, after last year's success, I planted loads last autumn. But it was obviously too late for them to flower this year, and they've settled for being triennial rather than biennial. They all got to about two foot in height and then stopped, though they've gone on putting out new leaves. Despite the caterpillar damage, they should be fine for next year.

Before I saw the calendar, I'd not realised that hollyhocks had medicinal uses, but apparently the flowers are good against things like sore throats, laryngitis, bronchitis and so on. You make a tea by steeping the petals in cold water for two hours, draining the liquid off and then either drinking it in small sips, or gargling with it - within five hours, so that it's fresh. The liquid can also be used externally for skin problems.

Browsing various articles on the web for more information on hollyhocks, I came across the book A Contemplation Upon Flowers: Garden Plants in Myth and Literature on Google books. It tells of a legend concerning a fairy island that would appear every Midsummer's Day at the point where the Wye and Severn rivers join on the border of Wales and England. Mortals were allowed to reach the island by means of a tunnel under the river and, though they never saw the fairies, would be treated to a day of music and feasting. The only condition was that nothing should ever be taken from the island, which the humans respected until one year a young girl wanted to take back a bunch of flowers which she had picked there. Her mother stopped her, but in secret the girl slipped one of the flowers into her pocket. As the people returned home through the tunnel, the girl turned into a hollyhock, her pink pinafore becoming the pink flowers of the plant. And never again did the island appear.

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Borage

Borage. The very name has me shaking with fear. My garden in London is overrun with the stuff, and it's all my fault. I planted it about fifteen years ago, because I thought the flowers were pretty - but before I knew how invasive it was. It self seeds like crazy. And it has long thick taproots which, in an established plant can go down for two feet or more, making digging it out extremely hard work.

Had I been living there, it would have been no problem - I could have kept it under control. But ten years of non-gardening tenants means that it's just been allowed to run riot. By the end of the month I was digging it up in my dreams, as well as all day. Luckily the seeds germinate quickly, so by about a week after I'd cleared each area, I was able to go back and get the next generation. but I know there's no way I could have got them all, and next summer the garden will be back to square one ...

I came back relieved that at least I wouldn't have to think about borage any more. But I hadn't turned my calendar over before I left, and when I did ....



At least I've only had to put up with it for a couple of days. But it shows that borage can be pretty when it's planted in the right place and kept under control. I love the combination of plants in this picture. It can also be very useful in the garden. Firstly, because it attracts bees - and in fact, my garden was full of them. And also as a companion plant. It is supposed to stimulate the growth of strawberries, and act as a deterrent to tomato worm. It attracts blackfly, and can therefore be used as a sacrificial plant to attract them away from other things in the garden.

Borage is edible, although the leaves do contain a liver-toxic chemical, so don't exaggerate. The flowers, on the other hand, are perfectly safe. The leaves are often added to salads, and to soups and stews during the last few minutes of cooking. They're also used in drinks like Pimms. The flowers can be frozen into ice cubes and added to any gin-based drinks, or used to decorate desserts - they have a sweet, honey-like taste. You can find a selection of borage recipes here.

Borage is also used medicinally in the form of infusions, creams and oil. It contains gamma linoleic acid (GLA), an omega-6 polyunsaturated fatty acid, and has a whole range of uses from alleviating the symptoms of skin complaints such as exzema and psioriasis, to combatting pre-menstrual syndrome, to the treatment of certain cancers.

Traditionally, borage is associated with courage. Celtic warriors drank borage wine and painted their bodies with it before going into battle. it is thought to stimulate the adrenalin glands, producing adrenalin which helps the body deal with stressful situations. I can believe it. Over the last four weeks, my adrenalin levels have been sky high just looking at the stuff ....

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Monarda - or things that go bump in the night

The plant featured on my calendar this month is Monarda didyma (the tall red flower at the back of the photo.) I’ve never actually grown it myself, but here’s a round-up of what the calendar, the web and my various gardening books have to say about it.

A perennial, monarda didyma grows to about three foot high, so looks best grown in clumps with smaller plants in front to hide the long stems. Leave room for air to circulate, however, as it is prone to attacks of powdery mildew. It prefers light but rich, moist soil and full sun, but will tolerate slight shade. It flowers from June onwards, and deadheading should produce a second flowering later in the year. In autumn, cut the plants back to about six inches in height.

Monarda is invasive, and will need dividing every three years or so in spring or autumn to stop it taking over, as underground runners gradually spread out. Throw away the old central part of the roots and replant the outer portions about a foot apart.

Because of it’s spreading characteristic, it’s a typical “passalong” plant, but if you can’t find anyone to give you some, it can also be grown from seed. For sowing instructions see here. Other sites say it won’t always bloom the first year, though.

The name Monarda comes from Nicholas Monardes (1493-1588), a Spanish botanist who popularised the herbal use of the plant in Europe. Didyma is a Greek word meaning twin which one web source says refers to the two stamens in each flower, but could also refer to the paired leaves.

Commonly known as Bergamot, Bee Balm, Oswego Tea, Indian Nettle or various other names, Monarda is indigenous to eastern and central regions of North America. There are about 16 Monarda species and colours can range through white to scarlet or purple. Various Monarda species contain the antiseptic thymol, also found in thyme and oregano. Thymol acts as a fungicide and bactericide, and also against some parasites, and the monardas were used by different groups of Native Americans for purposes ranging from alleviating bee stings (hence the name bee balm) to bringing down a high temperature, combating heart disease, insomnia, flatulence, skin disorders and regulating menstrual flow. Non-medicinal purposes included preserving meats. It got the name Oswego tea when the Oswego tribe introduced it to settlers as a substitute for Indian tea after the Boston tea party, when supplies of tea leaves were becoming scarce. To make the tea, steep a teaspoonful of dried leaves and flowers in a cup of boiling water, and leave for ten minutes before draining. It can be sweetened with honey and has a taste reminiscent of that of Earl Grey tea, though apparently leaves harvested before and after the plants flower will have a different taste. The tea can be drunk hot or iced.

The young leaves and flowers can also be eaten in salads, especially with tomatoes, or a couple of leaves can be added to drinks or used to flavour meats such as duck, veal and pork – use it as an alternative to sage in stuffings. Or you can use the leaves in your bath or in pot pourri for their perfume

In the garden, growing monarda is a great way of attracting bees, butterflies and other pollinating insects, and – if you’re lucky enough to have them – hummingbirds. Grown in conjunction with vegetables, it will discourage various soil pests.

Two cautions : firstly thymol taken in large quantities can provoke uterine cramps and is therefore not recommended during pregnancy. And secondly, according to various sources on the web, monarda will develop psychic powers. So if you start to hear things going bump in the night, it could just be due to that soothing cup of Oswego tea you thought was going to cure your insomnia …

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Yarrow - Achillea Millefolium

This month’s plant on the calendar is Achillea Millefolium – yarrow. I have to say that I only knew yarrow by its common name and I’d never linked it with the Achillea that I see in my garden centre every spring – which if I remember correctly is Achillea Lavatera, but I’m not sure. It’s not a plant which has ever particularly attracted me – the flowers were OK but the stems always seemed thick and gawky. And of course it's yarrow stalks which are used in the I Ching - the Chinese form of divination. The Chinese considered it to be a spiritual plant, and would plant it on the graves of their ancestors.

According to the calendar, yarrow can be turned into a tea to be used against period pain, while on the web Purple Sage lists a range of uses including action against fever, high blood pressure and diarrhoea. Purple Sage also mentions the origin of the name – it was apparently named after Achilles, who frequently used it to heal wounds after battles, and in fact one of its many common names is Soldier’s Woundwort. One of the reasons its now so common in Europe is apparently that wherever the Romans went, they planted it around their camps so as always to have a ready supply. And then for the same reason the British army took it to North America when they colonised.

Back to the literary references. I went and found my copy of The Iliad (probably for the first time in thirty years!) and found the passage. A wounded Greek lord asks Patroklos to use some herbs which Achilles has told him of to heal his wound :

… Patroklos laid him there and with a knife cut the sharp tearing arrow out of his thigh and washed the black blood running from it with warm water, and, pounding it up with his hands, laid on a bitter root to make pain disappear, one which stayed all kinds of pain. And the wound dried and the flow of blood stopped. (The Iliad, Trans. Richmond Lattimore Book 11 lines 843-847 Uni. of Chicago Press)

It also pops up in Longfellow’s Hiawatha (section 15). Hiawatha has a sort of breakdown after the death of his friend, but is sorted out by the medicine men in a healing ceremony :

There a magic drink they gave him,

Made of Nahma-wusk, the spearmint,

And Wabeno-wusk, the yarrow,

Roots of power, and herbs of healing;
Beat their drums, and shook their rattles;

Chanted singly and in chorus,

Mystic songs like these, they chanted.
…
And upstarting wild and haggard,

Like a man from dreams awakened,

He was healed of all his madness.

This links to another use, common in Scotland, of using yarrow tea as a remedy for depression – a sort of countryman’s Prozac.

Yarrow can cause an allergic reaction, though this is said to be rare, and is not advised for epileptics.

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Calendar Calendula

The flower on my calendar this month is calendula officinalis. It’s a plant I’ve never had much luck with – it germinates without problems, but however much I pinch out the growing tips, it seems to end up looking gawky, straggly and out of place in the container. My local garden centre manages to get them to be low-growing, bushy and compact, but I’ve never quite worked out how. Different varieties maybe, though otherwise they look the same. And then it seems to be very prone to attacks by powdery mildew – ironic as one of its uses is supposed to be as an anti-fungal agent.

According to the calendar it has been used medicinally since the time of the ancient Egyptians. It has anti-bacterial and anti-inflammatory properties and can be used externally against a variety of skin complaints – acne, eczema, boils and abscesses, minor burns and other wounds, nappy rash and chapped hands or lips – and also against haemorrhoids, strains, bruises, varicose veins and what I think might be housemaid’s knee. But don’t quote me on that one as I’m making a wild guess at the translation.

The useful part of the plant are the flowerheads, which are gathered from June to September – best according to the calendar between 11 and 12 o’clock – and dried before use. They can be prepared in various ways, of which the two simplest are :

• As a tea. Steep 1-2 teaspoonfuls of the dried petals in 150 ml of boiling water for 7 minutes, then strain. Apart from medicinal uses, this can also be used as a rinse to lighten hair and give it a golden tint.
  
• Or you can soak nine flowerheads in milk for half an hour. You then strain off the liquid and use a cotton wool pad to dab it on to acne.

The best English account I’ve found on the web is at Plants for a Future, though as ever Purple Sage is also very good. These two also list other medicinal uses – against stomach ulcers, bad circulation and various other ailments. They also mention its use in cooking – the leaves can be used in salads, and the petals used as an alternative to saffron to colour soups, rice etc.

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On Dandelions

I have a confession to make which probably does away with any pretence I might otherwise have to being a gardener – I’m incapable of growing dandelions. I’ve tried collecting seeds, taking root cuttings, but nothing comes up.

Those of you who curse regularly as you attempt to root them out of your gardens rather than into them probably wish you had the same knack – or lack of it. But I like them. Some time ago I posted a list of gardening quotes and, of all of them, my favourite was :

If dandelions were hard to grow, they would be most welcome on any lawn. (Andrew Mason)

But on my lawn they would be welcome anyway. I think they’re pretty and I like eating them, and I was hoping to grow a few so as to get the young leaves.

I’m not the only one though. Snappy has been blogging about them a lot in the past month or so, and has been making dandelion wine – follow the link then scroll down for the recipe and other dandelion posts. And my calendar this month is dedicated to them.

Dandelions, according to the calendar, are great for liver and gall problems, and full of vitamins and iron. The calendar doesn't mention dandelion wine (which I imagine would rather destroy the point about it being good for your liver, but never mind) but suggests eating the young leaves in salads, cooking the root as a vegetable, using the dried leaves to make tea, adding the leaves to pizza, juicing them together with fruit, or even drying the root and making coffee out of it. This one intrigued me as it brought back vague memories of my mother saying they'd drunk it during the war, so I followed it up on the net and found lots of people giving recipes and describing how to make it. And people selling it. This is the search page if you’re interested.

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March

March came in like a lamb, growled a bit and tried to persuade us it was a lion in the middle, and is now going out like a pussy cat. Milan missed most of the bad weather but much of Italy was hit by snow, hail, winds and so on with predictably disastrous results for agriculture. Here, temperatures dropped and we did have a bit of much needed rain (though not enough ) but nothing that isn’t normal for March.

With the result that the balcony has continued to advance towards spring. The wallflowers, bellis and stock are now coming out, and I even have a petunia in bloom – one of the ones that I grew from seed last year and which made it through the winter. Everything else is back in growth with buds already on some of the antirrhinums, geraniums, unknown daisy flowers and so on. And the seeds that I planted at the beginning of the month have started to germinate – I’ve got nasturtiums, sunflowers, convolvulus, marigolds, zinnias, campanula, alyssum and various other stuff bursting through all over the place. So we’re back in business. As I write the flat is vibrating with the sound of my husband putting up another trellis on the wall of the front balcony – as soon as it warms up just a bit more, I’ll put out the Mandevilla which has been overwintering happily in the front room since November.

March did come in like a lion in another respect though – it’s been an incredibly busy month and I’ve had time for nothing but work. Hence the sad lack of posts recently. But as it’s the last day of the month, I had no choice today but to get up a post on this month’s calendar item – Ramsons, or Bear’s Garlic (Allium Ursinum).

Ramson’s are a member of the onion family and grow well in loamy soil which is no more than slightly acid. They’re often found growing in large numbers in woodland – as in the picture from the calendar. The alternative name, Bear’s Garlic, comes from the fact that brown bears like to eat the bulbs and frequently dig up the plants to get at them. As do wild boars – I wonder if they grow down in Tuscany.

The leaves flowers and bulbs of ramsons are all edible, but most of the suggestions I’ve found involve using the young leaves – in salads, soups, or turned into a kind of pesto. Or even in ham sandwiches. Ramsons apparently help in cases of high blood pressure and guard against arteriosclerosis – they stop cholesterol accumulating in the arteries.

It looks to me like a plant that it would be fun to add to a kitchen garden, and I found the seeds for sale on this site. They should be planted in the autumn, and I may well give it a try this year. I’ve never come across the site before, so can’t vouch for how reputable it is, but it is mentioned in the book which I posted on earlier this year Curious Incidents in the Garden at Night-Time. It interested me because it sells a lot of wildflower mixtures aimed at attracting beneficial insects and wildlife. It's not the glossiest, slickest site I've ever come across, but the content looks good. If you’re outside the EU, check out their page on the phytosanitary certificate which will ensure that the seeds you buy will make it through customs.

The calendar warns, though, of mixing Ramsons up with Lily of the Valley or Colchicum if you find them in the wild. Both of these are deadly poisonous, but have leaves which look very similar. Won’t be a problem when they’re flowering, but don’t risk it if you’re not sure. Stick to the kitchen garden.

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February

My calendar this month features flax – linum usitatissimum . My first ever contact with this plant was in the form of the seeds – usually known as linseed. I always fed them to my horses - a cupful mixed into their other food keeps their coats healthy and shiny. So I knew it well. But for quite a while I never realised that linseed and flax were the same thing, and so I never really associated it with the plant which produces linen.

Nor did I realise that it might do my hair some good too. Then, a couple of years ago I asked my hairdresser what I could do about my hair, which at the time was horribly dry and straw-like. “Try this spray” she said, “it’s linseed oil”.

And now the calendar. I put off reading it for a while, as it was full of frighteningly long words. If you know a bit of German, you’ll know that it’s a language which uses compounds a lot, and can often chain four or five words in order to express a concept for which English has an individual word. So when I got to the bit where it described the medicinal uses I was confronted with Magenschleimhautentzundung (stomach-mucus-membrane-inflammation) which I guess is gastritis, and Nasennebenhohlenentzendung (nose-near-cavity-inflammation) – sinusitis, I presume. But please don’t quote me - my dictionary failed me miserably and I really am guessing.

I have to admit I gave up on the German and went to the web to see if there were any recommendations. As last month, the best site seemed to be Purple Sage which suggested that linseed was a good remedy for constipation. But, the same as the calendar, it warned that you must drink at least two glasses of water with the seeds as they need to swell in order to have effect. Both sources also warned that only ripe seeds must ever be used as the immature seeds contain traces of prussic acid and are poisonous. As ever, make sure you buy it from a reputable source.

Back on the balcony – I took the covers off this morning. We’re having daytime temperatures between 9 and 15 degrees, and the fleece was a bit of an exaggeration. It does, howver, seem to have protected the flower buds on my stock - they look fine. I shall keep an eye on the weather forecast as there’s still time for the temperature to drop, but for the moment spring is in the air. When I went out this morning, I saw that the grass in one of the squares near here was full of daisies in flower. And my bulbs are starting to push through as well. The forsythia, though, which is usually the first sign of spring, is still only just forming buds, so I’ll reserve judgement for a bit ….

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Sage Advice

At the beginning of the year I promised to tell you each month what was on the super plant calendar which I got for Christmas. The plant on the January page is sage – salvia officinalis.

Officinalis in the name means that it’s considered a medicinal plant, and in fact the calendar specifically features plants which can be used in herbal remedies. The name salvia comes from the Latin verb meaning to save and, according to the calendar, there’s an Arab proverb which says Why should anyone die when they’ve got sage in the garden? - although Wikipedia attributes that one to Martin Luther. There’s also supposed to be an English saying which goes Eat sage in May and you’ll not die, but I can’t say I’ve ever heard of it before.



Most of the remedies the calendar describes were already familiar – sage is good in a mouthwash for sore throats, inflamed gums and so on. But it also said that it’s good for the digestion and that it contains flavenoids which fight free radicals and strengthen the immune system. And the one that I hadn’t heard of at all was that, combined in a tea with other ingredients it helps stop hot flashes during the menopause. The recipe for that was to combine 20g each of sage, hops, hawthorn, lemon balm (Melissa officinalis), and downy hemp nettle, and combine 2 tablespoons of the mixture with hot water. Let it stand for five minutes before straining. Two hours before going to bed, you drink two cups of the stuff, lukewarm. Can’t say I’ve tried it because I’m not sure where to get my hands on some downy hemp nettle, but if I do I’ll let you know if it works. We’ll see if the medicinal sections are a bit more authoritative than the proverbs.

Joking apart, if you do want to try it, the writer (Ursel Buehring) is a well-known German writer and presenter of TV programmes on herbal remedies, so she should know what she’s talking about. On some of the other pages there are warnings about possible side effects and so on, but nothing is mentioned here. I’ve checked all the herbs though, and it seems you should be careful of hawthorn if you’re already on heart medication, and hops if you suffer from depression. And don’t be tempted to go and pick downy hemp nettle yourself unless you’re sure you know what you’re doing – other members of the genus are poisonous. All in all, perhaps I’ll give this one a miss – but I’ve added links to descriptions of the herbs if you want to check them out for yourselves.

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