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
