07 // July // The Floral Issue

i: Editorial

Flower power: a taste of summer Kyra Pollitt Now is a time of opening.

Just a few months ago, in my far northern garden, an early burst of sunshine brought optimistic blooms that, only days later, were dashed by snow and hail. Such small tragedies, it seemed, were echoed in our social worlds, as some sectors of the old normal opened only to close, and we feared other sectors might have opened too early. Yet, as our Climate Column reassures us, ‘It might not all be terrible’. In fact, it’s wonderful to see the students on RBGE’s Herbology courses finally able to tend their herb beds and progress with that aspect of their studies (The Globe Physic Garden).

So, we do seem to have arrived at some kind of summer— both socially and botanically.

Artist of the Month Callum Halstead’s bouquet of floral photographs, scattered throughout this issue, can only bring joy, while Our Man in the Field has been on the deeply enviable mission of touring the grounds of Pyrus, as he interviews the proprietor, Fiona Inglis, and stops to smell the roses.

As I write this, at Midsummer, I find myself surrounded and reassured by the papery glory and sweet, heady scent of Rosa gallica. Of course, it’s not as narcotic as the scent of our Herb of the Month, the Linden or Lime blossom (Tilia x europea). I haven’t yet encountered a Linden tree this far north, but we do boast the most astonishing Midsummer light, and a fine collection of standing stones with which to honour the Solstice as the sun passes its zenith and we tip forwards towards our harvests (The Pagan Page).

Whilst the sun pursues its ancient path, one effect of our new societal normal is that we can no longer rely on things to progress predictably. This has its advantages and disadvantages. Whilst it raises anxiety, it also encourages us to live in the moment, to appreciate things as they are right now. What better way to do that than to sit in the garden and eat flowers? Reading the confessions of flower-muncher Joseph Nolan (Of Weeds and Weans) brought a Proustian rush this month, taking me straight back to days spent curled under bushes at the back of my childhood garden, communing and consuming. And that Proustian experience is at the heart of Dora Wagner’s examination of our sense of smell, so closely linked to our experience of taste— turn to Anthroposophical Views for some quite unexpected revelations.

If you’d rather do other things with your floral harvest, then perhaps sweeten, shake and steam along with the amazing Ann King’s selection of herbal recipes (Notes from the Brew Room), guaranteed to secure what our poet, J.L. Williams describes as ‘…the perfume of flowers/ emanating […] in all directions’. ‘All knowledge’ is not ‘rescinded’ in Ruth Crighton-Ward’s garden, however, as her steady green hand guides us through another month of Garden Gems. Sadly, Ruth announces that next month will be her last column for us. We will sorely miss her rich, informative, no-nonsense wisdom.

And so, the year turns…

Honorary Executive Editorial team Artistic Director Illustration Finance and Distribution

Catherine Conway-Payne Kyra Pollitt, Ella Leith Maddy Mould Maddy Mould Marianne Hughes

i: Contents

i Editorial Frontispiece Contents Artist of the Month

Kyra Pollitt Maddy Mould

2 3

Callum Halstead

6

ii Herb of the Month

Marianne Hughes, Hazel Brady

9

iii Of Weeds and Weans Anthroposophical Views Notes from the Brew Room

Joseph Nolan Dora Wagner Ann King

12 15 19

iv Our Man in the Field….

David Hughes meets Fiona Inglis

22

v Herbal Medicine and Social Justice The Climate Column The Pagan Page

Audrey Marchbank Patrick Dunne James Uzzell

30 32 35

vi The Globe Physic Garden Garden Gems

Senga Bate Ruth Crighton-Ward

39 41

vii Foraging Through Folklore Botanica Fabula StAnza Presents…

Ella Leith Amanda Edmiston J. L. Williams

46 49 52

viii Contributors Looking Forward

56 60

Callum Halstead Allium ‘Purple sensation’

i: Artist of the Month

Callum Halstead @callum_halstead This month’s artist insists he isn’t one.

However, anyone who follows his Instagram account can’t fail to be impressed by the stunning quality of his botanical photography.

Although he briefly studied photography at art college, Callum is principally a horticulturalist— training at Royal Botanic Gardens Edinburgh and, after working in the nursery trade for five years, now working as Nursery Manager at Macplants Nursery in East Lothian. Taking all his images on iPhone S or OnePlus 7T phone cameras, his photographic work began as a method of helping him document and learn about the plants he grows.

Callum writes: I am very easily seduced by the beauty of flowers. Like a moth to a flame or, indeed, a bumblebee to a bloom, I am transfixed and captivated by them. I’m slightly particular about the plants I grow, however what started as a collection of a few dozen varieties has swiftly expanded and is now approaching five hundred. Plant addiction is real.

Many of my plants are ephemeral, with flowers lasting no more than a week or two in some cases. From the perspective of a professional nurseryman, keeping a photographic record allows me to compare some of the subtle differences between similar species and to get to know the plants better. It is all useful information, as the chances are that I will have to explain those differences to a customer at some stage. However, from the perspective of an amateur gardening enthusiast (also me), the images allow me to extend the joy and satisfaction my plants give me, far beyond their respective flowering seasons. In the bleak winter months, I pour over my image library, looking

back over the previous season’s triumphs, whilst also looking forward to the coming season with the excitement and anticipation of bigger and better displays.

I grow my collection in my relatively small back garden in Balerno, where I live with my fiancée. It’s not quite as tiny as many of the wee courtyard gardens attached to properties nearer the centre of Edinburgh, but by the time you’ve subtracted the space taken up by the driveway, the wonky shed and the rather shoogly patio, you’re not left with a huge amount of growing room. This has led me to use succession planting so that different plants can inhabit the same space at different times of year. In the borders I try to select plants that are compact and well-behaved, so that they generally stay where I put them. To make full use of the available space, I grow a lot of bulbs and alpine plants in pots, which are frequently rotated around the garden to create revolving displays that change throughout the seasons.

I favour repeat planting throughout a garden. It helps to tie everything together and create a sense of unity, while also leading the eye through the space. I find plants give much better impact planted in groups of three, five or seven. There’s no rule against even numbers, particularly if you’re going for a symmetrical design, but a lot of garden designers seem to prefer odd numbers and I tend to agree.

I’m particularly drawn to little plants that make their homes amongst the leaf litter in woodlands around the world. I call them ‘garden jewellery’ as, while they may not take centre stage or fill lots of space, they help to ornament and frame their larger neighbours, adding decoration with

i: Artist of the Month their richly coloured and intricate little blooms. One thing that my garden does not have a lot of is shade and so I use these plants as fillers in between larger perennials that will offer them a bit of shelter from direct sunlight. My favourites include Snowdrops (Galanthus sp.), Wood Anemones (Anemone nemorosa), Hepaticas, Jeffersonia, Epimediums and the Rue Anemone (Thalictrum thalictroides), also known as Anemonella. Most of these appear in early to mid-spring when I am in most desperate need of a floral fix and they are always a delight to see.

At this time of year, I love the distinctive umbrella-shaped flowerheads and tall, sculptural stems of Angelica (Angelica sp.). There are a few to choose from, including the regal and highly architectural Angelica gigas, the dark and sultry-looking Angelica sylvestris ‘Vicar’s Mead’ with its purple-green foliage, or the lowgrowing, glossy-leaved Angelica pachycarpa, which is a fabulous choice for the front of a border. Then there’s the graceful Gillenia trifoliata, otherwise known as Bowman’s Root or Indian Physic— a wonderful, summerflowering perennial, suitable for cool and moisture-retentive soils in semishade or full sun. Its russet red stems add value to the border in the spring, and its hemp-like foliage begins to unfurl in early summer. At the height of summer, elegant sprays of slender, starry, white flowers emerge, to be followed by attractive red seed pods. I recommend planting Gillenia in groups of three or more, for maximum impact.

To make the best of your own plant photography, Callum suggests: 1) Try taking photos in different lights. The brightness of the sun can really affect how the camera ‘sees’ the colour of some flowers, particularly the more vibrantly coloured ones.

Blazing sunshine does not always the provide

the best conditions for flower photography.

Some of my favourite images were taken on very cloudy days.

2) Try not to let any part of you or your camera/phone cast shade over your subject.

There are few straight lines in nature, and you can spot the silhouette of an iPhone a mile off.

3) If the bloom is going to be off-centre in the shot, I generally prefer the flower to be facing towards the centre of the image. I’m sure there’s probably a more technical way to explain this, but to my eye it is just more aesthetically pleasing. If the bloom is facing away from centre, it usually just looks like I’ve messed up on centring the subject.

Images : Cover image Meconopsis x sheldonii ‘George Taylor’ Image 1 Allium ‘Purple sensation’ Image 2 Bupleurum longifolium Image 3 Anemone obtusiloba ‘Pradesh’ Image 4 Saxifraga ‘Albatross’ Image 5 Oxalis sp.

Image 6 Corydalis ‘Kingfisher’ Image 7 Cypripedium sp.

Image 8 Meconopsis ‘Marit’ Image 9 Epidemeum ‘Domino’ Image 10 Portrait of the Artist

Callum Halstead Bupleurum longifolium

ii: Herb of the Month

Lime Flower (Tilia x europaea; a hybrid of T. cordata and T. platyphyllos) Marianne Hughes, with illustration by Hazel Brady During June and July, walking beneath Lime trees and inhaling their wonderful scent seems a perfect remedy for stress, tension and overwork. So, it makes sense that Lime blossom is, indeed, an effective nervine. Many authors (e.g., Conway, 2001; Hoffman, 2002; Ody, 1993) focus on its calming and relaxing actions, agreeing that various types of tension, stress and anxiety can be positively alleviated through infusions or tinctures.

When nervous tension impacts on digestion, as it often does, Lime blossom tea, with its very low tannin content, can be an effective remedy.

As Bartram (1998) explains, the tannins present in ordinary tea ‘inhibit true protein digestibility thus favouring Lime flowers for efficient digestion.’ A hot, strong infusion of Lime blossom also has a diaphoretic action (induces sweating), so it can reduce fever and assist in eliminating toxins through the skin and the urine. As a cold infusion, Lime blossom has a cooling effect, which is useful for treating menopausal hot flushes.

Lime blossom can also encourage restful sleep and was recommended as a sedative for soldiers on the frontline during the Second World War (Bruton-Seal & Seal, 2008). Folklore has it that if you fall asleep under this tree, you will wake up in fairyland (Bruton-Seal & Seal, 2008). Perhaps this is because Lime flowers develop narcotic properties as they age and ought to be collected when they first open (Bown, 2008). Nonetheless, Conway (2001) describes Lime blossom as: one of the major children’s remedies in herbal medicine…to soothe irritable states, aid sleep, soothe coughs and clear colds

Hoffman (2002) suggests Lime blossom as a prophylactic against arteriosclerosis (by reducing cholesterol) and against hypertension, as it relaxes the peripheral vascular system, lowering blood pressure.

One of the active ingredients of Lime blossom is hesperidin, a bioflavonoid which has antioxidant actions. Hesperidin was first isolated, from the white inner layer of citrus peels, in 1828 by French chemist, Philippe Lebreton. Zanwar et al. (2014) note that hesperidin exhibits several pharmacological actions such as cardioprotective, antihyperlipidemic, antihypertensive, antidiabetic activities, which are mainly attributed to an antioxidant defence mechanism and suppression of pro-inflammatory cytokine production Hesperidin is present in all citrus fruits, some fruits and vegetables, and in Lime blossom. It is sometimes known as Vitamin P, though it is not a vitamin (which is a bit confusing). Just as confusing is the common name ‘Lime’. Despite the presence of hesperidin in the blossom, Tilia x europaea is not related to the tree which produces lime fruits— that is Citrus aurantiifolia. Perhaps the traditional name for the tree, the ‘Linden’, is more useful.

We are not the only creatures fond of this blossom; bees love it, too. Honey made from Lime flowers retains their calming effects (Bruton-Seal & Seal, 2008) and, of course, helps fight infection (Conway, 2001).

In these anxiety-inducing times, inhaling deeply under a blossoming Linden tree, taking a Lime blossom tea, or spreading Lime blossom honey on your toast could be just the tonic you need.

ii: Herb of the Month

References Bartram, T. (1998) Bartram’s Encyclopaedia of Herbal Medicine Robinson: London Bown, D. (2008) Encyclopaedia of Herbs, Royal Horticultural Society, Dorling Kindersley: London Bruton-Seal, J. and Seal, M. (2008) Hedgerow Medicine: Harvest and Make Your Own Herbal Remedies, Merlin Unwin: Shropshire Conway, P. (2001) Tree Medicine, Judy Piatkus: London Hoffman, D. (2002) Holistic Herbal, Thorsons: London Ody, P. (1993) The Complete Medicinal Herbal: A Practical Guide to the Healing Properties of Herbs, Skyhorse: New York Zanwar, A. A., et al (2014) ‘Polyphenols in the Prevention and Treatment of Vascular and Cardiac Disease, and Cancer’, in Polyphenols in Human Health and Disease (Volume 2), Elsevier: 989-992. (Accessed online,16.5.21)

Callum Halstead Anemone obtusiloba ‘Pradesh’

iii: Of Weeds & Weans

Spring buds, summer flowers Joseph Nolan It’s flower season in Scotland, and really, who doesn’t love flowers? On a recent sunny day, sitting outside munching flowers with my little Garden Spright took me back some decades, to sunny days munching flowers in the school’s playing fields with my friends. It was an experience that needed sharing. So, this month we are talking flowers and how to enjoy them with your own garden sprights. Many of the flowers out just now are edible. They are tasty, and can be eaten as is, or easily made into some kind of food. These are all very wellknown plants, and exceptionally easy to identify— but please make absolutely sure that you have identified your flower correctly before continuing. My personal test is: given the stakes, am I confident enough in my own judgment to feed this to my child? And pause a moment to consider, because ‘I’m sure it will be fine’ doesn’t cut it here. Look it up if you have the merest hint of doubt.

Honeysuckle In the school’s playing fields where we had recess when I was a boy, there was a section of fence covered by a twining, winding, unkempt clump of Lonicera ssp. (Honeysuckle), which sported white and orange flowers. Several of us would stand together, carefully picking the flowers and tasting the nectar, like something borrowed from the bees, or fairyland.

Honeysuckle wine is traditional but, really, the best way to enjoy the flavour must be straight off the plant. Stick to the flowers though, because the rest of it— leaves, stems, berries

—contains detergent-like saponins that will cause mouth irritation, vomiting, and diarrhoea. Don’t let that put you off, though: The Potato (Solanum tuberosum) is a relative of the lethal Atropa belladonna (Deadly Nightshade); Apple pips (Malus domestica) contain a surprising quantity of cyanide, and Mango trees (Mangifera indica) share the potential irritant qualities of their close relative Toxicodendron radicans (Poison Ivy). Every Rose must have its thorns.

For Honeysuckle, this is the way I know to do it: Carefully pick a wholesome looking flower (best if you can get the little nub of green still attached to the bottom of the long corolla).

Very carefully—and little fingers are better for this —nip the bottom of the corolla with your fingernail, so the green nub comes away but remains attached to pistil. (If you happen to nip the bottom completely off the corolla, you can try to nip it again with some possibility of success, or just suck the nectar through anyway. Not totally satisfactory, but it will do.)

The pistil is the long, thin, white string running through the corolla, from the green nub up through the tube, terminating in a tiny bulbous end about the size of a poppyseed. Next, gently pull the green nub, drawing the pistil through the corolla so it collects the nectar inside the narrow tube. When the pistil pulls through, there should be a small drop of nectar clinging to the end. This is the object of the exercise. Put the string carefully in your mouth to get the liquid. Savour. Then, gently suck

iii: Of Weeds & Weans through the corolla to be sure you have got it all, discard the flower, and repeat until the teacher calls you back inside. The nectar of orange flowers is more aromatic, and while the flower itself tastes fine, the nectar is its chief virtue. Luckily, they flower prodigiously for quite a while, so you will have time to perfect your technique.

Borage Borago officinalis (Borage) is a traditional garden plant, often grown for the benefit of the buzzing insects that love it so much. The plant itself is rather coarse and hairy, and in books written by people who have never tried them, the leaves are much touted as a ‘cucumber note’ to add to salads. My advice is don’t: they are hairy, although they do taste a bit of cucumber. A tea made of the fresh or dried leaves, though, is excellent for helping the lungs to recover from illness, and good for the lingering melancholy of people who have been ill for a while. But let’s turn our attention away from the hairy leaves and towards the very smart-looking blue flowers, with their black and white centres. While they don’t taste of much, they are so beautiful and unusual that they are a must in midsummer drinks and salads and strewn over everything from cakes to risotto.

Freeze them into ice cubes or lollies, or use them in ‘stained glass’ hard candies. You sometimes find varieties showing white, lavender, pink, or purple flowers. After a few seasons you will get plants that flower in multiple colours for, once there is Borage in your garden, it is there to stay.

Gorse While it is edging towards the end of flowering, Ulex europaeus/ U. gallii/ U. minor (Gorse), with its glorious, yellow, coconut-scented flowers, is still golden on the hillsides, and scatterings of flowers can be found throughout the year as each species flowers at its own time. Again, Gorse wine is traditional, although it needs at least a year’s maturation before drinking. The beautiful pea-like flowers can be used in similar ways to those of Borage; for decorating sweets, savouries, and beverages. I think they are at their best as a sauce to the season, taken whilst

walking amongst the bushes. On account of the truly vicious spikes, picking the flowers can be hazardous, so be sure to help little ones.

Rose Rosa ssp. (Rose) gets a look in every month, but one can hardly discuss edible flowers without it. All Roses are edible, although the strength of the taste is in the fragrance. While R. damascena, (The Apothecary’s Rose), is a dark pink, powerfully fragranced Rose, traditionally used for medicinal purposes, as the name suggests, there are many beautifully scented varieties that will serve just as well for your taste buds. Roses can be used in all the ways that Borage can, as well as dried for a fragrant tea, used in crafts, sewn into small pillows, used as potpourri, or even made into black rose beads that will hold their scent for a century. A particularly wonderful way to use them is to make a glycerite— you can use mild honey instead —to keep on hand for emotional upsets. A home-made remedy like this a great thing for children to use, helping them regulate their emotions. And it works on parents too.

Another thing about Roses is that you don’t need to take the flowers. Wait until the flowers just start to wilt and the petals become loose, and gently pull them off. This way, you will be able to come back in a couple of months for the hips, to make another delightful medicine.

The essential oil of Roses is uniquely stable, so even as the flower fades, the scent does not degrade. Like so many of these other flowers, the petals are wonderful little pleasures popped into the mouth as you walk by. I think they’re better if you don't chew them, but see what you think…

Medicinal flowers If edible flowers are tasty, medicinal ones are perhaps less so, but they are still beautiful.

Some have mild or sweet riffs on familiar plant fragrances, and could be deemed medicinal because they come from medicinal plants.

Rosmarinus officinalis (Rosemary) is one example; the Elizabethans preserved the flowers by sugaring or pickling in sweetened vinegar, bringing them out of the store cupboard to brighten the long, grim season of

iii: Of Weeds & Weans salt beef and cabbages. You sugar flowers by painting them with egg white and then dusting with sugar, or dipping them into syrup and then air drying. Done by amateurs, they generally do not hold their shapes well, but the flavour is still held by the sugar, and they are delicious. Most herb flowers do well with the same treatment— Salvia officinalis (Sage), Lavandula angustifolia (Lavender), Mentha ssp. (Mint), Melissa officinalis (Lemon Balm), etc. —and they can be used medicinally for the same purposes as you might use the leaves. Dried, they look so pretty in tea.

Daisies You can eat Bellis perennis (Daisy, Bruisewort), but there isn’t a great deal to recommend doing so. Better to use the cheery little white and yellow flowers, often edged with magenta, as decorations atop cakes and other show dishes, or sprinkle the petals through summer salads. Alternatively, you can make Bruisewortinfused oil, used for similar purposes as you might employ the better-known and— as Culpeper would have it —far-fetched and rather dearly-bought, Arnica montana (Arnica).

Infused oils are very easy to make at home, and provide a suitable activity for middle childhood. All you need is a bain-marie filled with your flowers and oil, on a very, very low heat. Olive works well for Bruisewort, and other flowers. Use just enough oil so that the flowers are covered but not drowned, and leave them for a few hours, with occasional checking, until they are fairly crisp. Then strain through a fine mesh (I use a tea strainer) or a paper coffee filter, pour your oil into a clean bottle and label.

Either use it to make a balm, add to a cream, or use as is for bumps and bruises.

Lovely flowers There are some flowers that are solely for looking at. One might slander them with ugly words like ‘toxic’ and ‘poisonous’, but let us instead say that they have neither culinary nor medicinal use, and are for admiring.

Ranunculus repens (Creeping Buttercup) falls into this category, profuse as it is just now in gardens, lawns, parks, and anywhere else there is a patch of earth to grow in. Digitalis ssp.

(Foxglove) is another, despite its adorable little fox’s glove flowers and eye-catching colours.

Although Digitalis does have medicinal use, it is a remedy to be employed only in extremis and by those already skilled in its use. Just coming into flower is a third member of the club, Aconitum napellus (Monkshood, Wolfsbane), popular in gardens for its unusually-shaped, royal purple flowers, lacy leaves, and attractive height. Admire, and leave this one well alone. Hyacinthoides ssp.

(Bluebells), though finished now, are also for enjoying with our eyes only; like these other plants, they have neither medicinal nor culinary uses, but raise the spirits, nonetheless.

Happy herbing!

iii: Anthroposophical Views

…and then skipping over puddles again Dora Wagner The very nature of the nose is to love fragrances Lü Bu We; 300 - 235 BC

Dazzling, heady, purifying, empowering, touching and gently earthy, that's how I would describe the pleasing fragrance that often accompanies a summer rain. When, after a long period of warm, dry weather, the first raindrops touch the ground, the air immediately gives off this unique, unmistakable perfume of the Earth. ’Petrichor’, created by rain falling on parched soil, is a neologism, invented by mineralogists in the 1960s, when investigating the smell of rain (Baer et al., 1964). The word is made up of two Greek parts, πέτρα (petra) for stone and ἰχώρ (ichor), which roughly stands for 'blood of the gods'. So, the compound means 'blood of the gods from the stones'. With this, the mineralogists wanted to express that this typical summer smell can arise wherever rain meets earth— not only on grass, but also on the city’s asphalt. At the very first contact between your nose and this scent, an unbelievable variety of impressions emerge— including memories of jumping with all your might into puddles and having a lot of fun.

Because the human sense of smell can distinguish more than a trillion different scents (Keller et al, 2014)— far more than our eyes and ears combined —it is mainly our nose that evokes these Proustian moments, these sensory experiences that trigger a rush of memories, seemingly forgotten, taking us back to childhood days.

Olfactory perception is the oldest human sense, the only one that is fully developed in the womb, and the first one we use after our birth. Newly born human babies cannot see well, so they follow their nose, diving to their mother's breast by simply smelling the milk and trying to find the source of the scent. In childhood we tend to determine which scents we will like or hate for the rest of our lives.

The first stage of olfactory detection is two mucous membranes in our upper nasal area, each roughly the size of a £1 coin, about 4 cm².

Between two and five million olfactory receptors are located on the hairs in our nose, which protrude into the watery, proteinaceous layer of our nasal mucosa. Each of these olfactory cells, which are renewed every four to six weeks, specialises in a particular scent component. The odour that we suck in through our nostrils triggers biochemical reactions in these cells. All this information is processed by the olfactory bulb, amplifying the cells’ reactions 100-fold and generating electrical impulses that are transmitted directly to the front of the brain for further processing. Smells take a very fast and direct path to our limbic system, via the amygdala and the hippocampus— the regions of the brain involved with emotion and memory. That’s why fragrances have a much deeper impact on our

iii: Anthroposophical Views experience than we imagine, and we will even blindly recall places, people, and situations if we perceive corresponding smells. Since the olfactory sense is the one that is most developed in a child up to the age of about ten, when vision takes dominance, and since scent and emotion are stored as shared memories, it is olfaction that most evokes our childhood memories, whether conscious or unconscious, and it is scent that can guide us back to a sense of well-being. Several studies have now verified the existence of olfactory receptors in different human tissues, exploring their involvement in various physiological and pathophysiological processes. For example, research indicates that our hearts can also detect scents, and that it might be possible to heal diseases with appropriately scented ointments (Jovancevic, 2017). Just as toxic and bad-smelling vapours can make us sick, a fragrant preparation may have a healing effect on corresponding organs.

To have a ‘good nose’ remains essential for us throughout our lives, especially when it comes to choosing food. Compared to our sense of smell, our sense of taste is underdeveloped, yet smell and taste are closely connected.

Without our noses, we would not be able to identify our beloved dishes. Basic sensations— salty, bitter, sweet, and sour —can easily be identified by the taste buds on our tongue. For more complex flavours, such as raspberry ice cream, both senses are required. As we chew, the aroma of the food reaches our nasal mucosa via a connection between the oral and nasal cavities. So, there is nothing worse than a stuffy nose because this means we can neither taste nor smell. In fact, our entire well-being is affected, even our sleep, speech, and hearing.

Our noses mean no harm; as in all allergic and non-allergic forms of rhinitis, the hyperreactivity of our nasal mucosa helps protect us from invaders (Bachert, 1996).

The respiratory part of the nasal mucosa is located in the area of the lower and middle turbinate; it serves to clean, humidify and warm the air we breathe. Over a distance of about seven centimetres between our nostril and the

rear opening of the nose to the pharynx, air is either heated or cooled to 34.5 °C. In order to maintain this temperature, whatever the external weather, our nose has a sophisticated system. The most important component of the mucous membrane’s surface, several hundred square centimetres in size, is a kind of carpet consisting of millions of fine cilia, each up to 0.01 millimetres long. Moving together in waves, their surfaces, which are partly watery, humidify the inhaled air when it is hot. At the same time, the fine blood vessels under the mucous membrane surface warm the air when it is cold. The wave-like movements of the cilia also transport inhaled pollutants, such as dust particles, towards the oral cavity, where they are then swallowed (Vaupel, 2015). (You may be alarmed to learn that the mucous glands of the ciliated epithelium produce around two litres of secretion every day). For emergencies, there is a second olfactory system. One of the three branches of the trigeminal nerve runs through our entire nasal mucosa. The trigeminal-nasal system recognises only coarse olfactory stimuli in very high concentrations— smoke, menthol, ammonia, or acids —but still protects us from ingesting toxic or unhealthy things.

As a little girl, I wanted to protect myself from Onions and Horseradish, whose strange, pungent smells brought tears to my eyes. I also disliked our home remedies, which included applying Onions to my ears for aches and pains, or topically as first aid for insect bites, and serving a Horseradish or Black Radish sandwich for colds. How could I have known the health-giving powers of mustard oils?

Today, of course, I’m very pleased that Horseradish has been crowned Medicinal Plant of the Year 2021 in Germany, Austria, and Switzerland. Cruciferous vegetables, such as Horseradish (Armoracia rusticana), Cabbage (Brassica oleracea), Mustard (Brassica nigra), Wasabi (Eutrema japonicum), Rocket (Eruca vesicaria), Radish (Raphanus sativus) and Cress (Lepidium sativum) contain, among other substances, pungent essential oils that are responsible for their sharp taste. In Mustard seeds, which are scentless when dry, the

iii: Anthroposophical Views characteristic pungent, burning flavour only develops when water is added. Only then are the important pharmacologically active essential mustard oils (isothiocyanates; ITCs) released. Plants produce ITCS for their own protection, and they have been used successfully for decades in the treatment of acute and frequently recurring respiratory infections. The same substances are present in Horseradish in an inactive, stable form— as mustard glycosides, ‘glucosinolates’ —again being broken down into their compounds with the help of enzymes and water. In water, the antimicrobially active ITCs emerge from the inactive form with the help of the enzyme ‘myrosinase’, which is contained in Horseradish

root. ITCs act according to the multi-target principle, affecting different points in a disease process. They fight both bacteria and viruses, and have anti-inflammatory and anti-adhesive effects. During the breakdown of mustard oil glycosides by hydrolysis, heat is released (Kriegel et al., 2014). Accordingly, after a good meal, it gets hot in our intestinal tract.

Anthroposophical medicine considers this phenomenon to provide the human body with warmth during colds. So, for example, foot baths with powdered Black Mustard seeds, and compresses with grated Horseradish root are used to relieve rhinitis and sinusitis. Also, by means of these external applications, patients can benefit from the anti-inflammatory, antiviral, and antibacterial properties of mustard oils.

A somewhat special, but very helpful, remedy for inflammations of the nose is a compress of Horseradish (Sommer, 2013). It is important the eyes are covered, and that the application does not to last longer than a few minutes. First, a paper handkerchief or similarly sized cotton cloth is cut in half, to make two packets. These are then each filled with half a teaspoon of freshly grated or preserved (not sulphurated, without cream) Horseradish. The compresses are placed on the affected areas— for example on the cheek bones to the left and the right of the nose, or on the forehead —so that the side with only one layer of paper lies on the skin. Be careful to keep your eyes closed and do not rub them with Horseradish-contaminated fingers.

As a precaution, it can be helpful to cover them with moist cotton pads, swimming goggles, or similar. The first application of the Horseradish compress should not last longer than one minute, and four minutes at the most — otherwise damage to the nerve corpuscles in the skin can occur. As soon as the skin reddens, the compress must be removed. Afterwards, the treated area must be provided with a nourishing skin oil, such as Olive or Almond.

The compress can only be applied again when the reddening of the skin has completely disappeared, and only up to two times a day.

Similarly recommended therapies with Mustard powder are footbaths or neck-compresses.

iii: Anthroposophical Views

It’s not only in illness, but in age that we tend to lose our sense of scent, and so our wellbeing. But just like a muscle, our nose can be strengthened by exercising it every day, by simply making a constant effort to be mindful and aware of what we smell. The more we use it, the stronger our olfactory ability becomes.

So, we really should follow our nose— sniff your way through life, relax more often on a fragrance journey, coddle yourself with scents that evoke beautiful memories. Each of us knows a lot of smells. Each of them can initiate cascades of reactions in our brains and, simply, make us feel happy.

Images: Collages and drawings by Dora Wagner.

References Bachert, C. (1996) ‘Die chronisch verstopfte Nase – Zur Klassifikation der nasalen Hyperreaktivität’, in Deutsches Ärzteblatt; 93 (Heft 16): A-1034–1038 Bear, I J. & Thomas, R. G. (1964) ‘Nature of Argillaceous Odour’; in: NATURE, Vol. 201:993–995 Jovancevic, N. et al. (2017) ‘Medium-chain fatty acids modulate myocardial function via a cardiac odorant receptor’, in Basic Research in Cardiology, 112 (13) Keller, A. et al. (2014) ‘Humans Can Discriminate More than 1 Trillion Olfactory Stimuli’, in Science 343 (6177):1370-1372 Kriegel T. & Schellenberger W. (2014) ‘Bioenergetik’, in Heinrich P et al. Biochemie und Pathobiochemie. Springer: Berlin Lü Bu We (239 BC) Frühling und Herbst des Lü Bu We (Lüshi chunqiu), 239 v. Chr.; übersetzt von Richard Wilhelm 1928. Erster Teil. Buch V Dschung Hia Gi. 4. Kapitel Sommer. M. (2013) Heilpflanzen, Verlag Freies Geistesleben & Urachhaus: Stuttgart Vaupel, P. et al. (2015) ‘Anatomie, Physiologie, Pathophysiologie des Menschen’, in Wissenschaftliche, Verlagsgesellschaft: Stuttgart

iii: Notes from the Brew Room Sweeten, shake and steam Ann King

Linden, or Lime Blossom, is a favoured part of many relaxing infusion blends. At this time of year, I set up camp underneath the local Tilia sp. to avoid missing that narrow window of opportunity; when the silvery bracts uncover the delicate little blossom, and the heady fragrance ousts the Hawthorn blossom as the signature summer note. These flowers only last about a week, but are easily dried and stored for year-round use. When slowly decocted, they create a deep red infusion which can be sipped hot or cold throughout the day as a relaxing nervine, or taken in the evening as part of a sleep blend.

Aside from the conventional Lime blossom tilleul, we have been poring over recipes in old Herbals and searching online for modern adaptations to inspire the creative spirit. The Linden blossom has a honey-like fragrance and flavour, which makes for versatility in use. Here are a few ideas to spark the olfactory senses, nourish the skin, excite the tastebuds and relax the mind.

Firstly, sustainably harvest the Lime (Linden) flowers on a warm, sunny morning. Try to use some that have not opened. Remove the bracts, and always set the blossom to the side in a paper bag, to allow insects to crawl out.

iii: Notes from the Brew Room Simple Tilleul Syrup Ingredients 750ml Linden blossom with bracts removed, gently rinsed 500ml spring water 500g cane sugar 3 unwaxed Lemons (juice and zest) Method Gently heat the sugar and water until the sugar crystals have dissolved.

Add the flowers, Lemon juice and zest to the syrup.

Stir carefully and then allow to come to room temperature before covering and putting in the fridge Allow a few days for the flowers to infuse Strain through a muslin cloth or fine sieve, and store in an airtight glass jar for up to a month.

There are so many uses for an herbal syrup of any sort that once your experimentation begins, you’ll soon find your fridge bursting with treats for all palates and occasions.

Try drizzling liberally over a fruit cocktail, breakfast muesli, cheesecake or meringues.

Alternatively, make a seltzer using the syrup like a cordial and topping up with soda, ice and a slice, and a sprig of mint. Or take it one alcoholic step further….

Two Lime Cocktail Put ice cubes in a mixer.

Add a 2:1 ratio of vodka : Linden blossom tilleul Mix with a long-handled implement Cut a strip of lime peel (no white pith), bend the twist lengthwise with skin facing out, to release the lime oil Squeeze the twist briefly over the glass, rub it round the glass rim, then drop into the glass Add soda to taste

Linden Blossom Floral Water Distillation is a wonderful and simple way to harness the beneficial fragrance and actions of an herb. The resulting liquid is infused with water soluble volatile oils and plant compounds. Lime blossom floral water is helpful for calming respiratory and heart issues, and also for cleansing and refreshing the skin.

It has a balancing effect on the nervous system and its soothing and its anti-inflammatory action is perfect for use on dry, itching eczema.

A spritz of the floral water is also apparently beneficial for deepening meditative practice, echoing its traditional folk use as a truth serum.

Ingredients Linden blossom Water Ice Saucepan with a domed lid that can rest upturned on the pot.

Method Place a small bowl inside the pan, leaving an area large enough to create the blossom moat.

Pour your blossom carefully around the bowl and top up with filtered water, reaching just short of the top of the bowl. Now put the upside-down lid on top and begin to gently heat, bringing up to a gentle simmer.

Have the ice cubes ready to place on top of the lid— ideally in a small bag. Allow the steam to condense into the bowl, keeping an eye on the water levels in your herbal moat and adding more ice when necessary.

Decant the fragrant floral water into sterilised bottles or spritzers.

Disclaimer No recipes are intended to replace medical advice and the reader should seek the guidance of their doctor for all health matters.

These profiles and recipes are intended for information purposes only and have not been tested or evaluated. Ann King is not making any claims regarding their efficacy and the reader is responsible for ensuring that any replications or adaptations of the recipes that they produce are safe to use and comply with cosmetic regulations where applicable.

Callum Halstead Saxifraga ‘Albatross’

iv: Our Man in the Field

David Hughes meets Fiona Inglis

‘Bees in the walls,’ I repeat, somewhat aghast…

Yes. Colonies of feral honeybees. The south-facing wall of the garden is hollow; the Victorians heated the wall with a coal furnace to retain heat for the fruit trees that would have grown espaliered across them. It’s fascinating to imagine how much honeycomb is inside there. We need to get a camera in and have a look…

I’m at Pyrus, a flower farm nestled in an historic walled garden, just south of Pencaitland. It’s a beautiful, captivating and, dare I say, romantic spot— with a long, wooded drive leading to a garden with the just the right amount of dapple to make me feel at home. I’m spending the afternoon wandering the beds, cooing at the flowers tended by the proprietor— talented florist and grower, Fiona Inglis —who’s spilling the tea on all things floral…

We grow flowers for our own creative practise, as well as for florists and wholesalers, and we’ve recently started a direct retail side to the business. Prior

to Covid, much of our work was events and weddings, so we’ve pivoted into flower subscriptions— which has actually been a really beautiful thing to do. A series of deliveries over a threemonth period is allowing us to share the changes in season— this is reigniting a fundamental love of flowers, and we’re really getting to share in the joy. Especially with the lockdown, when people weren't able to see their loved ones, the subscriptions seem to serve as a reminder that people are still thinking about them.

Meandering through the beds, my attention is drawn to the robust architecture of a row of deep-green plants with envy-inducing, pinkfringed buds, swelled to near bursting: These are our Peonies. The massproduced ones that come in from the Netherlands don't even compare.

These are much bigger and more robust— practically the size of your face!

iv: Our Man in the Field A few years ago, we became ambassadors for sustainable floristry— part of a global movement aimed at eliminating waste and unsustainable practices in the cut flower industry —as well as using locally grown materials.

Growing on a reduced scale allows for greater versatility. There's a real value in it; not just in terms of reduced wastage, but flower quality is improved, and you have this huge variety of shape and tone to play with.

It’s a far more environmentally friendly practice, as well. The commercial flower industry is massively unsustainable, as is. A piece of research recently explored the difference in carbon output for a locally produced bunch of flowers versus the equivalent imported bunch— the local flowers produced ten times less carbon! Two bunches of imported flowers ultimately equate to a one-way flight from London to Paris. That's an element of education that’s missing, and people need to be made more aware of the numbers that surround imported flowers with regard to carbon emissions and air miles.

A movement is happening, though.

When we started, about ten years ago, there were only six other flower growers in Scotland and now there are over sixty. So, there's certainly demand, although a few key pieces of the jigsaw are still missing in terms of distribution and logistics. Hopefully, some of the network of groups we’ve become a part of— Flowers Grown in Scotland and The Scottish Flower Grower Collective —can begin to address this.

There’re also the environmental issues stemming from the abundant use of chemicals within the commercial industry; ornamental crops are not beholden to the same health and safety regulations as the food industry.

We’re all-organic out here, and have recently embraced the no-dig

method— and the difference is obvious in the beds. The no-dig beds are retaining water better and have fewer weeds. It's highly cost-effective, too. Obviously, the initial outlay for compost at this scale is substantial, but that’s it. After that, you’re doing your best to make your own— making enough is an issue, mind. It’s all very much trial and error; somethings work for us, somethings don't, but you keep trying new techniques.

As we wander, my keen eye notices a few wild herbs proliferating: There are a few patches we keep roundabout; things like Comfrey, that we can dig back in or use to make beneficial teas. This is our wildflower meadow, sown particularly for the pollinators— the amount you get is insane! There’s Borage in there, Chamomile, Poppies, all sorts. It’s a few different wildflower mixes, so in a few months’ time, all going well, this should be a beautiful patch of busy wildflowers…

iv: Our Man in the Field Indeed, it was an all-you-can-pick-for-£5 extravaganza in this very wildflower meadow that prompted my first trip out to Pyrus a number of summers ago. It was an afternoon of brilliant mayhem among the buzzing bairns and bees. But by now, we’ve arrived at the polytunnels and I’m relishing the opportunity to take a nosey around inside— this is always the home of the good stuff…

We use polytunnels to extend the season, primarily. This is the ‘Spring tunnel’, with all the Anemones and Ranunculus just finishing. They’ll be making way for the Antirrhinums and Sweet Peas. Once these Californian Poppies have gone, we’ll put the Asters in. It’s been a bit of a tricky year because of the cold Spring— everything is a wee bit delayed and feels a little bit ramshackle. It’s working, though, and by leaving some things to self-seed— the Cornflowers, the Ammi and the Nigella —you can produce a reliable crop that can be used to add nice texture here and there when making designs.

We head to the next tunnel and… ‘Roses!’, I exclaim. I’m told Roses are Fiona’s first love, and where it all started. I can empathise. Some years ago, when I worked at Narcissus (an Edinburgh florist of repute), there was a local supplier called Mr. Smith. He had a wee market garden near Granton, and he would just supply Roses, Scabious, and Dahlias. That was it. His Roses were of insane quality— streets apart from the rigid, big-headed, scentless Dutch ones. His were short stemmed, with a scent that was just incredible and deeply authentic. There was always a customer waiting list for Mr Smith's Roses and I remember clearly at the time wondering why there were not more Roses like that, why only Mr Smith’s Roses were that good. Right now, I’m directed to take a sniff from a white Rose; it’s full and intoxicating enough to take you from your headspace for quite a moment: These are the first flush. About three weeks later than last year. Getting there now, though. Harvesting time is important with Roses, to catch them at their peak.

Mixed in alongside, we have these Argentinian Forget-me-nots that provide a lovely texture to the bunches. The whole fluffy Gypsophila vibe came back into fashion recently, but if you’ve ever smelled them, they’re certainly not the bonniest.

These provide a really nice alternative and are a lovely, delicate little thing.

They flower really quickly, so you only get two weeks— at best —harvesting them. Another week and it’ll be done.

We’ll just let it self-seed after that. But these short flowering windows produce blooms that can pepper seasonality into the bouquets. And what's nice about using our own compost is inevitably some seeds end up in there. So, when we top-dress, we end up with bits and pieces of nonintentional planting turning up that flower at different times. It can be a blessing and a curse when you're in a garden as old and established as this one; you never know what’s going to turn up.

At polytunnel number three it’s all action; clear evidence of a busy working week: This was the Ranunculus. They’ve just come out and have been replaced by these Asters.

The Asters are great because they flower for a really long time— weeks and weeks —so you’ll get a really good harvest from them, no mad rush. Other flowers aren’t so forgiving and one of the tricky things is getting your timings right. With my Iris, I think it's going to be a warm weekend and they might just peak early, so I'll have to get my sales hat on. The Nigella, the Cornflower and Ammi are nice, easy, reliable flower crops to try. And this empty bed is going to be Cinnamon Basil. I’ve not grown it as a foliage before but I’m going to give that a try.

That’s today’s job.

Tour complete, Fiona tells me she has always been drawn to nature. At art college, all of her work was initially nature-based, and she found

iv: Our Man in the Field herself focussing on the kind of creating that would allow her to sit in nature, working with the seasons and their ever-changing materials.

Having never had a garden, nor previous horticulture experience, starting Pyrus was, nonetheless, a bit of a leap. Fiona says, ‘That's one of the beautiful things about gardening, though, the garden teaches you.’ Now, she can’t imagine not working with flowers. The garden we have just toured is considerably bigger than Pyrus Botanicals’ original base: This place found us, in a way; three separate people had brought us here before we were looking to move. It had been empty for years, was waist-high in weeds, but when we did need to move this was the first place we thought of.

As it happened, the landlord was open to the idea and the timing just seemed to work perfectly. It wasn’t until the weeds were cut down that we really realised just how big this space is.

It’s a space that lends itself beautifully to the Pyrus Botanicals style— natural and organic,

conveying texture and feeling, rooted in the garden and surrounding landscape. As distinct as can be from formal and controlled floristry, this feels much more honest— like Mr Smith’s Roses.

Finally, Fiona leaves me with her top recommendations for native cut-and-comeagain flowers, and some tips for building beautiful bouquets: Achillea will go all summer, as will perennial Scabious, and I’m loving the flush of lovely vibrant blue flowers on the Nepetia, the Cat Mint, right now.

As for bouquets, the key is to be led by the materials— start by looking in the garden to see what’s flowering and what’s at its best. Consider each flower; what are its best qualities and what are the best ways to show them?

If you have something with a bendy stem, then that wants to sit high up, so it can be appreciated; something with a big, blowsy head needs to be nestled to really maximise its size and beauty.

iv: Our Man in the Field Start with a handful of medium length stems, each bringing their own qualities. Add to that a bit of a focal point, something showy, like the Peonies and Roses. Then place a couple of long stems for height and drama at the back, something airy and light is good. Next, weave in a few delicate items. Add in some interesting textural pieces, for contrast; seed heads or grasses work well. This is where growing your own flowers really comes into its own, because you’re not limited by what’s in the flower market— the garden provides its own unique personality, with flowers at all stages of their life cycle. And that’s it; a focal point, some height, delicacy, and texture/contrast.

At the moment, I'm using Spanish Garlic— it has this twisty stem; very unique and personable.

You might also like to know that Pyrus run volunteer gardening days on a couple of Sundays a month throughout the summer. If you’d like to get involved, contact them at www.pyrusbotanicals.com, or via Instagram or Facebook @pyrusbotanicals

Images: Andrew Hope and Gabriela Silveira, courtesy of Pyrus Botanicals

Callum Halstead Oxalis sp.

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v: Herbal Medicine and Social Justice

Low fuss, low frazzle Audrey Marchbank for Grass Roots Remedies The World Health Organisation advise the biggest determinant of our health in society today is our socio-economic status. Bear in mind that social determinants can be more important than health care or lifestyle choices in influencing health. So, it figures that often the individuals and community groups most affected by income and health inequalities are more likely to suffer from conditions such as stress and anxiety. This can certainly be seen at the Wester Hailes Herbal Clinic— a low-cost community clinic. The Clinic is part of Grass Roots Remedies, a worker's co-operative and social enterprise which aims to make herbal medicine accessible to those who are most in need of it. The aim is to provide people with the tools to feel their health is not something out of their control, but that they can have an active role in it.

In the Clinic, it’s common to see individuals suffering from symptoms of being overwrought, stressed, worried and unable to sleep due to concerns about their living conditions or financial hardship. The flower of the Lime tree (Tilia x europea) is a valuable addition to so many herbal prescriptions, providing support and relieving tension, a fine example of herbal medicine being used to correct social injustice.

The flowers are rich in flavonoids and contain tannins, mucilage phenolic acids and volatile oil. They have soothing, sedative and expectorant effects, and are well known as a relaxing remedy (Hoffman 1983) aiding in insomnia, nervous palpitations and panic. I find a tea, drunk either hot or cold, delightful to sip to aid sleep or when feeling just a bit frazzled.

v: Herbal Medicine and Social Justice

Our common Lime— the one most frequently planted here in Britain where it is often seen along roadsides (Barker, 2001) —is a hybrid of the two species native to the UK; Tilia cordata and Tilia platyphyllos (Bruton-Seal & Seal, 2017). All three species can be used interchangeably, although the main variety used medicinally in the UK is the most readily available, Tilia x europaea. The leaves of this large deciduous tree are heart-shaped with greyish or paler downy underneaths. The flower stalks bear about three to six creamy yellow flowers with five petals and five sepals, with a spoon-shaped false petal opposite each true one.

Care is needed when collecting the flowers, though; harvesting must take place after initial flowering, in midsummer— when the flower has just opened (Hoffman, 2003) —leaving any that look like they are developing seed capsules (Bown, 2003).

And if any more praise were needed for this beautiful tree, its smooth, white wood is reported to be especially valuable for carving as it is and never prone to woodworm. Indeed, Grinley Gibbons’ carvings of flowers and figures in St Paul’s Cathedral, Chatsworth and Windsor Castle are mostly made from the wood of the Tilia tree (Grieve, 1973). I wonder if carving it generates the same calming and soothing effects as drinking the tea. I’m sure it does.

References Barker, J. (2001) The Medicinal Flora of Britain and Northwestern Europe, Winter Press: Kent Bown, D. (2003) Herbal, The Essential Guide to Herbs for Living, Pavilion Books Limited: London Bruton-Seal, J. & Seal, M. (2017) Hedgerow Medicine, Merlin Unwin Books: Shropshire Grieve, M. (1973) A Modern Herbal, Merchant Book Company Ltd: Surrey Hoffman, D. (2003) The New Holistic Herbal, Element: London

v. The Climate Column

It might not all be terrible Patrick Dunne The last month has seen a remarkable number of positive climate stories. Landmark court cases have gone against big fossil fuel companies; reports by major economic thinktanks have critiqued the fossil fuel industry as a whole; the boards of several companies have found themselves embattled by activists at AGMs. Even Gardeners’ World has turned activist, highlighting the plight of peatlands and the incredible damage our use of peat in gardening compost wreaks on the environment.

This column was going to be all about peat this month. I have been having an ongoing 'dialogue' (to put it politely) with a national gardening and DIY chain store concerning their over-stocking of peat-based products and much smaller selection of peat-free options. I have had tweets and queries ignored, emails left unanswered, and website chat-bot conversations going mysteriously quiet after I asked the question: 'What is your policy on peat?' Fortunately, it appears that years of pressure by environmental groups and the broken promises of self-regulation and industry-imposed targets have caught up with the peat industry: Defra has announced plans to ban peat in bagged compost by 2024 (For Peat’s Sake, 2021). It is unclear whether commercial nurseries will also have their access to peat products restricted, but if the position taken by Gardeners’ World is revealing of the hearts and minds of the British gardener, then we seem to be moving firmly away from this

product. This is a win in anyone's book.

Meanwhile, I look forward with curiosity to the eventual response to my various correspondences with the aforementioned big brand gardening superstore, and will be delighted to see their product line updated.

In bigger news, three of the largest— and the absolute worst —oil and gas companies have had a bad time of it in courtrooms and boardrooms across the world. This really is something to celebrate. I’ve often felt that there is a lot of big talk from politicians and industry leaders about what they are doing about climate change, but that you very rarely see these big corporations lose in court, get publicly dressed down at government level, or be forced to respond to legislation that will meaningfully impact their profits, strategies and futures. Not until we see these things really happening will we be able to say that the great and necessary turn away from our current system has begun. Did we see the beginning of that turn last month? In the Hague, Shell was ordered by the court to reduce its emissions at a much higher rate than the company would like. In the USA, shareholder rebellions have forced Chevron and Exxon into corners that would have been unthinkable even a decade ago (Ambrose, 2021). These companies have not only lied about their own research into the impact of their industry on the climate, but they are also implicated in all sorts of dreadful human rights abuses around the world— both historic and ongoing. These range from oil

v. The Climate Column spills to the imprisonment and murder of activists and indigenous leaders protesting the destruction of their lands— all for the Western addiction to cheap energy and products.

Seeing these organisations on the back foot, even briefly, is a real source of hope.

Here in the UK, the excellent Paid to Pollute group are taking the government to court over their continued support of oil and gas exploration and exploitation, despite their avowed commitment to the Paris Accords.

There have been a number of these cases brought against national governments recently, and it is great to see similar action taking place here. Paid to Pollute describes the situation thus: Since signing the Paris Agreement in 2016, the UK Government has paid £3.2bn of public money to North Sea oil and gas companies. In recent years, companies like Shell and BP were actually paid to pollute. They paid us next to nothing in tax. We paid them millions. All while they laid off thousands of workers in the UK and continued to wreck the climate. We say, ‘No more!’ We’re taking the Government to court to pull the plug on public payments for big polluters.

(Paid to Pollute, 2021) I can definitely get behind this, and I hope you can too. Furthermore, the International Energy Agency (IEA) released a report this month stating that: The pledges by governments to date— even if fully achieved —fall well short of what is required to bring global energy-related carbon dioxide emissions to net zero by 2050 and give the world an even chance of limiting the global temperature rise to 1.5 °C...

There is no need for investments in new fossil fuel supply beyond 2021.

(Raworth et al, 2021) Wow. That means no new coal mines, oil fields or pipelines anywhere in the world from the end of this year. Another moment of brightness.

We have also seen the G7 meet in Cornwall this past month. Straight away, we could see how seriously the UK government was taking its commitment to stopping climate change, when Prime Minister Boris Johnson arrived in Cornwall to deliver speeches about being a climate leader... having travelled there from London by plane. You couldn't make it up— although it does appear that the PM is making it up as he goes along. But at least there was much talk about climate at the G7 and some excellent activists made a powerful statement about a world 'drowning in promises', so that’s some good news among the farce.

So, what to make of the last month? Firstly, I believe it is important to mark victories whenever and wherever we can get them.

Every court case, every ban on detrimental products, every kiboshing of a fossil fuel infrastructure plan is worth celebrating. The conversation is moving at last. Who would have believed that governments would be defending themselves against their own citizens over their failure to uphold the Paris Agreement, or that Shell would lose a court case of the magnitude of the one they lost this month? But at the same time, we mustn’t be complacent. These industries will not go quietly, and the defendants are some of the richest and most powerful corporations in the world. I have no doubt that they will be putting all their resources into discrediting their opponents and fighting against the losses they have suffered in court, so prepare for the appeals and the attacks, both direct and by proxy. We must also be mindful of the communities whose voices are still not being heard, much less guiding global policy and legislation: the indigenous peoples in Ecuador who are fighting Exxon; the communities of the Niger Delta who have been poisoned and displaced by Shell; the Aboriginal communities in Australia who have had their sacred sites destroyed by coal companies. The list of the dispossessed keeps growing, but legal victories and reparations for these communities are still a long way off. The battle against the polluters and the fossil fuel industries, the battle to protect enough of the environment and biosphere to ensure a liveable planet, is inextricably bound to justice for the

v. The Climate Column communities across the world who are being displaced and destroyed to support the wasteful lifestyles that we enjoy in Edinburgh, Sydney and New York. I hope that these voices will be represented at the 26th UN Climate Change Conference (COP26) in Glasgow in November this year; above all, I hope they will be heard.

On that note, if Glasgow-based or Glasgowadjacent readers have space to host activists or frontline community members in November, a programme has been set up to match hosts with some of the people travelling to COP26.

Find out more at www.humanhotel.com/cop26 and, in the meantime, keep up the good fight.

References Ambrose, J. ‘‘Black Wednesday’ for big oil as courtrooms and boardrooms turn on industry’.

The Guardian. theguardian.com/environment (29/05/2021) For Peat’s Sake (2021) ‘Garden Organic welcomes England Peat Action plan as a step in the right direction.’ News story on forpeatssake.org.uk/news/garden-organicwelcomes-england-peat-action-plan (19/05/2021) Paid to Pollute (2021) paidtopollute.org.uk Rawort, K. et al (2021) ‘G7 leaders should end not just coal, but also oil and gas finance in 2021.’

Thomas Reuters Foundation. news.trust.org (09/06/2021)

v: The Pagan Page

Midsummer James Uzzell June 20th-22nd, Summer Solstice; a time when the Sun King’s energy is at its highest, the lifeforce caresses the thriving fields of our Mother Earth, and we are enchanted by the delights of the sweetest breeze. Yet now we've turned the wheel of the year past its halfway point, we begin the slow wane back towards Yule, always asking ourselves whether this wheel is turning faster and faster.

Meanwhile, it's perhaps true that these perpetual lockdown sun-days accrue a certain quality; one that lets in all the intoxicating magick of the Linden flower (Tilia x europea) and the Rose (Rosa sp.). It’s an enchantment that offers a reprieve from the normal speed of the world, lets us sit in the warm grass and find the sweetest of scarlet-skinned Strawberries (Fragaria x ananassa) ripening between the green.

Some would say it’s a blessing of love, to have our attachment to time severed by this moment of beauty and bounty. A blessing from the God and Goddess. Some say that their marriage aligns with the start of summer, at Beltane, when the Maythorn (Crataegus monogyna) flowers, but others cite the Summer Solstice, when the sun is at its zenith and the Goddess is pregnant with life.

Whichever variation is followed, you'll find names and celebrations of this time of the year on all continents around the world. Summer Solstice in the northern hemisphere, Winter Solstice in the southern. Within neo-paganism in the U.K., the terms ‘Midsummer’, ‘Litha’, and ‘Alban Hefin’ are the most commonly heard. In modern Druidry, ‘Alban Hefin’— meaning ‘light of summer’ or ‘light of the shore’ in Welsh — was coined by the 18th Century Welsh Romantic, Edward Williams, or Iolo Morganwg to give him his bardic name (Owen, 1832). The term Litha (līþa) is widely used in Wicca and derives from the old Germanic name for the month of June.

Some Pagans see this day as the moment when the Oak King is crowned. Born as the tiniest of light at the time of the Winter Solstice the Sun/Oak King has now grown in strength and power and shows his face at his Zenith. The Oaken Crown of the Waxing Year is placed upon his head.

But at that exact same time the Holly King is born, he who grows during the Waning Year and is crowned with Holly at the Winter Solstice, and thus the Wheel turns…

v: The Pagan Page (Damh The Bard, Member of the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids) This notion of a god of summer/light and a god of winter/darkness ruling in balance is one that recurs in many myths from many times. Often depicted as a fight for power, often between twins or perhaps between hero and dragon or serpent (see Franklin, 2010), we must resist the interpretation that one is evil and the other good. They are simply two sides of the same coin, a way of accepting the world for what it is, a nod of respect to the natural cycles and hardships through which we all live. Only when this balance was tipped, the stories altered to fit new narratives, do we see the rise of Saints killing dragons rather than simply defeating them for the summer; instead of ruling equally, light is depicted as good, victorious over the evil of the dark.

The alignment of Midsummer to the 23rd-24th of June was a Christian appropriation, to honour the Feast of St. John. When missionaries came to these Isles, preaching that the birth of St. John the Baptist took place six months before the birth of Jesus— much like the Oak and Holly Kings —it was easy to convince many towns to adjust their dates, whilst celebrating the eve and the day in much

the same way pagan peoples had always celebrated— with fires, feasts and festivities.

This most likely led to the naming of the sunshaped flowering herb, St John’s Wort (Hypericum perforatum). It was said that a garland of St. John’s Wort, when harvested in the Midsummer morning dew, would grant the wearer marriage within the year. Often depicted as a wild man, St. John may have taken both the pagan Midsummer for his birthday, and appropriated the image of earlier gods. The Green Man, in his vegetative form, can be found carved on many churches around Europe, and Wiccan philosophers see a link between the Saint and Tammuz/Adonis, the Green God of the ancient Sumer civilisation (Franklin, 2010).

In the British Isles, when we think of the Solstice, it's impossible not to think of our numerous standing stones, specifically Stonehenge. The Neolithic solar calendar has been the epicentre of modern celebrations, as people gather to watch the sun rise at the Heel stone. Since at least 1905, neo-druids have gathered there. But the ever-larger crowds at Stonehenge are not to everyone's taste. If, like me, you seek solace at the Solstice, then I urge you to visit your local standing stones. Find a

v: The Pagan Page local hill, make a flask of seasonal tea, and watch the dazzling colours of the sun bless our predawn sky. Of an estimated 4,000 stones around the British Isles and Brittany, and a further 35,000 across Europe (Burl, 2000), over 1,300 are still standing.

Although I’m aware we are now heading into July, and you’ve been catching the sweet scents of the Elderflower (Sambucus nigra) for a few weeks now, it’s still worth taking a moment to sit with the consciousness of generations before us, to mark this time of abundance, to breathe into our deepest ancestral memories. As you pick the fruits and herbs of our Mother, let the Faerie that come out to dance on Midsummer fill them with blessings for our waning year. And while the sun rests at its highest in the sky, breathe in an abundance of gratitude, and breathe out creative fire and potential. At one with all those before, and all those after. Such is the beauty of life. Blessed be.

Images, all by James Uzzell: Strawberry (Fragaria x ananassa) St. John’s Wort (Hypericum perforatum) Sunrise over Shkodra Lake

References Burl, A. (2000). The Stone Circles of Britain, Ireland and Brittany. Yale University Press.

Damh The Bard (2021) Thinking About— The Summer Solstice, [Accessed via https://www.paganmusic.co.uk, June 2021] Franklin, A. (2010) Midsummer: Magical Celebrations of The Summer Solstice, Lear Books.

Owen, W. (1832) A Dictionary of the Welsh Language: Explained in English; with Numerous Illustrations.

Callum Halstead Corydalis ‘Kingfisher’

vi. The Globe Physic Garden

The blue shed in bloom Senga Bate In May we made a plea for sun, warmth and rain, and June has obliged— in part. The sun has shone but not much rain has fallen. Here in Edinburgh, the wind has been blowing almost every day, driving moisture off the now warmed soil. It is just as well that many of our herbs are able to deal with dry, sunny conditions.

The Diploma in Herbology students have been working very hard on their plots as the date of the Herb Bed Review looms. With the sunshine finally making an appearance, the plants have responded well and seem to be hurrying to make up the time lost to the cold and wet in May. Many former students will remember the final flurry of activity— the rush to organise interpretation; to tame the plants that have decided to occupy too much of the plot; to encourage those that need to be just a little bit bigger; to persuade reluctant others into flower. So many questions to consider: would a path or a structure be an enhancement to my herb bed? How will I possibly remember the Latin (and perhaps even the common) names of all these plants on Review day? Will my Physic Garden diary be complete on time? A very busy season indeed!

Marianne Hughes visited us recently, rather disappointed that she could not help out in the maintenance of the Herbology areas this year, but delighted to point out that— without much assistance from anyone —the plants making up the colour wheel in the Globe Physic Garden have finally begun to conform to the plan. The white area of the wheel has been the most abundant to date, with Dame’s Rocket (Hesperis matronalis), Yarrow (Achillea millefolium), Sneezewort (Achillea ptarmica), and Sweet Cicely (Myrrhis odorata) all in flower, soon to be followed by Goat’s Rue (Galega officinalis) and Lily of the Valley (Convallaria majalis). Yellow has been slower, due to an abundance of Woad (Isatis tinctoria) taking over most of the space. In green, Lemon Balm (Melissa officinalis), Mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris) and Fennel (Foeniculum vulgare) quietly hold their own against an abundance of blue and purple flowers, such as Sage (Salvia officinalis), Anise Hyssop (Agastache foeniculum), Lavender (Lavandula spp) and a wandering dark-coloured Peppermint (Mentha spp). Pink will soon be a glorious sight, as the buds of Apothecary Rose (Rosa gallica), Marshmallow (Althaea officinalis) and

vi. The Globe Physic Garden

Echinacea (Echinacea purpurea) are about to burst into colour; these follow the fluffy heads of the Bistort (Persicaria bistorta), which have been flowering for some time. We have found red to be a more elusive colour, but an explosion of Poppies (Papaver rhoeas) is expected soon. Orange— with an abundance of Pot Marigold (Calendula officinalis), Californian Poppy (Eschscholzia californica), Butterfly Weed (Asclepias tuberosa) and Chinese Lantern (Physalis alkekengi) —should light up the late Summer and Autumn. Our little blue shed sits in the centre of it all, looking wonderful.

More news— hot off the press. We are all delighted that Anna Canning has recently joined the Herbology programme as Assistant to the Course Director, Catherine ConwayPayne. Anna has a wealth of experience and has already begun to make her mark, both in advising the students and in getting her hands dirty in the Globe Physic Garden and stockbed.

I’m sure you will be getting to know her in future editions of Herbology News. Welcome, Anna.

vi: Garden Gems

Abundance Ruth Crighton-Ward We are now at the height of summer; the days are warm, there is colour everywhere you look, and everything seems to be in bloom. The harvesting of fruit, flowers, herbs, and vegetables is in full swing. Take time to enjoy nature at its finest…

Schools are on holiday and many of us like to entertain. There is something deeply satisfying about cooking for friends using produce from one’s own garden. Courgettes should be picked quickly before they turn to marrows.

Keep an eye on the leaves of the Garlic we planted last year. When they start to turn yellow and die back, it is ready to be harvested.

Remove the bulbs from the soil by digging them up, but don’t cut the leaves off yet.

Instead, leave the Garlic in a cool dry place for a further two to three weeks, until the leaves have completely dried, and a papery husk has formed over the bulb. Then trim off the dead leaves and brush off any loose dirt. Your bulbs can now be stored for many months as they are, but do remember to set a few aside, to be grown on for next year’s crop.

Whilst Onions and Garlic will store for several months without anything being added, you may find you have to consider alternative ways to store other produce. What can be frozen, what can be dried? Consider pickling, storing in oil, or turning into jams.

Back outdoors, one of the challenges at this time of year is overheating. During really sunny days, shading should be used in greenhouses to avoid your plants being scorched.

Remember to open greenhouse windows and doors, and cold frame lids to allow some air circulation. Remember to keep bird baths and feeders topped up in hot weather, and monitor and clear ponds and water features regularly— algae and blanket weed will develop more quickly at this time of year.

Long, hot, dry spells really make us aware of how much water we use and help us rethink what we waste. Continue with the watering, as we have discussed in previous issues, remembering that soil or compost in pots and containers dries out more quickly than soil in the ground. However, do be aware of any hosepipe bans that may be brought in. When this is the case, we need to get a bit more creative: empty the dishwater basin onto your plants instead of down the sink; use buckets or a water butt to collect as much rainwater as possible.

vi: Garden Gems

vi: Garden Gems Some plants will have already finished flowering for the first time this season.

However, cutting back these early flowering perennials now can help them grow quickly enough to produce a second flush of flowers before the season is over. This second flush, usually around September, can sometimes produce a more vibrant display than the first. If some of your plants have already turned to seed and you don’t want them to spread, then remove the seed heads. Some plants— such as Aquilegia, and Poppies (Papaver sp.) — are prolific self-seeders. If you don’t want more of these in the garden, then look at donating your seeds to community or school gardens.

Allotments often grow flowers alongside the vegetables to attract pollinators. You may find a local seed swapping group on social media, where you can get rid of your unwanted seeds and pick up new ones at the same time. It’s still not too late to do some seed sowing. Dwarf beans (Phaseolus vulgaris), Spinach (Spinacea oleracea), and salad leaves can be sown now for an autumn harvest.

Another way of prolonging the flowering of a plant is to regularly deadhead. Your Roses and Sweet Peas will benefit from frequent deadheading, as will any annual and bedding plants. However, some plants— such as Peony, Agapanthus and Iris —will only produce one batch of flowers and no amount of deadheading or pruning will change that. Then there are the plants which continue to flower from summer through to the first frosts.

Geranium sp. ‘Rozanne’ and Erigeron karvinskianus provide colourful displays all the way from late June through to November or December.

Crops which are prone to caterpillar attacks should be protected with netting. This will prevent butterflies laying their eggs on them.

One option is to plant some extra and leave them without netting, for the butterflies and caterpillars to enjoy for themselves. This is known as sacrificial planting.

Cut the runners off the Strawberries. It’s great to propagate new Strawberry plants from runners, but that can be done later in the season, and we’ll have a look at that next month. For now, the priority is to allow the plant to develop the fruit. Cutting off the runners helps the plant concentrate its energy on flower and fruit production, rather than on the runners. Use a pair of secateurs and snip off the runner as close to the plant as possible without damaging the main plant.

Weeds will be quick to grow at this time, so stay on top of them by hoeing and weeding regularly. Little and often is the key to conquering weeds.

Next month I’ll write about the concept of gardening and our relationship with nature and growing, as well as offering a few of the usual horticultural tips, in what will be my final column for Herbology News.

Callum Halstead Cypripedium sp.

Callum Halstead Meconopsis ‘Marit’

vii: Foraging through Folklore

Under the Linden Ella Leith As Summer days stretch out, the Linden tree (Tilia sp., also known as the Lime) comes into its own. Its sweet-smelling blossom attracts people and bees alike, and little could be more summery than lazing in the shade of its broadleafed branches, listening to the bees’ soothing drone— and waking to find a sticky film of sap on your face. In Slavic languages, the Linden— or Lipa —even lends its name to the Summer months: June in Croatian is Lipanj; July is Lipiec in Polish and липня (Lypnya) in Ukrainian. In Chinese tradition, the Linden is known as ‘the tree of forgetfulness’ because ‘its energy is soft, gentle and it offers the sensation of warmth and peace’ (Ţenche-Constantinescu et al., 2015:238). Appropriately, its blossom can be made into a relaxing tea. Mabey (1988) recounts that, in France, it was customary to induce hyperactive children to drink this tea in the shade of a Linden tree— presumably in the hope of intensifying its calming influence.

Indeed, the calming influence of the Linden was thought to stretch beyond the grave. In Polish tradition, the vampire-like monsters known as wąpierz were believed to ‘stalk their own relatives after rising from the dead’ and to suck their blood using ‘a barb on the underside of [their] tongue[s]’ (Romero 2019). This apparently ‘common problem’ was mitigated against by driving a stake made from the wood of Linden or Hawthorn (— the holy thorn, Crataegus monogyna) through the heart of a suspected wąpierz. This kept the corpse at rest.

(In case you’re concerned, signs that you or a loved one might be a wąpierz include ‘being

born with teeth, having an animal jump over one’s grave shortly after the burial… or not being baptized’ (ibid.); perhaps consider alerting the funeral director when the time comes).

Like Hawthorn, Linden has long been held to be holy, and can often be found planted in front of houses in Central Europe to protect the family inside. The similarities to Hawthorn continue: woe betide those who cut down a Linden tree without good reason (ŢencheConstantinescu et al., 2015), and there are even stories of magical Lindens blooming in the middle of Winter (Copeland, 1949)— although this phenomenon doesn’t seem to have been recorded in nature, unlike the Glastonbury Hawthorn. The midwinter blossom of the Linden is a motif in tales concerning the legendary Slovenian King Matjaž, who, like King Arthur, will reawaken in his people’s hour of direst need and lead them to victory. The legend goes that a Linden tree planted in front of the mountain where King Matjaž sleeps has blossomed once for one hour at midnight on the Winter solstice, then withered; when the king returns, he will hang his shield on the Linden and revive it— and, with it, the country (ibid.). Tales of King Matjaž were popular across Central Europe during the wars between the Holy Roman and Ottoman Empires, during which time ‘victory trees’ (Lindens, of course) were planted to commemorate skirmishes won against Turkish raiders (Palovic and Bereghazyova, 2020). Similarly, during the Hungarian domination of today's Slovakia, the

vii: Foraging through Folklore Linden became a secret resistance symbol, and again during the Slovak National Uprising against Nazi occupiers, remaining an important national symbol in the Czech Republic, Slovakia and Slovenia (ibid.).

The sacred status of the Linden stretches beyond Slavic cultures. In Scandinavia, Lindens were frequently planted as Vårdträd (in Swedish) or Tuntre (in Norwegian): sacred ‘care trees’ in the centre of the farmyard. As a ritualised symbol of ‘intimacy with place’, the family’s ongoing care for the tree was an act of ‘respect for ancestors’ spirits that were/are believed to reside in the tree, …a moral reminder of caring for the…place where one lives’ (Hulmes, 2009:2). In Ancient Greece, the Linden was considered the sacred tree of Aphrodite, who, according to Heroditus, bestowed the gift of soothsaying on the enarei (Scythian shamans), which they practised with braided pieces of Linden bark (ŢencheConstantinescu et al. 2015). In Northern Europe, the Linden is associated with Freyja, ‘the goddess of fortune, fertility, love and truth’, and the Baltic goddess of fate, Laima (Ţenche-Constantinescu et al. 2015). Another link to fate can be found in the German Medieval epic poem, the ‘Nibelungenlied’, in which the hero Siegfried bathes in the blood of a dragon to become invincible, but a Linden leaf sticks between his shoulder blades and creates the equivalent of Achilles’ heel, the weak spot that leads to his death (Blamires, 2009:354). Thus, the Linden marked the boundary between life and death, between salvation and punishment. Similarly, a twelfthcentury text records the visions of Gottschalk, a German peasant who fell ‘into an ecstasy of five days and nights, during which he was led through the realms of the dead' by two angels: They came to an unusually big and beautiful linden-tree. Each of its twigs was luxuriantly loaded with pairs of shoes, more than anyone could have thought to exist in the whole world.

Beyond this tree a plain extended, a heathy ground wild and waste, filled with sharp unbreakable thorns... Here the souls of the dead congregated

from all directions in order to be tested. But each of them recognized for himself whether or not he had merited a pair of shoes by works of mercy, accepting them from an angel, or sadly passing by barefooted.

(Dinzelbacher, 1986:71) The role of the Linden in the act of judgement had prosaic applications as well. Lindens were often planted in the centre of Northern European villages, and were sites of local jurisprudence until well into the Early Modern period. Indeed, ‘Gerichtslinden’, or ‘Linden courts’, were common throughout the Holy Roman Empire, and legal verdicts were returned ‘sub Tilia’ or ‘unter der Linden’, literally ‘under the Linden tree’ (ŢencheConstantinescu et al. 2015).

But the Linden is a Summer tree and not unduly grave, and village Lindens also hosted joyful seasonal customs. In Medieval Germany, the communal dances that marked Summer were held ‘in the open, on the green, often round the village lime-tree’ (Bastow, 1936:324). In parts of Bohemia, the Summer ritual included two Linden trees: one for the young women of the village and the girl selected as Queen to congregate under, one for the young men and the chosen King, all bedecked in ribbons.

Tufnell writes: The men twine a garland for the Queen, and the girls for the King… [then] they go in procession, two and two, to the alehouse, where the crier proclaims the names of the King and Queen, who are invested with the insignia of office and crowned with the garlands, to the strains of music.

(1924:41) The King was then often ritually decapitated— pronounced guilty of a crime (sub Tilia?) and his hat struck off with a wooden sword— but all in good fun. Thus, Lindens were strongly associated with community cohesion through merry-making, and had a ‘profound signification… [as] a symbol of friendship and fidelity’ (Ţenche-Constantinescu et al., 2015:239). Indeed, they often feature in Medieval tales and ballads as the meeting

vii: Foraging through Folklore point for friends and lovers. In one Germanorigin ballad, collected in 1814, the adventure begins when the hero’s sister goes into the forest: With many knights and squires she rode to an ancient linden tree; There in mirth and feasting lay the gallant company. (Napier, 1879:94) More raunchily, in the Middle High German poem ‘Under der Linden’ by Walther von der Vogelweide (c.1170-1230), a knight and his lady use the shade provided by the tree for their tryst: …Had he kisses? A thousand some Tándaradéi See how red my mouth's become. …If any knew he lay with me (May God forbid!), for shame I'd die.

What did he do? May none but he Ever be sure of that — and I, And one extremely tiny bird, Tándaradéi, Who will, I think, not say a word.

The association between Linden and love is strong: Ţenche-Constantinescu et al. describe it as a sacred tree of lovers, recording that it was customary throughout Medieval Europe to ‘swear eternal love at the shadow of a linden tree, because it was believed that this tree determines them to say the truth’ (2015:239).

Similarly, a French superstition told that if a bride and groom passed under two Linden trees whose treetops touched, then the marriage would never fall apart (ibid.). The motif of the Linden as a symbol of enduring love can be found in a Swedish tradition, whereby newlyweds would plant two Lindens close together, giving each the same names as themselves, to ensure the longevity and harmony of their marriage (Mabey, 1997).

Linden love is also found in Romanian folktales: in ‘Dochia and the Fortune Tellers’ a disappeared husband is spiritually reunited with his family through the planting of a Linden; in ‘The Legend of the Linden Tree’, the lovers are transformed into a Linden and a bee after their deaths, so that they can continue to take carnal delight in each other (ŢencheConstantinescu, et al. 2015). Appropriately, the Linden is also strongly associated with fertility (ibid.), although I doubt whether the lady in

‘Under der Linden’ would be delighted by this…

So, as Summer draws on, make time under the Linden tree. It’s a place to peace, make promises, make decisions, friends, and maybe even make love. yourselves.

to sit make make Enjoy

References Bastow, A. (1936) ‘Peasant Customs and Superstitions in Thirteenth Century Germany’, in Folklore, 47(3): 313-328 Blamires, D. (2009) Telling Tales: The Impact of Germany on English Children’s Books 17801918. Open Book Publishers: Cambridge Copeland, F. S. (1949) ‘Some Aspects of Slovene Folklore’, in Folklore, 60(2): 277-286 Dinzelbacher, P. (1986) ‘The Way to the Other World in Medieval Literature and Art’, in Folklore, 97(1): 70-87 Hulmes, D. F. (2009) ‘Sacred Trees of Norway And Sweden: A Friluftsliv Quest’, in Norwegian Journal of Friluftsliv, accessed via norwegianjournaloffriluftsliv.com Mabey, R. (1988) The Complete New Herbal.

Elm Tree Books: London Mabey, R. (1997) Flora Britannica. Sinclair Stevenson: London Napier, J. (1879) ‘Old Ballad Folk-Lore’, in The Folk-Lore Record, 2(1): 92-126 Tufnell, B. (1924) ‘Czecho-Slovak Folklore’, in Folklore, 35(1): 26-56 Palovic, Z. and Bereghazyova, G. (2020) The Legend of the Linden: A History of Slovakia.

Strauss Consultants: New York Romero, R. (2019) ‘Haunted by monsters: Top 5 wicked creatures In Polish folklore’, article on the Folklore Thursday blog, www.folklorethursday.com (04/04/19) Ţenche-Constantinescu, A.-M.; Varan, C.; Borlea F.; Madoşa E., and Szekely G. (2015) ‘The symbolism of the linden tree’ in Journal of Horticulture, Forestry and Biotechnology,19(2): 237-242 von der Vogelweide, W. ‘Under der Linden’ / ‘Under the Lime Tree’ (trans. unknown), www.poemhunter.com

vii: Botanica Fabula

Into the Lime tree arbour Amanda Edmiston Stories of floods have eddied across my path over the last couple of weeks. It started when I shared an Anishinaabe legend in which Thunderbird creates a great flood to teach people a lesson. It was a story I'd not told for a long time, but it popped into my head, and it just seemed like the right thing to share with the children in Inverness. The long, languid days of summer always seem a good time for people to be reminded to respect their natural environment.

Then, I was asked to write was a piece for a project looking at vanishing habitats. As we have a small natural floodplain meadow a short distance from home, it seemed valuable to my creative process to walk it again. I've walked that meadow in all seasons, several times a week, for the past seven years.

This year, the meadow had become more flooded than usual; the snow-melt heavy waters of the river had all but submerged the entire teardrop of land. I had reflected at the time on the loss of several immense trees, not far upstream, and the valuable role trees play in keeping a fluid equilibrium. But I hadn't noticed the loss of one particularly ancientlooking Linden tree (Tilia cordata) until, a few days later, walking half a mile or so upstream, I realised the intoxicating, sweet scent of its blossom was missing. I felt a pang of loss. The cracked, open shards of a stump were all that was left of a tree that had possibly been a

thousand years old. So, maybe it shouldn't have come as a huge surprise when, researching for this column, instead of stumbling across love, the goddess Freya, soothing tilleuls or Lindenblüten tisanes, I encountered stories that firmly rooted the Lime trees of legend in amongst stories of deluge, myths of great floods.

Zeus, of course, has a part to play. It's almost impossible to walk through any natural landscape without tripping over one being or another, turned into a plant of some form by Zeus or one of his cohorts. After all, the Cyprus tree (Cupressus sp.) was once a prince, Frankincense (Boswellia sacra) a princess, Smilax (S. aristolochiifolia) a nymph and the Grape vine (Vitus vinifera) either a satyr or a nurse of Dionysos, depending on which transformational myth you go with. The Linden tree, however, was not a spurned nymph lover, nor a youth meeting an unfortunate end, but— rather beautifully —one half of a devoted elderly couple. Philemon and Baucis offered Zeus and Hermes the hospitality of their home when others had turned them away. Grateful for their generosity and trust, Zeus saved them from encroaching floodwaters and, on their deaths, transformed them into trees; Philomen into an oak, and Baucis a Linden. The Linden, once again, associated with enduring love.

vii: Botanica Fabula

vii: Botanica Fabula

The Oak (Quercus robur) and the Linden are both trees which frequently appear in fairy stories across Europe, offering gifts if people preserve them. A lovely Russian story, from the Mari-el region, often ends with retribution and loss when a woodcutter tries to take too much from the Lime tree. But, as with other stories surrounding this forgiving, blood pressure lowering, diuretic tree, the overwhelming message is of a plant that offers gifts, survives floods and the axe, can regrow from a stump, and whose blossom scents the early summer air so sweetly.

In Lithuania, a nine boughed Linden is the home of Laima, a goddess associated with luck, motherhood and childbirth. I loved uncovering that association, as a nightly infusion of Lime flowers had been my favourite blend in the days following the birth of my own children.

Laima is also said to have saved an elderly couple from a great flood, sent by the god Pramzimas when he sees the earth abused by mankind’s injustices and wars. This single, devoted old couple then jump over the bones of the earth nine times, creating the nine tribes of Lithuania. Once again, the Lime tree is connected to regrowth, re-balancing, and love.

After this piece is done, I'll be walking back through that floodplain meadow. Back up the river, as the waters— now abated —reveal the sun-dried stones of the riverbed. I’ll seek out that Lime tree stump, just to see if it's started to regrow yet. Because there’s every chance, if the environmental conditions are right, that it will. Maybe, in another seven years’ time, I'll be able once again to pick the perfumed flowers and add them to a soothing tisane.

Image: Stormy Landscape with Philemon and Baucis, by Peter Paul Rubens (1620).

Kunsthistorisches Museum collection. Reproduction rights secured by author, via Wikipedia Commons.

References Baucis and Philomen, Ovid VIII: 611–724 Greimas, A. J. (1992) Of Gods and Men: Studies in Lithuanian Mythology. Indiana University Press One translated version of the Russian, Mari-el story of the Lime tree, as told by Nikiuk, can be found at spiritoftrees.org/the-mari-and-thelime-tree Insights into the importance of trees in preventing flooding can be found at www.woodlandtrust.org.uk

vii: StAnza Presents…

J. L. Williams

blossom atlas

she painted each alternative life on her face in the shape of the petal of a different flower it was a strange illusion, this petal face, which meant that no one could recognise her all they saw was the iris, the orchid, the jacaranda, the jasmine, the mimosa she knew each life because she occupied them in dreams and in the night she was dinosaur, queen, refugee, butler, knife, ostrich, mountain in the morning she was the lapse of water in mirrors she lost herself eventually in a garden where all knowledge was rescinded and what came instead was the perfume of flowers emanating from her in all directions

Expanding dialogue through poetry across languages, perspectives, and cultures and in multimodal and cross-form work including explorations in visual art, music, dance, opera and theatre, J.L. Williams’ books include Condition of Fire, Locust and Marlin and After Economy (all published by Shearsman Books).

StAnza brings poetry to audiences and enables encounters with poetry through events and projects in Scotland and beyond, especially their annual spring festival in St Andrews. www.stanzapoetry.org Facebook: stanzapoetry Instagram: @stanzapoetry

Callum Halstead Epidemeum ‘Domino’

Callum Halstead Portrait of the Artist

Herbology News has grown from the Herbology courses taught at the Royal Botanic Gardens Edinburgh, under the careful eye of Catherine Conway-Payne.

A suite of Herbology course options is available, as part of the broad range of education courses offered by RBGE. Herbology News is neither financially nor materially supported by RBGE, but is put together entirely by volunteers and is currently seeking charity/not-for-profit status.

Callum Halstead Portrait of the Artist

viii: Contributors

Senga Bate started her RBGE Herbology journey around 2007, at first attending evening classes, then any and all classes offered by Catherine ConwayPayne, and eventually graduating from the Dip. Herbology in 2015. Since 2016/7 Senga has tutored in herb horticulture on both the attended and blended RBGE Diplomas. She has been a volunteer in the Physic Garden areas in RGBE since 2013. A huge advocate for kitchen pharmacy, she uses herbs, spices, mushrooms, wild plants, and sea vegetables as daily preventative medicine.

Hazel Brady’s background is in IT, but she has always loved plants and since retiring has expanded her knowledge, especially around herbs. She completed the Diploma in Herbology at RBGE under Catherine Conway-Payne. Retirement has also given her the opportunity to develop another of her interests— an artistic practice centred in drawing and painting.

Ruth Crighton-Ward has had a long interest in plants and nature, although her first career was in Stage Management. After 18 years working in a variety of Scottish theatres, she decided to go into gardening.

She took her RHS Level 2 in Horticulture, as well as a Certificate in Practical Horticulture at RBGE. In 2014 she started her own gardening business, which has proved successful. In 2018, alongside her full-time work as a gardener, she returned to the RBGE for a Diploma in Herbology.

Patrick Dunne is an Edinburgh-based community gardener. Since 2018 he has, with his partner Katie Smith, co-organised an International Fringe event staging readings of the 2018 IPCC 1.5 Degrees Global Warming report, made lots of flat sourdough bread and camped, marched and organised as an occasional environmental activist.

viii: Contributors

Amanda Edmiston was raised in stories; her mother is a professional storyteller, her dad was a toymaker, her grandfather a sculptor, her gran a repository of traditional remedies and folklore.

After studying law, then herbal medicine, Amanda began to blend facts, folklore, traditional tales, history and herbal remedies into unique works. Based in rural Stirlingshire, you can follow her on Facebook, @HerbalStorytell, and find more of her works at www.botanicafabula.co.uk

David Hughes is an organic gardener, fruit and veg enthusiast, plant nutritionist, terpine whisperer, seed collector, green librarian and half decent in the kitchen. Most often found disturbing the peace in the woods of East Lothian, or more occasionally wandering in unimproved pastures looking quizzically at things, David looks to explore landscapes, people and their relationships with the plants that surround them by examining the esoteric sides of herbology through conversation, experience and silly wee stories.

Marianne Hughes began following her interest in complementary medicine after a career in Social Work Education and voluntary work in Fair Trade.

Starting with Reflexology & Reiki, she progressed into Herbal Medicine. The evening classes at the RBGE got her hooked and she completed the Certificate in Herbology and, more recently, the Diploma in Herbology. Her current joy is experimenting with herb-growing in her own garden, in a local park, and alongside other volunteers in the RBGE Physic Garden. marianne@commonfuture.co.uk

viii: Contributors

Ann King has always dabbled in gardening in some shape or form is now a horticultural therapist and graduate of the RBGE Herbology Diploma. She is passionate about facilitating nature re-connection and enabling its therapeutic benefits by creatively adapting knowledge and stories for organised group sessions: either outdoors, incorporating exercise; or sedentary, indoor, experiential workshops. You can follow her on IG: @yourthymefornature or at www.thymefornature.com

Dr. Ella Leith is an ethnologist and folklorist who studied in Scotland and now lives in Malta. She particularly loves folktales and the storytelling traditions of linguistic and cultural minorities. IG: @leithyface

Audrey Marchbank is a registered member of the National Institute of Medical Herbalists (MNIMH), graduating with a BSc (Hons) in Herbal Medicine & Phytotherapy from Edinburgh’s Napier University in 2007. She practices Herbal Medicine at Napiers Bathgate, runs the private Ellwyn Herbal Practice in Midlothian, and works with Grass Roots Remedies at the Wester Hailes Community Herbal Clinic. Audrey believes in giving time for an individual to be heard and working in partnership to obtain the best possible health and wellness.

Maddy Mould is an illustrator living in the Scottish Borders. Her work is heavily influenced by the magic of the surrounding natural landscape.

IG: @maddymould and www.maddymould.co.uk

viii: Contributors

Joseph Nolan practices Herbal Medicine in Edinburgh, at the UK’s oldest herbal clinic, and specialises in men’s health and paediatrics. He is a member of the Association of Foragers, and teaches classes and workshops related to herbal medicine making, wild plants, foraging, and natural health. You can find him on Facebook and Instagram @herbalmedicineman, and on his website: www.herbalmedicineman.com

Kyra Pollitt is a graduate of the Diploma in Herbology at the RBGE. When not editing Herbology News, she works as a translator, interpreter, writer and artist. She lives on the Isle of Harris, where she is busily planting and growing a garden. www.actsoftranslation.com and www.wilderorb.com

James Uzzell is a lifelong pagan who practices independently, and with enthusiasm. Working in mental healthcare, and educated in broadcast audio engineering, James is just trying to stay rooted and grounded in such an uprooted and unsettled world.

Believing in Faery Kingdoms and watching the sunrise are just some of the ways he finds some solace in the storm.

Dora Wagner is a graduate of the RBGE Diploma in Herbology, and a Didactician in Natural Science. She also works as a Naturopath for Psychotherapy, and as a Horticultural Therapist. She currently lectures in Medical Herbalism at the University of Witten/Herdecke, and is leading a project reconstructing the medicinal herb garden of an Anthroposophic Hospital in Germany. dora.wagner@t-online.de and www.plantadora.de

x: Looking Forward

08//21: The Nurture Issue    

A selection of your favourite columnists Plus, Herb of the Month: Goat’s Rue (Galega officinalis) Plus, Artist of the Month: Morag Donkin Plus, we focus on the breast

And more….