What We Need Is Here

To know many songs by heart

From What is Found There: Notebooks on Poetry and Politics by Adrienne Rich

"The passing on of living history is an essential ingredient of individual and communal self-knowledge . . . The loss can be a leak in history or a shrinking in the vitality of everyday life. Fewer and fewer people in this country entertain each other with verbal games, recitations, charades, singing, playing on instruments, doing anything as amateurs - people who are good at something because they enjoy it. To be good at talk, not pompously eloquent or didactic, but having a vivid tongue savoring turns of phrase  to sing on key and know many songs by heart - to play fiddle, banjo, mandolin, flute, accordion, harmonica - to write long letters - to draw pictures or whittle wood with some amount of skill - to do moderately and pleasingly well, in short, a variety of things without solemn investment or disenabling awe - these were common talents till recently, crossing class and racial lines. People used their human equipment - memory, image making, narrative, voice, hand, eye - unself-consciously, to engage with other people, and not as specialists or "artistes."

For ordinary people to sing or whistle used to be as common as breathing. I remember men whistling, briskly or hauntingly, women humming with deep-enclosed chest tones. Where did it go? A technology of "canned" music available through car radios, portable "boom boxes," and cassette players, programmed music piped into the workplace, has left people born in the 1950s and later largely alien to the experience of hearing or joining in casual mucsic making. . .

Part of the experience of casual singing was the undeliberate soaking up of many songs, many verses. Ballads, hymns, work songs, opera arias, folk songs, popular songs, labor songs, school-children's playground songs. And, of course, with the older songs words changed over time, new generations of singers mis-remembering or modifying. Tunes changed, too, as songs traveled: from England or Wales to Appalachia, from Africa to the Sea Islands, France to Quebec, and across the continent.

To ears accustomed to high-technology amplification and recording processes, the unamplified human voice, the voice not professionally trained, may sound accoustically lacking, even perhaps embarrassing. And so we're severed from a physical release and pleasure, whether in solitude or community - the use of breath to produce song. But breath is also Ruach, spirit, the human connection to the universe."

Good old spiderwort...

John is on a work-related trip to D.C. this week, so neither of us are being local... But I was delighted today to see one of my favorite local "weeds" growing on purpose in a formal French garden: Spiderwort!

I had heard that this maligned wildflower was coddled in cottage gardens in Britain; I was happy to find it in Paris as well. It's a bit paler and pinker than our robust local version, but it was lovely interplanted ith a bed of red roses. It lined the walkway of a portion of the 4.5 km "Promenade Plantée," - the beautiful linear garden planted along an ancient viaduct that begins less than a mile from my apartment and end at the Bastille. Seeing it today was like running into an old friend! (I'm a bit lonely.)

Wild onions

We were thrilled to find patches of wild onions growing in the "weedy" area in the empty lot surrounding our garden. Googling "wild onion" let to a number of sites and ads with explanations about how to get rid of them. One went to particular lengths to differentiate between wild garlic (tubular leaves) and wild onion (flatter leaves) and presented a history of both plants. Wild onion is native and has been used since time immemorial by native people in the Americas. Wild garlic was brought over by the Europeans and naturalized in our friendly soil. It seemed strange to follow this information with a list of toxic remedies to their persistence - like killing off a long-lost friend.

I'd rather enjoy their delicate flowers, and eat the bulb. The flowers spring out of little bulblets that eventually burst and fall to the ground, starting the next generation. I'm not sure when the smallish underground bulbs are at their peak for eating, but the blooming ones we picked today were good enough.

Some native peoples apparently boiled them down to a syrup for use as a medicine for colds, croup, and "tickly throat" (Bradford Angier in Field Guide to Medicinal Plants). I wonder how they would work with spring allergies...

Spiderwort

You can find these almost everywhere in late spring and early summer. We have them growing in the field around our garden, volunteering in our herb garden in the front yard, and along the roadside. They're monocots (grass-type plants) that resemble irises or lilies. They're so pretty it's hard to think of them as a weed, and since they don't seem to mind being dug up and replanted, I wonder why more of us don't (intentionally) have them in our gardens. Maybe they're just too common and easy to grow. I understand the British, after transporting across the ocean in the seventeenth century, now coddle them in their cottage gardens. 

They're edible. The tender leaves can be thrown into salad or cooked in soup. Their flowers make pretty salad garnishes. And the steamed stems have the taste and texture of asparagus - which we cannot grow here.

Why are they called spiderwort? No one knows for sure but some think it's because the viscous sap from the stem can be strung into spiderweb-like strands. Others think it's the general apperarance of the leggy leaves from above. A friend once told me that the sap can be used to soothe ant bites. The "wort" part of the name is from Old English and implies a medicinal quality for use against spiders. We've lost so much of that old knowledge about the use of things that grow near us. Makes me want to join the grandmothers of the world and try out this cure next time I'm stung in the garden - especially since they're so conveniently located. Could it be they're right where we need them?

Spanish Needle

This common plant is called by a number of names in addition to Spanish Needle - everything from "Hairy Beggarticks" (yuck!) to "Piquant Noir" (ooh la la!).  Its scientific name is Bidens Pilosa, and I first knew it as simple "bidens" - although I've called it some unsavory names when it kept popping up in my butterfly/herb garden.  It grows like a, ummm, weed, and its root system is a real booger if you don't pull it quick.

However... I learned recently that it's edible.  Susan Marynowski, a local herbalist suggests throwing a handful of leaves into soups, stews, or greens to add nutrients. It has medicinal qualities as well; its leaves are chewed for sore throat or boiled to make a tea that is said to help with upper-respiratory infections. 

It seems to thrive just about anyplace. Walking along the sidewalk off a very busy road, I found a long row of it growing happily in the cracks - and we have had exactly one rainy day during the last six weeks!  It's advised that we don't eat wild edibles growing on the side of the road due to the street run-off, but if you look, you'll probably find it growing around your yard as I did.  It's hardy, persistent, tolerant, and honestly - it's kind of pretty when it's blooming.  Sometimes I try to think of these plants like folk herbalists used to - that hidden in their appearance or their character lies clue to how they might benefit us.  Hardiness, persistence, tolerance, ability to bloom under difficult circumstances - all good human qualities.  Plus I have a cold.

Oxalis:Another Wild Edible Right Outside the Door

I've always liked these little plants. Big ones, with purple flowers are growing by the front door; tiny ones with yellow flowers all over the garden. They pop up in early spring around St. Patrick's Day - like little shamrocks.

Now I know you can eat them!  They are also called Wood Sorrel and taste very lemony - like the French Sorrel growing in the garden. Funny how often I have thrown the pesky things in the compost (their little roots are hard to get at sometimes) while praising and watering the domesticated sorrel.  No more. They are delicious and beautiful - and plentiful in early spring. And they help make a very pretty salad.

 

Smilax:Wild Edibles Right Outside My Back Door

The Resilient Smilax Waving Triumphantly

Literally.  There are two large and annoyingly recurring vines on either side of our back door that I continually hack down. Their huge thorns and proximity to the azalea bush roots make it impossible for me to uproot them once and for all.

The Down Side

I always remember their scientific name because when they were first identified for me years ago on a nature walk, the botanist said that anyone would smile at the chance to use an ax on them.  But she neglected to say that their tender shoots taste like asparagus - and that another name for them is sasparilla. Theirs is the famed root of root beer!

   

The Edible, Tender Shoot

I doubt if I'll ever get at the root of these particular vines, but I will add their shoots to salad tonight and hopefully several times again as I continue to hack back (prune?) this vine of paradox. 

I learned about the smilax' edibility at a class I attended last night given my Susan Marynowski, a local herbalist.  In addition to smilax/sasparilla, I confirmed that we have a number of other wild edibles already growing in the yard - the aforementioned betany and spanish needles as well as oxalis (wood sorrel).  I plan to serve these up soon as well and will let you know what I learn.

What a wonderful thing to know. I am so grateful to Susan for sharing her knowledge with us and very happy that it has been years since I've used herbicides or pesticides in our yard (thus all these wild edibles, formerly known as weeds).  If you're nearby, you can check out classes like these here.  The handout listing local edibles and medicinals is available here.  But Susan gave us much more information than is contained on the handout and warned that some of the plants listed have toxic qualities as well. Good to take the class.

As the weeks go by, I'll highlight each of these plants as they become ready to harvest in my yard. Next up: Wood Sorrel (oxalis).