June 2021

Welcome to the section of this site dedicated to real-life gardening and growing experiments! I’ll be sharing progress updates throughout the growing season, lessons learned (sometimes the hard way), the logic – or lack thereof – behind some of my experimentation, and other interesting tidbits as I get to know some of our age-old herbal allies.

My garden is a bit atypical, though, so I’ll start by introducing you.

My Unique Kind of Garden

For years, I’ve been intrigued by the way that regular people kept themselves healthy centuries ago. I don’t mean that I study the history of formal medicine or developments in the expertise of physicians; those treatments were fine and good (well, sometimes) for the wealthier sort who had access to them and could afford their expenses. No, I’m talking about the remedies of common folks, the “everybody else,” who relied on generations’ worth of experimental knowledge of plants and their surrounding environment, and who depended on the healing properties found in nature to heal and preserve themselves.

It’s important to note that I have no formal training in medicine or botany. Heck, I don’t even really have a green thumb! Yet despite my limited knowledge about plants and a sub-par natural ability to even tell them apart, I love the idea that these things growing wild around us have so much potential! And frankly, I’m boggled by the fact that our ancestors figured out those medicinal properties without the benefit of modern science. I mean, who was the first person to, say, get a splinter in a finger, then look down at a funny green thing growing nearby and think “huh, I wonder if my hand would feel better if I tied those leaves around it?” (We won’t even think about what happened all the times when those experiments DIDN’T go well!) From our lofty modern-day perspective, shaped with the benefit of scientific knowledge, it’s easy for us to doubt those old folk remedies were anything but a placebo, but science has proven to us that these plants really do possess some of the abilities that our forerunners figured out.

Comfrey leaves – very well could have helped with that splinter!

Making It Personal

One day I found myself musing about what it must have been like to walk through a meadow or a forest, or down by a stream, and to not only recognize the plants I saw, but also to know what I could do with them to help myself or my family the next time we fell ill or were injured. I imagined collecting those herbs and flowers and bark, taking them home and storing them carefully. Then comes the most difficult, yet most intriguing, part to imagine: days or months down the road, reaching for those things I’d gathered, and mixing or combining or infusing them into a remedy that could reduce a fever or staunch bleeding or calm a queasy stomach. How cool would that be? No wonder some believed there must have been magic involved!

Then I thought: what if I could try it out? Not by foraging in ditches alongside Interstate 35 or digging down by the neighborhood pond, of course (remember my brown thumb? I’d ingest something poisonous for sure!). But what if I could grow a few safe herbs here at home, right alongside my ornamental flowers? It felt like a way to touch the past; by observing and tending the same plants that women have used for centuries, I thought I might understand just a little more about the experiences of those healers.

Diving Into Herbal History

As you might’ve guessed from the name of this site, my main historical interests lie in the medieval and early modern (think the Tudors/Renaissance) periods. So I started researching herbal and folk remedies from around 1100 AD onward, and I came up with a list of a few that seemed a) safe; and b) available in the midwestern United States. Then I had to consider the growing conditions available to me, which limited my options and helped me keep my grandiose dreams a bit in check.

Growing Area

When I say ‘garden,’ that’s a very generous description of the area I have to work with. We live in a suburban townhome without an actual garden plot or a space to make one (thanks to some silly homeowners’ association rules), but the place does have a rather nice deck. It’s not a massive size by any means, but it provides a pretty decent living space out there, and I’d enjoyed keeping a few containers of home-improvement-store flowers around the edges since we moved in. Still, I knew my herb garden would need to be container-based.

Keeping It Real…istic

The deck wasn’t the only limitation I had to consider. We’re in hardiness zone 4, which in a nutshell translates to very cold winters, late spring frost dates and in general a fairly short growing season. Some of the medieval plants I initially considered just weren’t likely to thrive in this climate, or at least I had to seek out the hardier varieties as the “best-available” option. Take lavender, for example: while a French lavender is lovely and certainly would have been prized in its native growing area, I’ve opted for varieties like Munstead, which is better-equipped for the English climate, and Phenomenal, which has been bred specifically for success in even chillier regions like mine.

Along those same vines – er, lines – many herbs and medicinal plants are perennials. Even in Minnesota, they might have a decent chance at survival if planted in the ground, but suspended twelve feet in the air in containers exposed to the elements? That takes a tough plant indeed to survive beyond a season. As my research advised, some herbs take more than one year to reach the point where their leaves/flowers/roots/what-have-you are viable to be used in medicinal preparations, so was there a purpose in even trying to grow them? I’ll circle back to these considerations in a future post.

Then there’s the elephant in every room: money. As much as I wish I had an endless supply of cash to dedicate to expanding, protecting and improving my garden experiment, this was and remains my hobby (one of several, truth be told). Expenditures every year, especially in the spring, have to be somewhat kept in check, as I’m sure many of you have also experienced. As a result, I try to control costs where possible, and you won’t see me with a super-fancy setup or the prettiest pots. Function over form all the way, and even then sometimes function has to limp along until I’m ready to invest in the upgrade!

Last but by no means least, I’m a fur mama to two dogs and four mini panthers (okay, black cats), and their safety is a prime concern. The panthers are inside cats and the dogs are always supervised outside, yet I always consider a plant’s toxicity level to animals before including it in my garden plans. Does this mean I will never grow plants that could be dangerous if the pets were to get into them? Not necessarily, but it does mean that I remain aware of those plants that could cause discomfort or worse if ingested, I take steps to keep them out of reach, and I’m constantly vigilant when any of the animals are on the deck to make sure they aren’t sneaking nibbles.

One of the supervised culprits at work! (Don’t worry, that’s just catnip she’s investigating.)

With all these aspects to consider, there are a lot of things I can’t do or try in my garden as it is. That’s okay, though, because my real goals are still met.

Goals – and Things that are Specifically NOT Goals

Here’s one of those situations when a thing is easier to describe by starting with what it is NOT, before moving on to what it actually is. We’ll start there.

1. This blog is NOT one of those fancy lifestyle blogs. (Let’s be honest, though; if you’re still reading at this point, you’ve likely already figured that out. Thanks for sticking with me.) I don’t have advice for you on the best way to make herbal vinegars that will clean your entire home while giving you the shiniest hair you’ve ever had in your life. There are other blogs that probably CAN advise you there, and those blogs are great! Those things just aren’t part of my knowledge base or skillset at this time.

2. Along those same lines, I’m not out to have the coolest deck or the swankiest patio setup. Again, not my forte, and I certainly won’t be entering (let alone winning) any contests for “most visually appealing garden setup.”

3. I will never claim to be a fantastic gardener, and frankly it isn’t my goal to become one. I garden because I enjoy it, and I garden in a way that fits my time and interests. Skill and expertise will grow with experience, so I don’t sweat it now.

So what IS my goal with all of this?

Simply put, my intention is to learn from and grow with the plants.

Cheesy? Probably. The thing is, the more I research, choose, tend to, observe and preserve these plants, the more I learn about them, their preferences, what helps them thrive, and how plants and humans are dependent on each other. All of that circles back to gaining just that bit more understanding of the lives of the people who depended on these plants for their very lives in times past.

So welcome to my garden! I hope you’ll enjoy following and learning along with me. I’ll be posting updates soon with this year’s progress!

June 30, 2021

The History of Hemlock: A Not-So-Healing Herb

If you live in the United States, you may have seen recent news reports and online warnings about an apparent resurgence and spread of the plant known as poison hemlock. Just earlier this month, it was reported by the Mansfield News Journal as spreading across the state of Ohio, causing concerns about its extreme toxicity and the danger to humans and livestock.

“Poison Hemlock” by Dendroica cerulea is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

These reports may be giving you flashbacks to your social studies classes (hang on, didn’t some famous guy die from drinking hemlock, like way back in the old days?), but while your history teachers would undoubtedly be proud of your recall, it’s important to remember poison hemlock is still a very real threat to us today, especially if we run across it unawares. In fact, you may notice that it looks rather familiar…perhaps to a certain plant I’ve already posted about? (See my previous post on yarrow here.) You’re not imagining things; there are distinct similarities between the two in appearance, though their impacts on the human body are largely opposite.

Because hemlock has such a close resemblance to a common and well-loved medicinal herb, it’s imperative to understand and be able to spot the differences to stay safe. Let’s take a look at what poison hemlock is, its history and how to steer clear of this potentially deadly imposter.

What is Poison Hemlock?

Not to be confused with the hemlock tree, poison hemlock is a member of the carrot family (Apiaceae) and its Latin name is Conium maculatum. Its lacy, divided leaves spring from a smooth green stem, and it produces clusters of small white flowers in an umbel (umbrella-shaped) form. All parts of the plant are highly toxic to humans and animals; even a small touch can cause irritation to the skin. Hemlock has an unpleasant, rank and alkaline smell when the leaves are crushed. It contains alkaloid poisons that affect the central nervous system and can cause paralysis in the limbs, working inward to the respiratory muscles and leading to death.

Poison hemlock is native to North America, Europe and western Asia. It is now found in nearly every U.S. state after it was marketed in the 1800s as a fern for the garden. It prefers shaded areas with moist soil, but it can crop up near roadsides, the edges of fields, ditches, marshy areas and meadows.

Hemlock’s History

The Ancient World

The effects of hemlock were well-known in ancient Greece and Persia. Physicians sometimes used hemlock to relieve conditions like arthritis and as a sedative, but such treatment was risky due to the extremely fine difference between a beneficial dose and a toxic one. (This should go without saying, but DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME!) Most frequently, hemlock was used as a method of execution in this period.

Poison hemlock’s most well-remembered victim was the ancient philosopher, Socrates. Despite his renown, Socrates was tried and convicted of polluting the minds of the youth of Athens, where he taught and served. While the most famous account of his death, recorded by Plato, is questioned by scholars as to its factual accuracy, it is generally accepted that Socrates consumed a drink containing hemlock. The hemlock’s toxicity would have gradually paralyzed all of his muscles, including his heart and lungs, causing death.

David, Jacques-Louis. *The Death of Socrates*. 1787. Oil on canvas. 51.0 in × 77.2 in. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Accessed 6/30/21. https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/436105

Hemlock’s infamy was not restricted to the ancient Mediterranean, however; it crops up in herbals through the centuries, even into the early 1900s. Let’s look at some examples to see how herbalists in successive time periods portrayed this plant.

Medieval Europe

Our first stop is in the twelfth century, at a Benedictine monastery in modern-day Germany. You may be surprised to find that the widely-known and well-respected herbalist here was a woman! Hildegard von Bingen was the abbess, and alongside various musical and spiritual compositions, she also authored two medical texts, including Physica, one of the earliest-known herbals written by a woman.

Hildegard certainly doesn’t beat around the bush in her entry on hemlock. She immediately identifies the dangerous consequences of ingesting this plant:

“Hemlock (scherling) is hot and has danger in it so that, if a person eats it, it destroys everything that has been well and correctly established in his blood and humors. It causes bad inundations in him, in the same way that storms make disturbances in the water.”

Yikes! The message is clear: stay away!

Yet despite its clear risks, Hildegard identified some instances in which hemlock can help when carefully administered:

“…one who has been badly stricken by spears and cudgels, or who has fallen from a high altitude so that his flesh and limbs are crushed, should cook hemlock in water and place the expressed water over the limbs which are injured. He should tie a cloth over the area, and so dissipate the humors which have collected there.”

As with the ancient Greeks, medieval Europeans were aware of hemlock’s potential to heal, yet they greatly respected its power to harm.

Von Bingen, Hildegard. Self-portrait. 12th century. Illustrated manuscript.

Renaissance England

Skipping forward a few centuries to the Renaissance (or early modern) period, we find an era when knowledge of medical science was becoming increasingly available and accepted, yet a keen interest in plants and gardening spurred an increase in the number of herbals and plant guides being written. One of the best-known volumes was The English Physician by Nicholas Culpeper.

Reflecting trends of the time, Culpeper’s description of hemlock began with its striking appearance:

“The common great hemlock groweth up with a green stalk, four or five feet high, and sometimes higher, full of red spots; at the joints are set very large winged leaves, which are divided into many other winged leaves, set one against another, dented on the edges, and of a sad green colour. The stalks are branched towards the top, each bearing umbels of white flowers, which are followed by whitish flat seed. The root is long, white, hollow, and sometimes crooked, of a very strong, heady, and disagreeable smell.”

Culpeper went on to advise that hemlock was very dangerous and must not be taken internally, though like Hildegard, he did acknowledge that if utilized in just the proper way, it could ease certain topical ailments. Interestingly, Culpeper wrote of a possible antidote to be used in the case of a patient who had mistakenly ingested hemlock, though even his own words sound remarkably unconvinced of its likelihood of success.

“File:Portrait of Nicholas Culpeper Wellcome L0014459.jpg” is licensed under CC BY 4.0

The Age of Enlightenment

In the mid-18^th century, Austrian physician Anton von Stoerck studied the potential of several poisonous plants to be used in medical treatments. His process of staged experimentation (first on animals, then on himself, then finally on patients) led the way toward the clinical trial model used today.

Von Stoerck described the process and outcomes of his study of hemlock in An Essay on the Medical Nature of Hemlock, published in 1760, which he addressed and dedicated to the Holy Roman Empress, Maria Theresa. Inspired by accounts of successful treatments recorded by early writers like Pliny, von Stoerck experimented with hemlock extracts and powders. He detailed the outcome of 20 cases he treated, and though he concluded his essay with a series of additional questions he hoped to pursue, he remained convinced that with proper preparation, hemlock could be a medicinal asset to humankind.

Anton von Stoerck. https://wellcomecollection.org/works/tak887n4, accessed 6/30/21

Modern/20th Century

By the early 20^th century, the medicinal use of hemlock had been well-established. Maud Grieve, author of 1931’s A Modern Herbal, credited such use back to the work of von Stoerck, though she qualified that “it has lost some of its reputation owing to the uncertain action of the preparations made from it.” Mrs. Grieve provided an overview of the practices of her day, which primarily relied on hemlock’s same sedative and antispasmodic properties that had been noted as far back as the ancients. Yet despite the apparent acceptance of the plant’s benefits, Mrs. Grieve echoed the cautions of her forebears and emphasized that hemlock treatments must be dispensed with great care to avoid poisoning, paralysis and death.

Maud Grieve, 1928, National Portrait Gallery, London

Today

Since the time of Mrs. Grieve’s writing, modern medicine has advanced and become sufficiently accessible in most regions where hemlock thrives that less reliance is placed on the curative properties of plants alone when treating physical ailments. As a result, safer and more effective remedies are available for the complaints previously treated with hemlock, eliminating the need to risk dangerous overdoses. Yet as recent news brings home, poison hemlock is still very much alive and well in our natural environment, and as such it continues to pose a toxic threat.

What’s Next?

Now that we’ve discussed the long and much-documented history of poison hemlock, we need to learn how to recognize it and – perhaps most importantly – avoid misidentifying it as another benign plant! Stay tuned for my next post on distinguishing dangerous hemlock from friendly yarrow, coming out on Friday, 7/2/21!

Sources and Further Reading

https://www.mansfieldnewsjournal.com/story/news/2021/06/19/dangerous-plant-blooming-rampantly-across-buckeye-state/7705613002/

https://www.growforagecookferment.com/poison-hemlock/

https://www.nps.gov/articles/poison-hemlock.htm

https://carnegiemnh.org/poisons-carnegie-hemlock/

https://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/Hemlock

https://thatbiologist.wordpress.com/2015/01/08/a-short-history-of-poison-hemlock/

https://www.ucl.ac.uk/~ucgajpd/medicina%20antiqua/sa_hemlock.html

https://www.history.com/topics/ancient-history/socrates

https://www.botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/h/hemloc18.html#top

Von Bingen, Hildegard. Essay. In Hildegard Von Bingen’s Physica: the Complete English Translation of Her Classic Work on Health and Healing, translated by Priscilla Throop, 26–27. Rochester,, VT: Healing Arts Press, 1998.

CULPEPER, NICHOLAS. Essay. In CULPEPER’S ENGLISH PHYSICIAN: and Complete Herbal (Classic Reprint), 200–201. London: FORGOTTEN Books, 2015.

An essay on the medicinal nature of hemlock: … / translated from the Latin original. Written by Dr. Storck.

June 26, 2021

This Week in History, 1529: The Pomegranate Challenges the Rose

From Thomas More’s illustrated manuscript on the coronation of Henry VIII and Katherine of Aragon (1509)

Pomegranate. Rose. Neither of these blooming beauties are likely to strike fear into one’s heart at their mere mention of their names, yet almost 500 years ago this week, the Pomegranate did indeed defy England’s royal Rose.

No, this description isn’t of some type of horticultural Street Fighter matchup (though that DOES sound interesting). Instead, it refers to medieval European emblems that were used to represent important families and individuals. In an age when most of the population was illiterate, recognizable symbolism played a key role in communicating a person’s identity, prestige and societal rank. Chosen not simply according to personal preference but often for a common symbolic meaning, the choice of one’s heraldic emblem or badge could convey a message about its owner’s character, aspirations, and even lineage.

The Pomegranate: Katherine of Aragon, Queen of England

The pomegranate has a long and symbolic history in much of the Mediterranean region, including the ancient Egyptian, Jewish and Greek cultures. The many seeds of its fruit represented fertility, life and marriage, and its rounded shape could represent an imperial orb, symbolizing imperial rule. With such associations, the pomegranate was a fitting emblem of Katherine of Aragon, daughter of those renowned Spanish monarchs, Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile.

Katherine was born on December 16, 1485, and although she was the youngest daughter, she was engaged to the Prince of Wales at only three and was raised to be a capable queen. The Treaty of Medina del Campo not only secured Katherine’s future, it also created an alliance between Spain and England against France. When Katherine wed into the Tudor family (marrying first her betrothed, Arthur, and after his death marrying his younger brother, Henry VIII), her pomegranate was established within English heraldry, joining his Tudor rose as the visual representation of the monarchy.

The Rose: Henry VIII, King of England

Roses were a popular emblem around the world during the medieval and early modern periods, rich in symbolism in many cultures. In Europe, faithfulness, enduring affection and beauty were among the secular qualities associated with the rose, while Christian imagery often associated the white rose with the Virgin Mary’s purity and the red rose with Christ’s blood.

Roses had long been used in English royal imagery, and when Henry Tudor claimed the English throne after his victory at the Battle of Bosworth, he combined the red rose of his house of Lancaster with the white rose of defeated house of York to create the symbol of his new dynasty, a single red and white rose that symbolized the peace and unity he hoped to achieve. This Tudor rose was adopted by his son and heir, who became Henry VIII upon his father’s death.

The Tudor rose represented the houses of York and Lancaster united

Alliance and Marriage

Seven years after the death of Arthur Tudor, Prince of Wales and Katherine’s first husband, hopes for the continued friendship between England and Spain were bolstered when Henry VIII, newly ascended to the throne, chose Katherine as his wife and queen in a love match. They were married and crowned together at Westminster Abbey in 1509. All appeared rosy indeed.

Katherine and Henry’s celebrity marriage may have started as a fairytale-come-true, but the pressures of 16th-century king- and- queenship could take its toll on the best of relationships. After England had suffered decades of civil war during the Wars of the Roses, ensuring a smooth succession from father to son was a vital necessity for the new Tudor dynasty. Henry and Katherine now desperately needed a boy to raise and prepare to take over his father’s throne.

The coronation of Henry VIII and Katherine of Aragon, featuring the Tudor rose and Katherine’s pomegranate (woodcut, 16th c.)

‘The King’s Great Matter’

Sadly, despite their best efforts – Katherine had at least six pregnancies during their marriage – only one of their children survived to adulthood. That child, Mary I, went on to occupy the English throne, but Henry was not satisfied with leaving his kingdom to a female. By the late 1520s, Henry became convinced that their lack of surviving male children was proof that God did not approve of his marriage to Katherine. (Why? That’s the subject of a separate post, dear reader, but some of the sources listed below may satisfy your curiosity in the meantime.) In Henry’s mind, he needed a new wife – one that would please God – and fast.

As Henry discovered, ending a marriage in the early 16th century wasn’t as easy as he (and his lord chancellor, Cardinal Thomas Wolsey) had hoped. They appealed to the Pope to annul Henry’s marriage to Katherine, but Pope Clement VII was reluctant to angering Katherine’s parents, his strong supporter. Clement forestalled making the decision by sending his representative to England to hear Henry’s case and pass judgment on what became known as The King’s Great Matter.

The Pomegranate with an Iron Spine

In June 1529, Cardinal Campeggio, the papal legate, opened a court session to essentially put the marriage of Henry VII and Katherine of Aragon on trial. On June 21, both Henry and Katherine were seated in the impressive Parliament Hall of Blackfriars Friary, and both were officially called into the court. Henry idly announced his presence, expecting all the hubbub to be merely a formality.

Katherine, however, was not a meek or timid woman who was content to have her fate (and subsequently that of her daughter, Mary) decided by a king’s whim. Instead of responding demurely when the court’s clerk called her name, Katherine rose and presented herself not in front of the Legatine Court, but directly in front of Henry. She fell to her knees and addressed him plainly, as her husband, calling him to account for the injustice being dealt to her.

Katherine of Aragon appealing to Henry VIII before the Legatine Council

Contemporary writer George Cavendish recorded her words:

Sir, I beseech you for all the love that hath been between us, and for the love of God, let me have justice. Take of me some pity and compassion, for I am a poor woman, and a stranger born out of your dominion. I have here no assured friends, and much less impartial counsel…

Alas! Sir, wherein have I offended you, or what occasion of displeasure have I deserved?… I have been to you a true, humble and obedient wife, ever comfortable to your will and pleasure, that never said or did any thing to the contrary thereof, being always well pleased and contented with all things wherein you had any delight or dalliance, whether it were in little or much. I never grudged in word or countenance, or showed a visage or spark of discontent. I loved all those whom ye loved, only for your sake, whether I had cause or no, and whether they were my friends or enemies. This twenty years or more I have been your true wife and by me ye have had divers children, although it hath pleased God to call them out of this world, which hath been no default in me…

When ye had me at first, I take God to my judge, I was a true maid, without touch of man. And whether it be true or no, I put it to your conscience. If there be any just cause by the law that ye can allege against me either of dishonesty or any other impediment to banish and put me from you, I am well content to depart to my great shame and dishonour. And if there be none, then here, I most lowly beseech you, let me remain in my former estate… Therefore, I most humbly require you, in the way of charity and for the love of God – who is the just judge – to spare me the extremity of this new court, until I may be advised what way and order my friends in Spain will advise me to take. And if ye will not extend to me so much impartial favour, your pleasure then be fulfilled, and to God I commit my cause!

Henry and the Counsel were, understandably, stunned by the power of her words and by her temerity in speaking so against the king’s obvious will. Katherine curtsied to Henry, then turned on her heel and glided from the courtroom, her ladies following. Astounded, the clerk cried for her to return to her seat, but Katherine kept her head high and her eyes forward, declaring without turning “On, on, it makes no matter, for it is no impartial court for me, therefore I will not tarry.”

Katherine ultimately lost her battle to retain her place as queen, but her impassioned speech that day at Blackfriars proved once again that she was no wilting flower. The Pomegranate of Spain was a formidable woman indeed.

Sources and Further Reading

https://www.hrp.org.uk/hampton-court-palace/history-and-stories/katherine-of-aragon/#gs.4sxvzn

https://www.britannica.com/biography/Catherine-of-Aragon

https://thetudortravelguide.com/2019/06/08/blackfriars/

https://janetwertman.com/2017/06/21/june-21-1529-catherine-of-aragons-epic-speech-at-blackfriars/

Touw, Mia. “Roses in the Middle Ages.” Economic Botany 36, no. 1 (1982): 71-83. Accessed June 26, 2021. http://www.jstor.org/stable/4254352

https://www.bl.uk/collection-items/sir-thomas-more-writing-on-the-coronation-of-henry-viii

https://nerdalicious.com.au/books/royal-library-the-rose-and-pomegranate-henry-viii-and-katherine-of-aragon/

www.tudorsociety.com/the-pregnancies-of-katherine-of-aragon-by-sarah-bryson/

https://royalarmouries.org/stories/queen-katherine-of-aragon/

https://www.hrp.org.uk/hampton-court-palace/history-and-stories/katherine-of-aragon/#gs.4sxvzn

https://www.britannica.com/biography/Catherine-of-Aragon

https://thetudortravelguide.com/2019/06/08/blackfriars/

https://janetwertman.com/2017/06/21/june-21-1529-catherine-of-aragons-epic-speech-at-blackfriars/

June 18, 2021

Yarrow: The Ancient Ally in Your Backyard

Plant Bios

The scene: the Greek army has the city of Troy surrounded and besieged. Legendary champion Achilles leads his warriors in a raid on a nearby Trojan settlement, but the soldier next to him is wounded in the fierce fighting. Achilles knows what he must do to save his injured comrade-in-arms, so he lunges for…

...a plant?

That’s right, a plant. This plant, in fact.

You might be thinking this introduction for a simple plant is a bit over the top, but Achillea millefolium, commonly known as yarrow, has earned its heroic reputation throughout human history. This humble herb has been valued for its healing properties around the world since prehistory, yet it’s likely to be growing right in your neighborhood.

History’s herbal hero

For centuries, yarrow was such a common and well-known remedy to slow or stop bleeding that it earned the nickname of “soldier’s woundwort.” Its fern-like leaves were applied to a wound, either as a fresh poultice (some sources suggest chewing the leaves a bit first) or once dried. Yarrow can still be used for this purpose; while not as effective as a modern bandage and appropriate pressure, knowing how to positively identify and use these leaves could provide much-needed first aid if one is injured in a remote location without access to immediate assistance.

Other traditional medicinal uses for this warrior plant (that’s not just a bad pun; it’s truly another of yarrow’s nicknames) included internal remedies to combat fevers, soothe stomach woes and fight headaches. Respected medieval herbalist and abbess Hildegard von Bingen prescribed yarrow to reduce swelling around the eyes after a good cry, saying that one “whose vision is darkened from flowing tears should pound yarrow a moderate amount and place it over his eyes at night,” though she warned against letting the plant material touch the inside of the eye. Good advice in any age!

Compelling 21st-century collaborator

While yarrow’s blood-staunching powers are used less frequently today, it is still a powerful ally to heal both the inside and outside of the body. Steeping the flowers in hot water creates a tisane that helps break a fever, though the flavor is much improved by the addition of peppermint or other tastier herbs. Used alone or combined with other skin-soothing herbs like plantain, it can relieve irritations such as bug bites or simple dry skin when applied topically.

As a hardy and beneficial plant that can be found in all 50 United States and grows wild on every continent except Antartica, yarrow is a friendly face to look for next time you’re wandering the wilds – or even just your local park!

Sources

Von Bingen, H., & Throop, P. (1998). In Hildegard von Bingen’s Physica: the complete translation of her classic work on health and healing (pp. 59–60). Healing Arts Press.

Easley, T., & Horne, S. H. (2016). In The modern herbal dispensatory: a medicine-making guide (pp. 325–326). essay, North Atlantic Books.

Rey-Vizgirdas, E. (n.d.). Plant of the Week: Common Yarrow (Achillea millefolium). Forest Service Shield. https://www.fs.fed.us/wildflowers/plant-of-the-week/achillea_millefolium.shtml.

June 13, 2021

This Week in History: A Queen’s Emblem

This past week, we marked the 529th anniversary of the death and burial of Elizabeth Woodville, Queen of England as the wife of Edward IV from 1464-1483, and a member of the last generation of Plantagenet rulers.

Elizabeth was born circa 1437 to Sir Richard Woodville (alternately spelled Wydville, Widvile or Wydeville) and Jacquetta of Luxembourg*, Dowager Duchess of Bedford, probably at Grafton Manor in Northamptonshire. Her first marriage to Sir John Grey of Groby Hall produced two sons, Thomas and Richard, before John was killed fighting for the Lancastrian side at the Second Battle of St. Albans, part of the Wars of the Roses.

Elizabeth’s glamorous second marriage to Edward IV, the victorious Yorkist claimant to the English throne, raised eyebrows amongst nobility and commoners alike, as it had been expected that Edward would marry a princess from France or elsewhere on the Continent. Despite the resulting public shock and Edward’s frequent infidelity, the couple had 10 children, including future English queen Elizabeth of York, and the two ill-fated Princes in the Tower, Edvard V and Richard of York. She was also the grandmother of that most notorious English king, Henry VIII.

After her daughter Elizabeth of York married the Lancastrian heir Henry VII, Elizabeth Woodville retired to Bermondsey Abbey in London, where she remained until her death on June 8th, 1492. She is buried with her second husband, Edward IV, in St. George’s Chapel at Windsor Castle.

Elizabeth chose as her emblem the gillyflower, which was the predecessor of the pink (referring to its pinked edges, not its color) or clove pink and carnation. Symbolizing virtuous love and marriage, and perhaps reminding viewers of the Virgin Mary’s chastity and motherhood, it is pictured surrounding Elizabeth in her coronation robes in the Worshipful Company of Skinners’ Fraternity Book (pictured below).

The gillyflower had medicinal value in addition to its symbolic uses, as recorded by two noted early modern herbalists. Nicholas Culpeper wrote that the gillyflower is “good to remove all difficulty of breathing, and helps the cough; they also provoke the courses and urine, and by bathing or sitting over the decoction it causes perspiration.”

John Gerard distinguished between the Clove Gillofloures and Pinks, or wilde Gillofloures. The former, he said, when made into a conserve with sugar, will “comfort the heart” when occasionally eaten. The latter have no medical purpose in Gerard’s estimation, but they are to be enjoyed as part of floral arrangements.

*Jacquetta should in no way be overlooked; an influential and fascinating figure in her own right, she is the subject of my independent research project, and I can’t wait to share the story of this remarkable woman with the world! Watch this space for further updates.

Sources and further reading:

Sutton, Anne F. and Livia Visser-Fuchs (1997). The Device of Queen Elizabeth Woodville: A Gillyflower or Pink. The Ricardian. Vol. 11. (Issue no.136). Pp 17-24. http://www.thericardian.online/downloads/Ricardian/11-136/04.pdf

Culpeper, Nicholas. Culpeper’s English Physician And Complete Herbal. London, UK: Forgotten Books (2015).

Gerard, John and Marcus Woodward (1927). The Herball or Generall Historie of Plantes. London, UK: Gerald Howe.