Plant spirits: Herbs in metaphysical, energetic and occult practices

There’s an elephant in the room whenever you talk about using herbs these days, and especially if another section of your blog is devoted to spirituality. That is whether we’re talking only about scientific, clinically studied, solidly proven biology or whether we’re dabbling in something… for lack of a better term, “woo woo.”

The Practical Herb Lore section of my blog has been completely focused on the former—practical, proven, medical and culinary uses of herbs. Though I may have other uses for herbs, I don’t like to mix the two in public or even in my private records, because there is a big difference between an herb which supports peaceful sleep through well-understood biological mechanisms and an herb that fosters peaceful energy in a room. It usually isn’t even the same herb and the latter herb might actually be poisonous if ingested.

Image by Peter Farnam

But it is also only fair to explain to my readers that I investigate both paths in herbalism. When I’ve written about medicinal uses of herbs, I’ve always explained where I got the information—whether it is something shared by herbalists in person or something I found in a clinical study. So far, I haven’t gone into much depth with the metaphysical or energetic uses of particular herbs, primarily because I have only now begun to go beyond the basics in my own knowledge.

In this post, I’ll explore the various reasonings behind the energetic and metaphysical affects of herbs. There are several different schools of thought on how it works in practice:

  1. Correspondence theories: Much of eastern medicine, whether it is Ayurvedic Medicine or Traditional Chinese Medicine, is based on the idea that the body contains energy centers, circuits or systems, much like it contains biological systems, such as the respiratory or circulatory systems. Similarly, energetic systems utilize and affect a number of organs and are generally crucial to the survival of the whole. Practices based on correspondences employ herbs to balance and heal physical, mental and spiritual issues. The theory behind it lies in the borderland between medicinal herbalism and metaphysical herbalism. Some of it has even been documented with clinical studies and long-standing medical practice, but there is no hard and fast line between the purely biological parts of the practice and those that rely on bodily systems that western medicine has yet to accept. Western medicine did once employ herbs based on their planetary or elemental correspondences, much as eastern medicine today demonstrates that certain herbs are cooling or warming for specific parts of the body. All of these traditions have in common a reliance on some form of correspondence between herbs and various topics or issues in the human body or in daily life.

  2. Homeopathic theory: I have encountered two schools of thought on homeopathy. One states that homeopathy works on a purely biological level, cueing the body’s immune system to react to trace amounts of unfamiliar substances in order to produce specific reactions. The other claims that homeopathy works through patterned and vibrational alignment on a molecular level. Both explanations attempt to explain homeopathy in scientific terms, but generally do not have a fully developed scientific theory with appropriate evidence… yet. However, some homeopathic medicines are quite reliable in their effects, so these theories shouldn’t be dismissed out of hand.

  3. Vibrational theory: Another theory, or group of related theories, overlapping with both of the first two but not strictly contained within those systems is the theory of vibration. In this theory, any object may have its own energy or vibration. Usually supporters of this theory contend that natural objects or things that are or were alive have purer, clearer or more intense energy. Stones, wood, herbs and even silk or wool therefore have more desirable energies or vibrations than factory-processed items. This theory unlike the previous two, rarely requires that the herb be ingested in order to use its energy or vibrations, but larger amounts of the herb tend to intensify the specific energies. The vibrational theory may appear at first glance to be the same as the correspondence theory. However, a key difference is that vibrational theory focuses on the energy emitted by the herb in a general sense, while correspondence theory requires a system of associations that must be learned or researched. As such, while traditions based on correspondence theory employ heavy reference books and memorization to identify the exact right herb for a specific issue, vibrational theory can be more intuitive and focused on what’s immediately available.

  4. Animist theory: Finally, there is a purely and unashamedly metaphysical theory connected to the larger spiritual orientation called Animism. Animism is the belief, often found in indigenous religions and traditions, that each plant, animal and stone has a spirit or soul, much the way humans have a consciousness. Even places, rivers, towns, mountains or houses may have individual spirits with personality, desires and agency. In this theory, each herb has an individual spirit and often a connected species-wide spirit as well. When gathering or using herbs in this tradition, one should treat plants, trees and even stones as living, sentient and independent beings--by for example asking permission to harvest and directly asking for help in a particular matter. In Animist theory, the uses of a given herb may be narrowly specific to the practitioner. While any herbalist may know all of the correspondences and uses listed for a given herb, an Animist herbalist will generally also ask the plant itself what it is best used for and wait for a feeling, mental image or other sign in answer.

Some of these theories make a greater effort to be accepted by western medicine and science by developing theories that attempt to bridge the gap between medicinal and energetic uses of plants. While it is tempting to see these theories as more legitimate as a result, there is also danger in pushing the boundaries of science too far. Let science stand firm and unmuddled. And we don’t have to claim that something is accepted by western medicine and science in order to justify its legitimacy. While science is immensely valuable, it simply does not encompass everything of value and importance.

When I write about medicinal uses of herbs, it is always grounded in a physical, biological view of the herb’s effects. On the other hand, when I use herbs in energy work or metaphysical practices, I tend toward the correspondence and Animist theories. To readers who have followed my blogs primarily for the practical medicinal information, books and social justice stories, this may come as a shock.

Correspondences

The theory of correspondences could indeed be considered no more than a stretching of medicinal herbal practice. This herb is good for that kind of ailment. Thyme is good for the respiratory system. It isn’t even possible to say medicinal correspondences are only those we can explain scientifically. There are plenty of well-documented herbal effects, such as the almost miraculous efficacy of humble lemon balm against the super-killer bacterium streptococcus, which causes scientists to scratch their heads and shrug—so far at least.

But western medicine and modern science have an aversion to things that claim to cross the perceived barrier between the physical and the non-physical. To say that lemon balm promotes calm appears to have a neurological (i.e. physical) cause, so it tends to be somewhat acceptable. But to say that lemon balm helps you to choose the right path when making decisions, let alone that it will foster love in your home, is rejected out of hand, even though these topics are not as far removed from neurology as we may think.

I have cited TCM and Ayurvedic uses of herbs in many of my posts on medicinal herbs, where there is some evidence of their physical effects, but while I am careful to make the distinction between that and non-physical correspondences, I am personally unconvinced that the barrier between the physical and the rest of reality is as monumental as western medicine would have it.

As such, I am open to the idea of correspondences, not only between herbs and mental and physical health but also between herbs and other aspects of our lives. I hold these ideas fairly loosely and remain flexible in my thinking about them. Some of these connections are simply hard to ignore. But I’ll always be open to new evidence.

If you think that correspondence theory on herbs is only for crazies, consider how widespread the idea that roses are connected with love is. Yes, they are lush and gloriously red or pink. But so are poppies, and those have a dramatically different association in most cultures. If you’ve ever joked about people kissing under the mistletoe or added cinnamon to a drink for the cozy atmosphere, you’ve used correspondence theory with herbs. There is simply a lot more where those traditions came from, if one cares to look.

Image by Arie Farnam

Animism

My claim to follow the Animist theory as well may be even harder for many of my readers to swallow, though it isn’t, in the end, any more outlandish than many other beliefs you may consider quite ordinary.

Athiests are those who believe with certainty that there is nothing beyond the physical in our universe. This too is a metaphysical belief that can be neither proven nor disproven. Christians believe in Jesus as both God and human. And many of them are respected scientists and doctors, though they often keep some sort of line between these two sides of their worldview, much as I do. So, my Animist worldview is in good company.

Why do I believe everything has a spirit?

It’s a matter of paying attention. Most people who live closely with animals can tell you that they have individual personalities, feelings and desires beyond just “gimme food.” We know this because their actions, mannerisms and expressiveness are close enough to ours for us to feel that there is someone there.

I’m just not convinced that plants are any different. There is no real scientific reason why they should be.

Most people can’t perceive their mannerisms and expressiveness as easily. Does that mean there is “no one there” or does it mean that we aren’t very perceptive? The latter seems more likely to me, given the way biology works and the way I feel with plants.

We do know that plants grow better if you talk and sing to them or even project positive feelings at them quietly. This has been demonstrated very well with many elementary school science experiments. More sophisticated science has shown that trees communicate complex messages through a subterranean system of roots, fungi, hormones and electrical signals.

And if people, animals and plants have spirits and “someone home,” where’s the line exactly? I’ve been in places where the sense of place is palpable—a sunny field on an autumn day that felt terrible, life-devouring and deeply depressed despite the nice weather, which turned out to be a WWII slaughter ground. Or a little cottage in the North Bohemian mountains with a spirit so strong that a week spent there changed my life forever—and I later learned it has changed many other lives in amazing ways.

People in vastly different cultures have associated the same types stones with specific energies for thousands of years. And the list goes on.

I don’t always remain aware of the spirit of everything, but that is mainly because if I did, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate and immerse myself in my own tasks. But I find it safest to assume that everything has a spirit, and that definitely includes plants.

Metaphysical herbalism in practice

What does this mean for an herbalist?

Using herbs as part of energetic and metaphysical practices is a very wide and deep subject that I can only scratch the surface of here. If you choose to delve into it, a good place to start is books on “plant energy” or “herbal correspondences.” There are a wide variety of them with vast reference lists. The gold standard for an introduction to the concepts in our times is Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer, which is readable, informative and mind-bending.

But a crucial part of using herbs in this way is to get to know them closely and in person. Ideally, you should be around the same plant in all different seasons, observing its life cycle and seasonal cycles. If you are at all inclined toward Animism, you should talk to it, and spend time quietly perceiving whatever you perceive from it. If it’s appropriate, you should harvest some, feel it, smell it and taste it—if research shows it to be edible. You can then store some of the herbs you know best and use them in various situations, hold some of the dried herb in your hands and breathe into it. Then inhale its fragrance. Sense what you can sense from it.

None of that is “the key” to the metaphysical use of herbs. All of it is what will build a relationship and a subtle understanding of the plant within you. That relationship is the key, but like most relationships you can’t just say you want a relationship, you have to take the time. Books and reference lists are often helpful. But the practice of coming to know specific plants in great depth is non-negotiable for metaphysical herbalism, no matter which theory of it subscribe to.

I have deep and complicated relationships with many plant species and many individual plants. There is a 600 year old fir tree on the windswept ridge where I was born that I consider to be a patron of my family. We have come to that tree for forty years, offering love, words, water and the climbing hands and feet of children. For all that time, we didn’t conceive of this as a relationship we got anything out of, except shade and comfort.

But last year, as I was learning about energy work with plants, I enlisted her aid to protect us from Covid and keep the school open for my child with significant special needs. I asked her to use the great power of fir trees for protection, cleansing and health, and to join with other trees in a circle around our area to clear the sickness out and keep it at bay. That night there was a massive lightening storm in which lighting ringed the area exactly as I had requested. And the school there remained open, while most schools closed. There were only three known cases of Covid in the school all that year.

In a very different way, I have a special relationship with nettles. I can barely see them due to my vision impairment, and they sting me mercilessly as I garden and gather other plants. I am not one of those lucky people who don’t get a rash from nettles and my skin often stings and tingles for more than a day unless I use the nettle antidote immediately.

But I have also learned important medicinal uses for nettles and in one case, I used nettle oil in an emergency to reverse a dangerous allergic reaction that a visiting child developed from eating my strawberries. The dramatic reversal mystified emergency room doctors and pharmacists alike.

But nettle doesn’t always work that way. It counteracts some allergic reactions on the skin amazingly well, including those it causes itself, and has no effect on others. It’s personality is capricious and fiercely independent. I might call on nettle to help me with energy work, but likely only if my motive was destinctly unselfish, righteous and of obvious need, primarily to aid the very young. Otherwise, I get the impression the nettles might just have their own opinions on the matter.

The takeaway

If you’re the kind of person who insists that everything must be scientifically proven and clinically studied, I give you open-mindedness points for reading this far, but I doubt I’ve convinced anyone in that camp. I’m writing this mainly for those who consider other levels of reality or who have already had experiences that are hard to explain without considering plant energies.

If you haven’t had these experiences yet, all it takes is lengthy study, persistence, time spent with plants and paying attention with open curiosity. In other words, not much and a huge investment of time and attention in today’s hectic world. Don’t worry. It isn’t a race.

If this branch of herbalism calls to you, you’re already on the path and likely it’s too late to turn back.

When to rely on home herbalism and when to go to the professionals

As a young newspaper reporter, I was on the scent of oil sharks in the Amazon rainforest of Ecuador. The savvy taxi driver I’d hired pulled in at a newish gas station hunkered amid giant ferns. My photographer and I piled out and made a beeline for the tiny shop for water and snacks.

I misjudged and didn’t step high enough to clear a metal grate set up to scrape the thick rain forest mud off of the boots of customers. Being financially broke and an utter Gringo, I was also wearing flimsy open-toed sandals. The grate sliced into the side of my foot in a deep, red gash.

The lady at the counter shrieked. The wound was bleeding profusely and I noted with mild alarm that it barely hurt at all, which I vaguely thought was supposed to indicate a serious cut.

I sat down on the floor of the gas-station shop and pressed on the wound in an attempt to slow the bleeding. The woman behind the counter ran to the shelves, tore open a box of instant coffee, pried my fingers away while prattling in rapid-fire Spanish and dumped the contents of the box on my foot.

Image by Arie Farnam

Image by Arie Farnam

“It’s okay,” the soft-spoken Ecuadoran photographer who doubled as interpreter consoled me. “She says it will stop the bleeding.”

The taxi driver came in and the woman seemed to be giving him firm orders. He and the photographer nodded and replied in short bursts. The photographer made to lift me up over his shoulder but I struggled to my feet, demonstrating that I could still walk.

“He’ll take you to the hospital,” the photographer explained.

“But I...” I protested.

“You should get stitches,” he insisted.

So, I got in the car. I’d had a lot of minor injuries in a pretty active, very visually impaired life, but I had never had stitches. In the US in a family with not a lot of means, emergency room visits were reserved only for the gravest emergencies. But I figured I could probably afford it here or I’d have to.

We pulled up in front of a mud-spattered wall around a tiny, run-down compound painted in dark green. The taxi driver hopped out to go see what the clinic could offer and I gingerly opened my door and tested my good foot on the ground. Only then could I see that there were piles of used toilet paper, syringes, general trash and worse scattered on the ground and drifted against the wall of the clinic. The stench was palpable and my internal alarm bells clanged violently.

I’m an herbalist today. At the time, I was no more than a dabbler with a first-aid course under my belt. But I was pretty solid on germ theory. This did not look like a place I wanted to be with an open wound.

The taxi driver came back with an invitation to enter and wait, But I laid down the law. Both of them protested. I insisted, “Take me back to my hotel! I have a medical kit there.”

Finally, they reluctantly agreed and a half an hour later I was in my room, pouring copious amounts of disinfectant on the cut and bandaging it with the gauze and surgical tape that always come in such kits, even though you don’t really expect to use them.

“Wow!” I was startled by the photographers low whistle. “You’re tough. I don’t know a lot of… “ he paused for a long time, “women who could bandage such a wound.”

I wondered what he had not said. Probably some local equivalent of “Gringos.” It’s a deserved stereotype mostly, though off-the-track travelers tend to be a bit more handy with a first-aid kit than the average.

I wasn’t in fact that worried about the initial stemming of the blood or the bandaging. The wound wasn’t actually that deep, just profuse. And while some doctors might have stitched it, I was sure it would heal fine under normal circumstances. But of course, these weren’t normal circumstances, for me at least.

I was supposed to spend the next two weeks in rugged conditions in the Amazon rain forest. Keeping a foot wound free of infection in this context would definitely challenge my tiny medical skills. I had read about the virulence of the local microbes and it was concerning.

i did manage to avoid infection through regular application of disinfectant and herbs that time. And I stand by my decision, on that occasion, to opt for self-medicating over the professionals at hand. i’m sure there are dedicated and excellent doctors in some of the most remote places on earth and I could have been lucky, if I had gone into that clinic.

But the bottom line is that intuition told me to run, in no uncertain terms. And I stand by that. Sometimes you have to make that call.

A more recent experience I had during COVID-19 lockdown shows the need to make the opposite choice at other times.

It started with an odd twinge in my right elbow. I had been working really hard physically for weeks. It’s planting season and I put in a huge garden by myself. I’m also taking care of two high-needs kids, cooking for my family all day, cleaning and getting around on foot and by bike. So, a few aches and pains are to be expected… or so I thought.

But over three days the mild pain escalated to severe pain. And then stiffness set in. I just turned forty-four and I make cracks about feeling my age, but this was out of control. I needed my other hand to bend or straighten my elbow. And I am very right-handed.

I caught it early and even the first day that it hurt I put ointments on the elbow that should soak in and fight infection. I could tell the elbow was inflamed and whether it started as a minor injury or as an infection, it clearly was infected now, under the skin.

But it wasn’t swollen and I wasn’t feverish, so there was time. And this is COVID-19 national lockdown. I now live in a country with a wonderful universal health care system, but the virus has me back to my childhood avoidance of doctor’s visits for all but dire emergencies. I wanted to avoid a trip to places where sickness is present, if at all possible.

But my ointments didn’t work. (I tried comfrey, onion and ginger poultice as well as some cayenne to sooth the pain and relax the tissue through heat.) So, I brought out my secret weapon, the oregano essential oil that I used to beat a persistent MRSA infection a few years back. Now I know how to dose it properly and I didn’t even end up with blisters this time.

But it still had only a sho0rt-term effect. My arm hurt worse and worse, day by day.

My husband had some pharmaceuticals left over from a joint infection he had had in his leg I tried some of those but also to no effect. In fact, it definitely seemed through trial and error that the diluted oregano oil was the best thing I had. It at least improved things temporarily.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have gone to the professionals at that point. No swelling. No fever. Some minor progress with a certain herb... I would have put the arm in a protective sling and babied it for a week before even testing it out and it is very likely that it would have been fine.

But another thing about COVID-19 lockdown that a lot of people might not realize is how much hard physical labor it entails for mothers. I am working physically a lot harder than I normally do and not using my right arm is just not an option. When you’re the Mama and you’re 5,000 miles from the nearest devoted grandmother or other major support, you just have to be the one giving the care. Being an invalid—as nice as it sounded—wasn’t in the cards.

So, that time I chose to call my local GP. She’s a wonderful, practical woman with a pleasant respect for my choice to mostly avoid pharmaceuticals. She also doesn’t want to physically see any more patients than necessary during quarantine. I gave her a run-down of my symptoms and she proscribed medication over the phone to reduce the inflammation and combat joint infection.

Within two days, I could use my arm again. The pharmaceuticals didn’t actually get rid of the problem entirely, but they set the infection back enough that I could nurse it slowly back to health with careful use of essential oils. So, this isn’t a story of either the superiority of herbs or the triumph of pharmaceuticals. In this case, it’s a tale of how they are often used together.

What these two incidents illustrate to me is the line that divides the situations that can and should be handled by home herbalism and first aid from those where professional medical help is needed.

There are plenty of situations where modern medicine is necessary AND herbs can also assist. The best medical professionals know this and are glad for the support. But there is still a line we need to be aware of, particularly on the herbalist side of the equation.

When writing about herbs I always include that disclaimer about how I’m not a medical professional and you should always seek out professional advice. It just seems like a good legal and practical precaution. In the US, where I am a citizen after all, suing people for the fun of it, is kind of a national sport.

But also, I don’t want some naive person to read my blog stating that lemon balm fights strep throat and refuse to go to a doctor when they have a life-threatening illness. I want my herbalist experience and my writing to be helpful and for readers to understand that I don’t know everything and can’t possibly pass judgement on a particular case over the internet.

Medicine is—even for the professionals—still a very subjective and complex science. There are a few things doctors can say with absolute certainty, but not as many as you might think. And most of the rest of us must be even less certain.

Just about everything is a case by case decision. I have dealt with life threatening injuries and illness a few times without professional support, but there was no choice in those situations, either because health care was truly far beyond the assembled financial means or because it was geographically distant. There are times when you have to just do the best you can even in a serious situation But that does not mean you should choose to do without medical help when it is an option.

Professional health care should be considered a human right. And even though some serious problems can be handled by someone with good first-aid training and solid common sense—if you’re lucky—there are instances where even a very minor injury or illness needs professional appraisal. Are you diabetic? Or do you have other chronic conditions that create risk?

The bottom line is if you’re reading my posts or otherwise working with herbs and practicing home herbalism or first aid and you don’t have a medical degree, the most important knowledge you can have is an understanding of your limitations. Arguably that also applies even if you have a medical degree, but that’s another topic.

Be aware and question your assumptions. Don’t make herbalism and avoiding pharmaceuticals a religion. Yes, there are side effects to pharmaceuticals. There are with herbs too, if not usually as problematic. Yes, there is corruption and dishonesty in pharmaceutical manufacturing and marketing. There’s a ton of it in commercial herbalism as well, and even less regulation.

Growing and processing your own herbs gives you protection against some nasty stuff and it’s a worthy practice that I love. But one of the keys to a good practice is always having your eye on the limits and the phone numbers of some good medical professionals on hand.

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Arie Farnam

Arie Farnam is a war correspondent turned peace organizer, a tree-hugging herbalist, a legally blind bike rider, the off-road mama of two awesome kids, an idealist with a practical streak and author of the Kyrennei Series. She grew up outside La Grande, Oregon and now lives in a small town near Prague in the Czech Republic.

Coronavirus, lungwort and plant sensitivity to human needs

There is an old herbalist theory, originating from multiple indigenous-wisdom traditions, that medicinal plants not only wish to offer their gifts to help people but can go so far as to provide a particularly large harvest of needed plants in times of widespread sickness.

A few years back, my lemon balm plants, which are generally pretty wimpy, went berserk and produced a bumper crop. I never could figure out what I had done differently that year or how the weather could have been different. But that winter I had a large supply of lemon balm tincture and lemon balm salve.

Photo by Arie Farnam

Photo by Arie Farnam

I gave away every one of the lemon balm salves that year. Our local pediatrician swears that they’re as good as Acyklovir for cold sores. I don’t think we actually had more cold sores that year, but there were a lot of viral infections that led to strep throat in our circle. That is the other thing that lemon balm is specifically indicated for.

I used to get strep every time I got the flu, but I don't anymore—as long as I take lemon balm tincture preventatively. That year I was giving out lemon balm tincture to fight off sore throats left and right.

I’m not one-hundred percent convinced that plants somehow know our health needs and provide extra harvest in response (in advance), but sometimes there is a mysteriously big crop of some specific herb and I pay attention, harvest and store what is offered. It usually ends up being needed.

This year, the bumper crop is lungwort.

It’s a humble little plant and I’ve never made an effort to grow it. It just volunteered in my rock garden a few years back. Since then, it has put out a few of its vaguely lung-shaped leaves with the odd gray spots that look like it is moldy or diseased, even when it isn’t. It is one of the earliest flowers here, before the dandelions. The flowers are small flutes of cornflower blue or lavender color.

People used to use lungwort for respiratory illnesses, especially debilitating and chronic diseases. Medieval scientists believed that a medicinal plant would in some way resemble the part of the body it is meant to heal. So lungwort was considered to be an obvious choice for respiratory illness.

Modern medical trials largely have not born this out in the case of lungwort. It doesn’t make the best herbal cough syrup or tea or inhalant. It does seem to have a mild, pleasant effect on a cough, little more, and there are heavier-hitters among the respiratory herbs.

Still I have to wonder. I’ve never seen so much lungwort as I see this year. For weeks almost nothing else has been blooming in my garden, but a profusion of lavender and light blue flowers of lungwort are popping up everywhere, as if this normally shy little plant that used to hide by the stone wall of the sauna, had suddenly decided to take over

I wonder if any other herbalists have noticed this. Am I the only one with a sudden plenty of lungwort?

There isn’t much else to gather this time of year, so I’m picking the lungwort flowers and drying them, just in case. If this lung-attacking novel coronavirus does come our way, I will try whatever I’ve got. My family have all had a bit of lungwort in their tea over the years, so i know no one is allergic to it.

I’ll use other herbs and pharmaceuticals if it comes down to that. But I will be at least try lungwort tea, just in case the traditional wisdom is right this time. This is a new virus after all. And sometimes a mild, unassuming herb without clear antibiotic properties will turn out to smack one particular type of bacteria or virus right where it counts.

Lemon balm isn’t generally antiviral or antibiotic, for example. It only destroys the herpes virus and streptococci bacteria. No one knows why, only that it is very effective. The same thing could happen again and the only way we’ll know is if herbalists pay attention.

Fir: The medicine of the holiday tree

When I was a child, living in the remote Blue Mountains of northeastern Oregon, knowledge of edible plants was highly prized among the kids I played with. Being able to pick wild food bestowed an aura of daring, super-adult independence upon a kid and it also meant you could comfortably leave home in the morning and not return until nightfall, which sometimes came in handy.

To be fair, I must say that our knowledge was pretty limited, but no one could fault our enthusiasm.

Image by Arie Farnam

Image by Arie Farnam

One of my favorite edible plants was fir, not because it was particularly tasty, but because it was ubiquitous and edible in early spring when almost nothing else was in our area. In the early spring, fir trees grow a couple of inches of new needle-bearing twigs onto the ends of their branches.

This new growth is clearly visible as a vibrant lime green against the darker green of the rest of the evergreen. And unlike the hard, dusty, older needles, the new growth has a tangy, fresh taste.

What I didn’t know at the time was that the young needles are an excellent natural source of vitamin C in a cold climate where such sources are relatively rare. The new growth of fir also contains resins and aromatic compounds that are helpful in relieving respiratory congestion. Combined with the vitamin C, that makes the young needles a solid cold remedy.

While I happily ate these sprigs raw as a kid, many adults would rather drink them has a tea, which has a pleasant and somewhat earthier flavor than the raw needles, though I am not certain how much of the vitamin C and other volatile medicinal compounds will survive drying and long storage, so this may well remain mostly a seasonal remedy.

Still early spring is a particularly rough time for getting over winter colds, so it is worth remembering, nonetheless.

I also love fir trees in their holiday splendor, though the modern tree farms where millions of tiny trees are specifically bred and cut each year for holiday decoration leave me a bit sad. My aversion to plastic is still too high for me to use a fake tree.

I miss the winter holidays of my childhood, when the ritual of hunting our tree involved a snowy trek out into the woods with my father and brothers, where we examined crowded stands of small firs in search of a tree that was somewhat shapely but also contributing to problematic overcrowding. Then we returned singing to cups of hot cocoa and cookies with our prize on a sled.

Thinning new growth at the edges of the forest was a healthy and useful practice for the local ecosystem, but clearly it doesn’t actually represent a sustainable way for everyone to harvest a tree for the Winter Solstice or similar holidays. And it is worth remembering that we eat young plants bred and cut specifically for that purpose every day. Tree farms are not particularly evil.

The smell of fir indoors is calming and comforting to me, probably because my childhood holiday experiences were primarily positive. For my husband, whose childhood was marked by major family conflicts at the holidays, the associations are not so cozy, but he tries to play along.

Still the smell reminds me first and foremost of those tangy snacks on spring hikes in the woods and the other medicinal uses of fir. Fir trees can provide helpful medicine beyond the fresh shoots of early spring, and most of it is available all year round and without harming the tree.

Several Native American nations use poultices made from the sap of Douglas fir to disinfect and protect wounds with great effectiveness. The poultice has apparently also been used to heal dislocated, rheumatic or stiff joints. The runny sap that can be tapped from a fir tree will harden into a protective layer.

I have never personally used either of these methods in a first-aid situation, but only because I have not had to treat significant wounds in a forest where fir is available. If I did, this would be my first choice as the sap is wonderfully antiseptic and in a fresh state can be applied to a washed and cleaned wound.

The resin has also been chewed to help with coughs and sore throats. Some herbalists note that an infusion of green fir bark may be helpful with excessive menstruation or bleeding bowels. And some people soak the needles in cold water to produce a pleasant and mildly disinfectant mouthwash.

Because not everyone grew up in the woods, I’m going to add a warning here on identification of fir. Suburbanites may feel sure they can identify those spiky evergreens we use as holiday trees. “They are the ones with the short needles, whereas the long needles are pines… right?”

But beware! There are several species of evergreens with short, dark-green needles with the flat appearance of fir that are deadly poisonous.

I’m talking about yew and hemlock, both of which are among the most poisonous plants in temperate forests. Fir, yew and hemlock all share distinctly flat, single needles. They can be differentiated from spruce because their needles grow from the twig on opposite sides of the branch.  That’s what gives the branches of needles their flat appearance. 

So, how do you tell the difference? You need to be very sure here, after all, if you want to use these plants medicinally, or even bring them indoors for holiday decoration.

Hemlock needles attach to the central twig with a small stem.  Fir doesn’t have that stem, although some needles may have what look like little suction cups gripping the central twig. So, check for a stem on the needles, unless you are so experienced that you can differentiate these trees by smell.

Differentiating fir from yew can be even trickier. Fir and hemlock both have white lines on the underside of their needles. Yew does not. It’s needles are also only about half an inch long, much shorter than most fir. It is also good to be aware that yew has small red berries at some times of the year. Fir doesn’t ever have red berries.

Be sure about your identification and in general, I don’t advise just going out into the woods to harvest fir unless you spend a lot of time in the woods generally. Time and experience will make this identification much easier because there are other subtler differences in the trees, including smell and the texture of the needles, which is harder to describe in writing.

Be safe and enjoy the evergreen season!

Five herbs to have in an activist first aid kit

We’re in the middle of the Autumn Rebellion, the global actions of Extinction Rebellion focused on bringing acute awareness and immediate action to solving the human-caused climate crisis. It’s a time for practical things, even in blogging.

So, here is my quick guide to the most essential herbs—not just for first aid kits, but—specifically for activist first aid kits. (There are some unique issues to take into account.)

Image by Arie Farnam

Image by Arie Farnam

There are plenty of herbs that are helpful in first aid, but in modern reality, first aid kits have to be portable and we often need them in cities, on roads or in places where a lot of fresh herbs aren’t available. Furthermore, activists need first aid kits that address the basic needs of humans in stressful and physically risky environments, as well as the means to safeguard long-term health and to counteract possible chemical attacks by security forces.

While I may have a larger supply of herbs at a tent or first-aid station at a major action, the question of which herbs to put into a light field kit is of crucial importance. Most of the time, for field kits we’re talking tincture and salve, but there is one exception to that rule.

Here are my five top herbs to keep in a first aid kit:

  1. Lemon balm: For herpes (as a salve), strep throat, calming, emotional support and as a sleep aid in uncomfortable conditions (as a tincture). While not specifically a disinfectant herb lemon balm salve has been shown to be as effective as Acyclovir in fighting off cold sores and it is also “specifically active” against the streptococcal bacteria responsible for most bacterial throat infections.

  2. Yarrow tincture: For cramps, sore muscles, inflammation, swelling, wound disinfection and to slow bleeding. Often referred to as nature’s Ibuprofen for its dramatic anti-inflammatory properties. It also combines well with plantain in a general healing salve for scrapes.

  3. Mullein tincture, glycerate or syrup: For stomach problems and breathing troubles. Mullein helps an acute cough right away and heals damaged lungs. This is the most obvious difference for activist kits. Mullein is the best known herb for recovery from pepper spray or tear gas attacks.

  4. Echinacea tincture: A good immune support and prevention at the first sign of sickness. I add echinacea to general wellness and boosting drafts for activists. If taken only at times of extraordinary stress, it’s immune support and energy enhancing effects are notable.

  5. Ginger syrup, candied ginger and also thin slices of fresh root: Fights nausea and calms the stomach, warms the extremities and aids breathing. This is the one herb you can literally hand out like candy. On a autumn blockade with a cold mist coming down, distributing thin slices of fresh or candied ginger root can both warm and sooth activists much as alcohol might without the undesirable effects that make alcohol unwelcome at most actions.

There are plenty of other things that might be useful, but this is what I would take if limited to five herbs, partly because of the climate I live in and what grows here locally, also because of what I have found most helpful for the people around me.

St. John’s Wart and calendula would be good alternates for echinacea and yarrow but some people react badly to St. John’s wart and while it can help with some viral infections, it makes people oversensitive to sunlight. Calendula is helpful for most skin problems and fights bacterial and fungal infections, but it doesn’t have the uses yarrow has in slowing bleeding or soothing inflammation.

Thyme is a good alternative to mullein for breathing problems and it has its own digestive uses but in a pinch I’d choose mullein simply because I find that it’s affects are more short-term and short-term relief is what I want in a first aid kit.

Cautions:

  • While lemon balm is very handy for preventing the flare up of a minor sore throat and usually can handle the very beginnings of a bacterial infection, strep throat is a serious condition that requires professional medical attention and has historically (before antibiotics) led to many deaths. Especially in stressful, cold and wet conditions out in the elements, be aware of the dangers of strep infection. Particularly in the case of throat and gland swelling, advise patients to get indoors and seek out medical attention immediately.

  • Yarrow is related to ragweed and people with ragweed allergies may react poorly to it. Also, while yarrow is easier on the kidneys than Ibuprofen, it shouldn’t be used in high “pain-killer doses” (about 1 tsp of tincture every 3 hours for an adult) for more than a few days running.

  • Ginger will calm some stomach problems but will not do much for stomach flu, food poisoning or other infection. If stomach pain or nausea increases and results in repeated vomiting, it is time to get off the front line and seek medical attention.

  • Mullein tincture may help acute breathing problems caused by chemical agents used for “crowd control” but if it does not help and breathing problems continue, seek out professional medical help. It is also ineffective in the other major problem with these chemical weapons, which is eye and skin irritation. The key thing to remember is that these chemicals are acidic and that is the cause of the adverse reactions. Neutralize the acidity with a liquids with a base ph. Water mixed 1 to 1 with antacid solution is helpful. A wash of soy milk has also been known to prevent acid burns.