Botanica Fabula

A Valerian love charm

Amanda Edmiston

Imagine yourself lying in a sun-drenched Scottish meadow.

Come early July, it is humming with life. Peacock butterflies emerge from the Nettles (Urtica Dioica), tentatively getting a feel for their new wings. Swallows skim the air just above your head. Meadowsweet (Filipendula ulmaria) softens the banks, promising fever-cooling cordials to those that mindfully gather it, and leave it to infuse in syrups overnight. Glittering red beetles adorn the cloudlike flowers of Valerian (Valeriana officinalis), as a haze of hoverflies loiter above.

The petrichor air vibrates warmly, humidity high— the grass still holding the essence of last night's thunderstorm. You run your hands through the verdancy: pink-tinged, white petals cover your fingers as you brush the 'Cat's herb', Valerian. Its sleep-inducing, dreamy scent is said to be the secret lure that called the rats to follow the Pied Piper away from Hamelin. It drifts around you, lulling you into a languid torpor.

As you doze, you sense the soft tread of an animal approach, hear a velvet-soft muzzle crop the rich meadow grasses close beside you.

You hear words of ancient enchantment humming in the atmosphere, and you lie half in a dream, half listening, beginning to wonder what is happening to you.

Valerian is taking you to its liminal world.

The hand of Hertha, Nordic goddess of nature, mother to twins Freya and Freyr, is said to have a special affinity with plants.

She is gathering the fragrant stems as you rest on the earth: Valerian, to use as a delicate whip for the stag she rides to guide the wild hunt— a stag with a bridle of Humulus lupulus, Hops.

The stag carries us deeper into a world where sleep beckons. A seductive world, created by a love philtre, the philtre of Valerian and Hops that Hertha is said to have used to entice her lovers. A love philtre that might lead even the most work-minded to contemplate an idle afternoon spent lying in long meadow grass in the arms of a lover.

As the animal moves away, the spell breaks.

You open your eyes, hoping to catch sight of a stag, of a timeless woman's figure, but there is only the swaying of the cloud-like blooms of high summer to suggest that anyone, or anything, has passed this way.

Limbs still held in sleep, you gather a flower or two to carry with you.

Valerian— said to bring peace and harmony if lovers argue.

Held in the mouth, it creates true love from a single kiss.

Maybe just a sprig, plucked from the meadow and added to tea, will do the trick— taking you back to Hertha's world, where you can lie once again in a soft summer meadow with a lover, and dream.