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I’m very happy to be joining in the UK Herbarium’s monthly blog party, the topic of which is ‘emerging from winter with herbs’.

This immediately makes me think of fresh spring growth to tonify and cleanse the system after the stagnancy of winter months. However it’s still a wee bit early for harvesting nettles for soups, cleavers for green juices and chickweed and young dandelions for strengthening salads. So I decided to think about this topic practically instead of intellectually. What am I actually taking at the moment?

It’s still cold outside, though the first glimmers of spring are tantalisingly close, whispering of new shoots and green buds and the gentle stirrings of our own awakening senses. As a constitutionally chilly being I’m still loving my warming herbs but have been drinking less spicy teas and can’t seem to get enough of one of my favourite all time brews, Rosemary and Melissa. Rosemary is a wonderful warming herb and Melissa is also said to improve the circulation and the two together have a lovely, balancing effect on the emotions. Rosemary is a herb of the Sun and Melissa of Jupiter, so they are both joyful and cheering on a gloomy day when we are beginning to wonder if winter will ever end. I often team them up as essential oils too, for use in the bath and massage blends. Together they smell divine!

The other thing I’m having a lot of at the moment is the adaptogenic herbs, especially the Ayurvedic herbs Tulsi, Shatavari, Ashwaganda and Gotu Kola. Though the latter is not always classified as an adaptogen, it has many of the same properties and is classed as a rejuvenating herb, or rasayana, in India. Though I primarily use western herbs that I can grow or forage myself, I do have a somewhat guilty love of Ayurvedic plants, probably born of many happy months spent in India. I had a somewhat unsuccessful attempt at growing Ashwaganda last year but my Gotu Kola has done well so far and, as all my gardening currently takes place in pots, I shall be sure to try again when I have a more suitable situation. Adaptogens are so great during these strange ‘inbetween’ times, neither winter nor quite yet spring, when energies are starting to move in us and runny noses and colds can result from the body ridding itself of the congestion of winter. Inbetween times have a special magic all of their own, like twilight or those strange, still moments during a break in a long journey. Adaptogens are great to strengthen and support the system during times of change as they help us cope with mental, physical and environmental stresses as well as being wonderful for our immune systems.

As one of our feline companions, and soon to be guest blogger, goes by the name of Tulsi, I thought I’d say a little more about this beautiful herb.

The first time I saw Tulsi, often referred to as Sacred or Holy Basil, (Ocimum sanctum, Ocimum gratissimum) it was growing plentifully in a temple in India. Revered as the holiest of plants it is seen by some as the physical incarnation of the Goddess, reborn on Earth for the benefit of mankind. A leaf held in the mouth at the time of death is said to ensure passage to the heavenly realms and watering the plants is thought to purify one of many sins.

Tulsi is antiviral and antibacterial which, along with its immunomodulating properties and high levels of antioxidants, make it protective and strengthening. Energetically it’s classed as pungent, sweet and warm, perfect for this time of year and it has been shown to help rid the body of mucus, aid in the treatment of bronchitis and lower fevers. It’s also antidepressant, so good for banishing those winter blues. Add into the mix its hepatoprotective (liver protecting) qualities and its ability to balance blood sugar and you can start to see why it’s valued as one of the most important herbs in Ayurvedic medicine. Ancient writings also speak of its efficacy in treating kidney disease, arthritis and skin disorders and its use in purifying polluted air and as an antidote to insect and snake bits.

David Winston and Steven Maimes write in their book on adaptogens that Tulsi is “capable of bringing on goodness, virtue and joy in humans.” I have certainly found this true for both the varieties of Tulsi pictured below. 🙂

The world would certainly be a better place if people were more like chamomile.

It is white and yellow face smiles brightly up, cheering all those who pass by, though it is in no way garish, having a softness and subtlety that could allow it to be overlooked. It has long been associated with humility due to the fact that, when planted in lawns, it grows better the more it is trodden on. In this way it teaches us strength and endurance and the ability to turn difficult circumstances to our advantage. In the Victorian language of flowers it represented patience in adversity.

We all know the calming effects of chamomile, much needed in these busy times, as well as its ability to ease the digestion. On an emotional, as well as physical level it can help us to better ‘digest’ and assimilate difficult events or situations.

Mrs Grieves writes about chamomile’s wonderful ability to heal plants as well as people:

The Chamomile used in olden days to be looked upon as the ‘Plant’s Physician,’ and it has been stated that nothing contributes so much to the health of a garden as a number of Chamomile herbs dispersed about it, and that if another plant is drooping and sickly, in nine cases out of ten, it will recover if you place a herb of Chamomile near it.

The Chamomile is a true example of what it means to be medicine, completely and fully, so that everything around can benefit from our presence. This surely should be the aim of all healers and herbalists and indeed all people seeking a better world for themselves and other beings.

I Love Yew

Of all the trees in the woods, the yew appears to me to demonstrate most expressively its nature as a living, breathing, sentient being. It’s dark sinewy muscle mass and sensuous curves are at once beauty and beast, shadow and light. The older trees seem the embodiment of the ancient wise ones, as though they just decided to sit down one day and not move again. So often their trunks resemble human limbs caught in motion, frozen in sacred dance. Even the sap has the deep red of blood and the exposed bark resembles living flesh.

Indeed the yew is one of our most ancient woodland trees, it formed part of the primeval conifer forests many years before there were broadleaves. Legends of death and rebirth are told in its great broken boughs and myriad tiny new shoots that burst up from the trunk. Although one of the first trees to flower in spring, as an evergreen it is in winter that the yew is most revered, when it shows us the promise of life to come. Honored by the Celts as a tree of eternity, it transcends time by renewing itself through its lower branches which root into the ground and become a part of the trunk itself. In this way it demonstrates so beautifully the cyclical nature of life. It even continues to grow when its trunk becomes hollow, long into its great old age, giving it a reputation for immortality. It is best known in the UK for its association with church yards where it was planted as a continuation of the Druid practice of working with the yew in both worship and death.

If you look closely, you can often see faces in the hollowed trunks of ancient yews, and these are said to belong to the spirits of the dead passing from this life to the next.

The Yew is highly poisonous and should never be taken internally or as medicine. Though the bright red berries look appetising, they can cause death to the unwary. The poison used in Shakespeare’s play to kill Hamlet’s uncle was made from yew. Its latin name Taxus baccata gave us the word toxin, used now to mean any kind of poison. It is used homeopathically however to treat a variety of disorders from chronic arthritis and gout, to certain kinds of headache, night sweats and pustular skin diseases.

It can also be taken as a flower essence for protection and grounding and is one of my favourite remedies for this purpose.

Drug companies are also experimenting with a particular alkaloid from yew for the treatment of ovarian cancer, though there are some ethical questions over their methods of harvesting the bark.

For me the medicine of the yew is in its presence, not its constituents. It encourages us to see the wonder in life and death, in darkness and light and in doing so it helps us embrace our own shadows as part of the totality of being.