Plant Bios

Every year since I started these herb garden experiments, I’ve made it a point to grow at least one new plant or herb each season. (Granted, as this is only my third year, it hasn’t exactly been a taxing challenge to meet, but still.) Sometimes those new plant friends go on to be perennial favorites, like calendula and comfrey. Other times…well, it turns out not to be such a great fit for one reason or another, and if that plant could talk, I’m sure it would agree that our breakup was mutual. 

After something of a disappointing season in 2020 (that’s a whole separate post, but for now let’s just be honest: most things in 2020 were disappointing), I decided to pare things way down this time around. I chose just a couple of new-to-me plants and focused those early-season energies on having my first successful go at indoor seed starts. 

I couldn’t tell you anymore precisely why I selected the new herbs I did. I must have been inspired, though, when I landed on what I’d now call the biggest winner of the year:  borage. 

Borage plants, June 2021. Photo by R.A. Stockton

“Haaaaaaaaave you met Borage?” 

I never thought I’d end up as an herb’s wingwoman, but this summer I’ve been hyping up this particular one so often that I might as well adapt the classic How I Met Your Mother catchphrase. Let me introduce you to borage first, then I’ll rave some more about how much I’ve enjoyed growing it this year. 

Borago officinalis is a member of the Boraginaceae family, along with well-known ornamentals like heliotrope and forget-me-not. It is easily spotted by gorgeous blue star-shaped flowers with black anthers rising from the center in a conical shape. Those blooms have long been its hallmark; John Gerard, writing in the late 16th century, described them as “gallant blew floures, composed of five leaves apiece; out of the middle of which grow forth blacke threds joined in the top, and pointed like a broch or pyramide: the root is threddy.” 

Borage. Note the anthers in the center of each bloom and the stiff hairs along the stems. Photo by R.A. Stockton

Borage can grow up to three feet tall and two feet wide, and it is an aggressive self-spreader unless contained. Like its cousin comfrey, its stems and leaves wear stiff white hairs, so gardening gloves make interacting with both herbs more comfortable. 

Borage is native to the eastern Mediterranean, though it was widely used in Europe – and to a smaller extent in North America – as a medicinal and culinary herb. Read on for more on both of these uses, as well as an important cautionary “word to the wise.”

Borage as Traditional Healer

I first learned of borage during my research into plants that were historically used for medicinal purposes. Over the centuries, borage flowers, leaves and the oil from its seeds have been used to treat a variety of conditions.

The Consistent Mood-Booster

Most consistently, borage has been relied upon for its ability to lift spirits and promote cheerfulness. Ancient writers praised borage for its cheering effect on the disposition, and the plant was believed to bestow courage on warriors preparing for battle.  The entry in Gerard’s Herball referred back to Pliny, who called the herb “…Euphrosinum, because it maketh a man merry and joyfull: which thing also the old verse concerning Borage doth testifie: Ego Borago gaudia semper ago. I Borage bring alwaies courage.” 

A borage flower with blue petals edged in vivid pink. Photo by R.A. Stockton, 2021.

Internal and External Helper

Gerard described his contemporaries using borage in salads to improve mood, comfort sadness and combat depression. Nicholas Culpeper (1653) advised that a syrup made from borage would not only serve those same purposes, but that it would also fight fevers, jaundice and skin afflictions. Its mucilage would aid sore throats and soothe coughs, and if distilled in water, it would heal inflammations of the eye. 

Eyes and Ears

Culpeper was not the first to recognize borage as a treatment for eye afflictions. Hildegard von Bingen, a 12th century abbess and skilled herbalist, advised that a patient with diminished vision should regularly crush or break apart borage, apply it to a red silk cloth, and then tie the silk around the eyes overnight. She had a similar remedy for ringing in the ears that required borage juice and a silk of either green or white to be applied repeatedly to the neck and up to the ears. 

Pale pink borage blossoms. Photo by R.A. Stockton, 2021.

Modern Uses

Herbal Remedy

Elements of these historical treatments remain in use by modern herbalists even into the 21st century. Easley & Horne promote the depression-fighting properties of borage and recommend a flower essence to create “cheerful courage when facing adversity.” Matthew E. Wood lists a variety of conditions that borage may benefit, ranging from mental/emotional stress to inflamed eyes and from skin irritations to fevers. (Note: both sources caution against the risks associated with this herb, especially its internal usage, so please attend carefully to the warning included below.)

Culinary Delicacy

The borage plant gives off a pleasant, slightly sweet and refreshing aroma, and the flowers, leaves and stalks are edible. Its delicate flowers have a mild flavor that has been likened to cucumbers, which can be candied to decorate cakes or used as a colorful garnish in cocktails, and its young leaves can be used in salads. (Older leaves may cause irritation or discomfort due to those prickly hairs that develop as they mature.) As with medicinal preparations, culinary borage should be used fresh, as much is lost in the drying process. 

Star-shaped borage flowers. Photo by R.A. Stockton, 2021.

While these borage preparations certainly look and sound tempting, I must again warn you that not all experts consider it advisable to consume borage. If you choose to enjoy borage for more than its considerable visual appeal, please make note of the considerations below so that you can make informed decisions.

That “Word to the Wise” I Mentioned….

Borage shares more than just a prickly stem with its cousin, comfrey. Both plants, while traditionally consumed to treat internal concerns, are now known to contain a low level of toxicity that can cause damage to internal organs like the liver. Borage also has the potential to interfere with certain medications, and it should not be used if you are pregnant. 

This entry (https://www.webmd.com/vitamins/ai/ingredientmono-596/borage) from WebMD outlines some of the concerns about borage that you may wish to consider, but as always, you should consult a physician or trained herbalist before consuming. (As a friendly reminder, as stated here, I am neither a physician nor a trained herbalist, and all of the information provided in any of my articles is for informational purposes only!) 

And Now, A Bit of Fangirling

Enough with the academic stuff; as interesting as all of that is, none of it is why I enjoyed growing and getting to know borage this year. It’s also not why I’d recommend that you, dear friend and reader, consider including it in your future garden plans. So now let’s talk about the actual important stuff. 

Easy Indoor Start

Confession time: prior to this year, I never had success starting plants from seed. I’d given it halfhearted tries in the past, but I knew my setup wasn’t quite right, so the sprouts I did get were few and weak. Mostly I ended up sowing the seeds outdoors again and crossing my fingers for a better outcome there (great job little seedlings, you thrived despite my goof-ups). 

This spring, I made a bunch of needed upgrades and ended up with a proper seed-starting configuration. Still, given my past struggles, I was skeptically hesitant to get my hopes up. Borage came through for me with a massive self-esteem boost when within a few days, it became the first of my seeds to germinate! And wow, every single cell sprouted. 

They were also the fastest-growing of my lot for most of the spring; I had so much fun marveling at how much they’d grown every time I’d check in on them. I know how cheesy this sounds, but watching those borage seedlings take off totally renewed my enthusiasm and got me invested in making sure my other herbs and flowers made it, too. 

Baby seedlings, just transplanted outside! Borage in the 3 planters (terra cotta, grey & green) directly to the left of the white planter box.) May 24, 2021. Photo by R.A. Stockton.

Relaxed Outside Grower

My borage plants were champions when it came time for transplanting them outdoors, too. I’d started more seeds than I’d estimated would survive, to ensure I had at least a couple viable plants. By the time late May rolled around and frost season was finally over here, it turned out that I had a few too many plants for the containers I’d meant to use. 

Borage growing in a container, buds and leaves spotted with water droplets. Photo by R.A. Stockton, 2021.

So I stuck extra borage into any old, barely-holding-together pots I had and crammed them into bigger containers with more plants than would be recommended, yet they gave it a hearty go from the start! 

Charming Blooms

The next reason I loved growing borage this year sounds superficial, but we all enjoy the visual pleasures our gardens bring us, don’t we? Well, as it turns out, borage flowers are absolutely gorgeous. 

I described them above as an easily-recognizable method of identifying borage, but this is truly a case where a picture is worth a thousand words. (Since I’ve included many photos of the blooms from my garden, you can guess how many words I think could be expended in an attempt to adequately detail their appearance!) 

Shaped like 5-pointed stars, these delicate flowers range from light pink to varying shades of periwinkle blue, sometimes tinged with magenta around the central anthers. When the plant has many flowers in bloom at various stages of maturity, the spectrum of extraordinary pastels is stunning. Even when they’ve faded and fallen away, no unsightly wilted mess remains.

Borage flowers in a variety of colors, from pale pink to deep periwinkle. August 2021. Photo by R.A. Stockton.

Natural Resilience

By now you’ve probably gotten the (very fair!) impression that I’m not necessarily a green thumb by nature. Whatever success I have has more to do with research, acknowledging and catering to my limits, and frankly, luck. Even with the best of intentions, there have been many gardening lessons I’ve learned the hard way by experiencing failure and figuring out what I did wrong. 

The same happened with borage. I realized somewhat belatedly that I didn’t actually know whether borage needed pruning, or how to prune it, until several of my plants had gotten rather…scraggly and had stopped producing flowers.  I did some internet research but didn’t find quite what I was looking for, probably because most people with borage in their yard either let it grow naturally or just “know” through long familiarity with the plant.

Finally, I decided I had to give it a go, even without an official guide. Borage doesn’t have the easily-discernible pruning points that many herbs do; there are no obvious forks on the stem with visible new growth, signaling where a well-placed clip of the shears would encourage a fuller plant and another round of blooms. I crossed my fingers and did my best.

I still don’t know if my approach was the right one or not, but my borage certainly looked better after its haircut. It even bounced back enough to  have a few more rounds of flowers. So I suppose I should take note of the lesson and have enough confidence in the future to try something, anything, before the plants get out of hand.

Fresh borage flowers after my somewhat inexpert pruning attempt. Photo by R.A. Stockton, July 2021.

Êvolving Connection with the Garden

Speaking of lessons learned, borage also reminded me that gardening doesn’t always have to be about what and how much I’ve produced by the end of the season. I’ve had a sort of thought evolution on this topic over the past five years or so, which upon reflecting now, I find quite interesting. 

Initially, I gardened every year just for the sake of having pretty plants to enjoy and some visual interest to liven up the deck space. After several years of basically growing the same selection of familiar, low-maintenance annuals, I found myself envious of my friends’ impressive full-sized gardens and wishing I could grow something I could actually harvest. It felt like my container garden lacked a purpose, and my zeal to keep up with the annual tasks dwindled. 

My perspective changed a few years ago, when my interest was piqued as a result of some historical reading. I began researching the types of home remedies that women in centuries past, primarily the medieval and early modern periods, used to treat common ailments for family members, friends and neighbors. I was awed at the amount of herbal knowledge that had been gathered and passed down from mother to daughter for generations, and I began to wonder whether those medicinal plants were still commonly found today. 

As a result of my curiosity, I reinvented my garden to grow those herbs. For the first couple of seasons, I focused my efforts on producing enough plant material that I could then experiment with some simple historical remedies, like compresses, salves and tinctures. Each fall, I made new plans for what new plants and remedies to try the next year. 

Old favorite herbs, yarrow and calendula, with newcomer catmint. June 15, 2021. Photo by R.A. Stockton.

As much as I enjoyed those experiments, there were down sides to that approach as well. If I didn’t feel like I had enough preserved and saved at the end of the season, I’d get stressed, even though I am privileged enough to not need to rely on these items for my person or family health.  

I was still in that mindset for probably the first half of this season. Then, for a couple of weeks or so, I wasn’t able to spend much time caring for my plants, and the garden’s overall health suffered a decline. 

Borage flowers, picked and ready to preserve. Photo by R.A. Stockton, 2021.

I faced the distinct possibility that I wouldn’t have enough of certain herbs, borage included, to be able to make the products I’d planned. As overdramatic as it sounds, I felt like my efforts would be wasted and my season a failure.

Then about a week after I’d finally pruned the borage, it started coming back. Fresh new growth sprung from stems that had seemed spent, and new clusters of buds showed up like magic. It finally knocked enough sense back into my head that I realized something: if I spent all of my time focused on and worrying about what I would end up with at the end of the season, I’d miss the entire experience of watching these plants grow, thrive, then die or go dormant. I was missing the now, which was trying to teach me valuable lessons if I’d just pay attention! 

Deep bluish-purple borage flowers, with bright orange calendula blooms in the background. Photo by R.A. Stockton, 2021.

So the final reason I’ve loved having borage added to my garden this year is that it reminded me how important it is to be present in each moment. For that, I’m grateful to this tiny blue-flowered plant.

Sources and Further Reading

https://practicalselfreliance.com/borage-uses/

https://www.britannica.com/plant/Boraginaceae

https://www.illinoiswildflowers.info/weeds/plants/borage.htm

https://www.botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/b/borage66.html

https://www.encyclopedia.com/medicine/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/borage-oil

Gerard, J., & Woodward, M. (2015). CHAP. 123. Of Borage. In Gerard’s Herball (pp. 185–186). essay, The Noverre Press. 

Culpeper, N. (2018). Borage and Bugloss. In Culpeper’s English physician and complete herbal (pp. 90–91). essay, Forgotten Books. 

Von Bingen, H. (1998). CCI. BORAGE. In P. Throop (Trans.), Hildegard von bingen’s PHYSICA: The complete translation of her classic work on health and healing. essay, Healing Arts Press. 

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

Wood, M. (2008). Borago officinalis. Borage. . In The EARTHWISE herbal, a complete guide to Old World medicinal plants (pp. 145–149). essay, North Atlantic Books. 

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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-18th 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 20th 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.

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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.

Author’s first yarrow blooms of 2021

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.

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