vi: Botanica Fabula
Stolen away by the Fae? Amanda Edmiston I've always loved Hawthorn (Crataegus monogyna). Many people dislike it due to the scent of its blossoms, called May, which hold elements in common with putrefaction— perhaps instinctively recalling lore regarding the dangers of bringing it into the house. I'm lucky to be one of those people who merely picks up an olfactory flicker of something sweet and Spring-like, with only the merest hint of the sinister in its essence. For me, Hawthorn has only positive connotations. My Gran's middle name was May, and I immediately think of her whenever I encounter the tree. I loved her
stories of cycling to school in the 1930s, picking the fresh spring growth— called the 'bread and cheese' leaves —to pop between slices of bread when there wasn't much else to make a filling. One of my favourite legends connected to the plant comes from Ovid, who tells that the Roman goddess of viscera, Carna, used Hawthorn twigs gifted to her by the two-faced god Janus to lure the malicious vampiric Strige away from unsuspecting children. I knew that 'Hawthorn mends a broken heart' as a child, long before I learned that its constituents have a positive effect on the circulatory system. Hawthorn simply makes
38
