Beginning the Herbal Medicine Path: Part 2

I'll admit I was a bit miffed when I started hearing herbalists referring to their use of Plantain Leaf as a great locally foraged medicine. 

"Where on Earth are they locally sourcing this banana leaf," I thought, my mind going to the only plantain I have ever heard of, the long green variety that is fried up in Central America to make a delicious starchy chip. 

Plantago Lanceolata and Plantago Major are exotic sounding names for the different varieties of the first inconspicuous looking medicine we set out to study.

This plantain happens to be long and green too. Or, well, round and green if you find Plantago Major instead of Plantago Lanceolata. 

But as it turns out, we're all familiar with plantain leaf. Yes, even the couch dwellers of us. If you've walked across a grassy patch between your car and a store you've probably unintentionally trampled on plantain leaf. Plantago actually means "sole of the foot" in Latin, so these little guys are used to being trampled I suppose. 

Plantago Lanceolata

On our first day of class we had spent the morning learning words like 'cholagogue' and 'demulcent' and herbal energetic words like 'cooling' and 'toning' and were itching to find these magical plants that corresponded to these new words.

So we ventured out of the classroom and into the garden.

Plantain is a panacea, according to any herbalist you ask. It has so many uses and energetics attributed to it but it is probably best well known for it's healing properties for skin. Plantain is a vulnerary that is renowned for it's cooling and drawing energetics, which explain why it's history is awash with bee stings, mosquitos bites, eczema and even snake bites. 

On this unseasonably warm April day we learned first hand how to ease the discomfort of mosquito bites. As the flying beasties stretched their wings and tested their proboscises for the first time that year, we budding herbalists reached for leaf after leaf from the ever giving plantain plant. 

The method we learned is simple: pick a leaf from an unsprayed plant (don't pick a leaf from the side of a road that has been choked with car exhaust or a leaf from an herbicide doused yard), put the leaf in your mouth and chew, now spit (or if you are a lady, remove said chewed herb and gently place it) on the offending bite, and that's it.

I'll say I was skeptical of this chew and spit process.

My personal saga with mosquitos is as follows - as long as I have taken in breath and expelled carbon dioxide the mosquitos have sought me out. Whether it's because I eat too many sweet bananas or my skin is just thin enough for them to easily pierce it I couldn't say, but what I can say is that each tiny pinprick I receive quickly swells and blossoms to a deep red, rounded raspberry. The itch is intense. The mark indelible and inconsolable. 

I've grown accustomed to applying plasters of inefficient antihistamine creams.

Even after the poison disperses and the itch retreats a pimple-imposter lingers for many more days.
That is until I met Plantago.

My first bite of the day received a timid but hopeful spit poultice. As did the second and third. And as I traveled home that day with close to 10 bites, I had forgotten about them before I had even eaten dinner. No red lumps, no clawing itch. Just a tiny pinprick that seemed to shrink to nothing within a day or so.

 Magic?
No, Medicine. 

While plantain grows all around us, availability of unadulterated plantain is not always as easy to find. So after experimenting with fresh plantain we set out to make a salve, something we could carry with us in the city, through the desert and into our homes to ease cuts, bruises, burns and bites. 

As a class we gathered plantain leaf and dandelion flower to make our salve, learning that dandelion has antibacterial properties that can assist in wound healing and cleaning up acne and other blemishes.

The process of making a salve seemed so intimidating. What if we did it wrong? Was this flower good enough? What if there were bugs on the flowers?

Molly has a way of making medicine so approachable though. We gathered our ingredients together in a carved gourd basket and then plopped them on a baking sheet and threw them in the oven on a super low temperature to wilt (to expel excess moisture content). If we had wanted to take the leisurely route we could have laid them out in the sun for a bit and sipped our tea until they wilted, or just set them out overnight, but we were all in such high energy spirits that we wanted to see this salve made as quickly as possible. 

After the flowers were wilted we chopped our plantain leaves and flowers, allowing the cell walls of the marc (the herb) to open so that the medicine could be better absorbed into the menstreum (the oil).
Then we had a choice. Use a little heat and meld the herbs with the oil, or use no heat and let the herbs meld slowly over the period of a few weeks.
The thought of waiting a few weeks to see our finished product seemed terrible so we made haste to the stove and over very low heat we swirled the oil and herbs together, taking shifts the rest of the class to stir the pot for several hours. 
Once the oil had absorbed the plantain and dandelion we strained the marc out and were ready to add our solidifying agent, beeswax (as a side note, vegans can opt for shea butter or coconut oil), and within seconds of adding the beeswax our salve was taking shape and we quickly poured it into little tins to cool and take home. 

But that wasn't all we were making on our first weekend of herbalists. An herbalist would be amiss to not learn the helpful skill of tincture making.

A tincture is an extract of herbs in alcohol. Think of vanilla extract. If you've ever made vanilla extract at home then you've already mastered the skills of tincture making. 
For our first tincture we looked to the garden again, or more correctly, we looked to the grass. Hidden among the tall blades of grass, the clover and plantain, lay everyone's old friend, dandelion, freshly robbed of her yellow ringed hat.
As we had learned over our morning tea, dandelion root is a strong medicine for the kidneys, promoting liver health and encouraging waste evacuation through the bladder due to it's diuretic action. So we set about digging the tender roots of the dandelion.

"Now remember when we use root medicine we are taking all of the plant, we are taking it's life completely to make our medicine," Molly said, as she stroked the root she had just dug as a demonstration. "Dandelion root is a beautiful medicine, but your intention as you gather medicine is just as important as the medicine itself. Consider thanking the plants that are giving their lives for your medicine." 

 After collecting and washing our dandelion roots we set them out in the sun to dry. Then we chopped the roots, opening the cell walls, and threw them, while giving proper thanks, into a large mason jar and filled the jar almost to the top with brandy. Molly prefers to use brandy in her tinctures, because that's the alcohol she learned to use in tincture making, but any alcohol over 80 proof will work. Then we sealed up the jar and set it in a cool, dark spot to meld. Every day or two the tincture should be shaken to move the plant material around and after 4 to 6 weeks it can be pressed out and used. 

As we prepared our tincture Molly passed around berries and roots and leaves of different plants to try. We smelled rose petals and chewed on hawthorn berries and sucked on sweet licorice. And then quite out of the blue, under the sway of all the bountiful tastes and smells around us, Molly declared, "Let's make a love potion!"

The faint of heart, those afraid of voodoo and becoming a potion brewing witch, may have balked at this idea. But after spending the morning harvesting plants and roots, after making a salve and a tincture, a love potion suddenly didn't feel so silly. 
Sure, it wouldn't pierce the heart like a cupids arrow. We didn't expect any Hollywood fireworks to shoot off after taking the tincture. But slowly the idea that medicine doesn't always have to be this forceful, strict, and expedient word, that medicine can be something that coaxes your mood, that softens your affections, that supports your natural state, or simply be something that takes your mind to another place, that idea had begun to sink in. 

A word has the power to loosen itself of it's societal fetters if you give it the chance. 

Medicine is defined as a substance used to treat an illness or a disease. A remedy. 
Health, in many medical circles, is defined as the absence of disease. 

But in herbal medicine, as well as many other types of natural medicine, health and medicine are much broader terms. Health is a state of balance, a positive state of well-being that encompasses all the aspects of your mental and physical life. 

Medicine supports that. 
Music is medicine. Gardening is medicine. And yes, even love potions are medicine. 

Beginning the Herbal Medicine Path - Part 1

Sleepily we gathered for our first weekend of Grassroots Herbal Medicine, letting piping streams of maple colored tea flow from the samovar into our outstretched mugs before sinking down into a chair to wait for the magic to begin.

All ages of women had assembled into our circle of eager herb wielders, from the salt tinged hair of one women to the budding, rounded belly of another. We introduced ourselves somewhat timidly, each secretly wondering what the other person already knew about herbal medicine.

As each of us found our seats Molly welcomed us, radiating the warmth teachers seem to so easily exude when they are blessed with a classroom of intention-filled students. Molly holds a presence in the space that is undeniable, swathed in chocolate dreadlocks and a knit sweater she beamed at us over her own cup of steaming tea.

She asked us to pick up our cups. 

"What do you smell?"

We brought the wisps of steam to our noses and inhaled. I was reminded of my first attempts at wine tasting. The swirling red liquid sending only heady whiffs of alcohol to my nostrils. Only with months of practice did I start picking notes of leather, chocolate, honeysuckle and plum. 

"It smells kinda sweet," a young girl to my right said.

"Hmmm sweet, interesting," Molly mused, letting silence fall again to open the floor to more guesses.

"Yeah, kinda like a sweet earthiness is what I get," another woman said, her nosed still pressed to the rim of her mug.

"What part of your body does this tea go to?" Molly asked.

"How can I feel that?" I wondered. I took another sip, willing my body to tell me where the plant was drawn to. I felt the warmth of the liquid flowing down my throat, emanating out through the skin of my neck. And I felt the warmth enter my stomach, sending that little thrill up to my brain, the first buzz of the morning alarm to rouse the sleeping senses. 

"I feel it in my kidneys," someone said, letting her hand graze her side for emphasis. 

Molly nodded with a smile and I sipped again, stretching my nerve ending out to feel my kidneys. 

"What part of the plant do you think this comes from?"

We looked a little confused perhaps because she quickly offered, "Is it a bark? Is it a berry? Does this taste like the leaves, or maybe the root?"

"Leaves?" someone guessed? 

Every part was thrown out in hushed whispers, no one quite sure.

"Are there any guesses for what plant this is?" Molly asked.

No one offered up a guess.

"This is dandelion root tea," Molly smiled, "Taxicum officinal," she said in latin.

There were whispers of "I knew it!" from a few and looks of "really, dandelion?" from a few others.

With one simple exercise we had been thrown into the world or herbalism. Herbalism is not a study so much as it is a way of life. It is an intention of joining yourself with the plant world in a way that seems foreign and at times silly and so far removed from our current sphere of life. 

 I had come to this class wondering what possible connection I could find. I worried a little about the ideas of appropriation, exoticism and novelty seeking. Would I be hoodwinked into potion making? Would I foolishly delve into traditions that had no bearing on my personal history?

As if sensing this discomfort, these open questions and uncertainties, Molly began that morning by sharing her own story. Her exploration of Costa Rican medicine, her experiences at Sacred Plant Traditions in Charlottesville, her decision to come back to her home of Maryland and start a school. 

But more importantly she shared this thought with us: 

"Every single one of us come from a lineage of plant people."

Perhaps I can't claim any bloodline to inform my use of astragalus, and maybe I don't belong to a people who used tobacco medicinally, but somewhere in my history, my personal lineage, I come from a people who used plants as healers. We all do.  

The room filled with excited buzz as I imagine we all thought about our own families and what traditions might be buried in our pasts. What plants, perhaps even plants in this very garden, might have played a role in our histories.

The Grassroots program, Molly explained, is meant to make herbal medicine approachable, after all, herbal medicine is for the people and is made by the people. 

There is no certification out there really that is accredited. You don't have to know every plant under the sun.  Your depth is completely up to you. If you are called to make teas from your garden and to use herbs in your stews, you're an herbalist. If you make salves and tinctures and poultices, you're an herbalist. 

If you form a relationship with even just one plant, you're an herbalist.

"Congratulations," she smiled, "You're all herbalists now."

Becoming an herbalist was as simple as deciding. 

And with that knowledge, that confidence that we hadn't even dreamed of gaining on the first day, we dove into our exploration.

Herbalism: Centro Ashe Medicinal Mushrooms Workshop

On a chilly morning in November I pulled up to Centro Ashe. 

In a rural neighborhood a squat sprawling house and an oversized garage sit back from the road a bit. A tiny slat board sign out front reading: Centro Ashe est 2012, is the only things that sets it apart from the other houses. 

I followed painted signs and shuffled into the garage. A ring of metal chairs in the center of the room were filled with other future medicine makers and curious counterculturists. 

We sat tentatively, sipping nettle tea and milling about to look busy.

Holli is no white-coated doctor. She's not even the flowy skirt, patchouli kind of doctor. 

She's a fungaculturalist - she grows mushrooms for a living.

But she's not ignorant to the abundant healing powers of mushrooms. But many of us were.

We started by introducing ourselves and talking about our relationship with mushrooms.

Answers ranged from:

I eat mushrooms

 I've tried those Whole Foods grow kits without success

I drink mushroom tea, but I don't really know what it does

I've foraged once, but someone else knew what we were looking for

And my personal favorite: I've taken some really magical journeys with mushrooms

She started off our day of fungal fun by asking us to guess what percent of modern medicine is derived from mushrooms. 

10? 15? 20?

No idea.

Turns out that since the medicinal properties of the ennoki mushroom were first studied and proven in Japan in 1972, more than 40 percent of our medicines have been derived from mushrooms.

Now that's not to say we didn't use mushrooms before that. It's just that the scientists, those white coat guys I mentioned before, hadn't approved them yet. Once the powers of mushrooms were chronicled for all to see the fungus hit the pill stands pretty quick.

According to Holli: 

 "Humans are more closely related to fungi than to any other kingdom, including plants, protozoans, and bacteria, and we have developed similar defenses against mutual disease-causing enemies. The idea is that because fungi and animals suffer from many of the same diseases, fungal medicines are active against many of the organisms that infect humans. Though ancient cultures have known this for centuries, scientific studies have only confirmed their incredible healing powers within the past few decades."

The main fear of using foraged mushrooms is the well known fact that some mushrooms are poisonous and many mushrooms look alike. 

A cute little mushroom saying we learned goes like this:

There are old mushroom hunters, There are bold mushroom hunters,

But there are no old AND bold mushroom hunters.

The main rule when hunting for mushrooms is: When in doubt, throw it out.

Holli brought in some specimen for us to ID.

The four mushrooms above are all either Turkey Tail (known to be anti-malarial, anti-microbal, anti-oxidant, and anti-tumom), or look alikes. When fresh and attached to trees their colors are very similar and it is only by a few tells - mainly the texture of their undersides, that can give you a true ID.

Along with the 4 types of undersides there are four basic types of mushroom in the  fungi kingdom:

Sacrophetic - the type that decomposes matter and releases acid

Microryzol - the vast networks that sync up with roots under the ground. Very difficult to cultivate but crucial to healthy plant and soil relationships

Endophytic - the type that invades plant tissue but leaves the host functioning and healthy - these can be grown sans-host

Parasitic- the type that feed on the weak, these slimy specimens don't usually produce a fruit body of their own

Innoculting wood with reishi plugs

As we learned about hyphae and spore prints and tried to wrap our brains around the scale of the underground network attached to the tiny umbrella shaped fruits we cal mushrooms, our eyes started to glaze over from overload. 

Holli wisely put away the power point and started getting us to just jump in and try it. 

For the second half of the class we learned how to inoculate wood for mushroom cultivation and make little fungus boxes to take home.

The general steps were: find some fresh wood that isn't too big around, drill holes into it, hammer the plugs in, cover the whole with wax, bury, wait. 

We learned some interesting do's and don'ts of the cultivating world.

DO:

-Start with Oyster Mushrooms - as they are most forgiving to cultivate

- Learn your wood - not all wood will grow mushrooms

- Study your mushroom - what's it's natural habitat? What does it like to eat?

DON'T

- Inoculate dead wood. Only parasitic mushrooms thrive there and parasitics aren't very useful 

- Try to inoculate Black Walnut, Cedar, or Hickory - it won't work. These trees are naturally anti-fungal or produce essential oils that deter fungal growth.

- Contaminate your specimens before inoculation. 

This class was such a fun, hands on way to start getting interested in the world of mushrooms. Honestly, it was way over my head for what I am ready to do with mushrooms but being around experts in any field is always humbling and inspiring for future endeavors.