Judith Berger - Herbal Rituals

To Tom and Hannah, forbelieving,
and to the earth, water, fire, and air for continuing

A Note to Readers

This book is for informational purposes only.Readers are advised to consult a trained medical professionalbefore using any of the herbs discussed in this book or otherwiseacting on any of the information in the book.

HERBAL RITUALS. Copyright 1998 by JudithBerger. All rights reserved. Smashwords Edition. No part of thisbook may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without writtenpermission except in the case of brief quotations embodied incritical articles or reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-PublicationData

Berger, Judith (Judith L.)

Herbal rituals I Judith Berger.

p. em.

Includes bibliographical references

ISBN 0-312-19281-9 (hc)

ISBN 0-312-24301-4 (pbk)

EAN 978-0312-24301-2

I. Herbs. 2. Herbs-Utilization. 3.Herbs-Folklore. 4. Herbs-Therapeutic use. 5. Cookery (Herbs). 6.Nature craft. I. Title.

LISTING THE NAMES of all those who havecontributed in some way to this book just touches the gratitude Ifeel for the ground of support which was created by the presence ofthese people in my life. I am deeply grateful to all those who hada hand in keeping me well-nourished as I labored to birth thisbook, and to you all, I give heartfelt thanks:

To the divine messenger Denise Sylvestro, forplanting the seed and to Kat Egan for insisting and making sure,that blustery January day at Bennys, that I watered the seed. ToTom Colchie, from the furthest reaches of my heart, for guiding meevery step of the way and holding my hand when necessary, and toElaine Colchie for her womanish encouragement and editorialassistance. To Michael Denneny for saying yes. To all of my herbteachers, especially Robin Rose Bennett, Kate Gilday, Susun Weed,Matt Wood, and Don Babineau, and to all my herb students fortromping out to the fields with me and being delighted about theweeds. To Clarissa Pinkola Estes and Father Matthew Fox for theirinspiring, strengthening work. To Thich Nhat Hanh for his smile. ToElizabeth Hurst in Edinburgh for her faith and love. To KatherineSpiratos and Tad Wanveer for their healing hands. To GenevieveKapuler, most excellent and inspiring yoga teacher. To the kids andstaff at the A.C.T. program at the Cathedral of St. John the Divinefor remembering the names of every plant I showed them and foreating them all. To the patient staff at the Cornell MedicalLibrary, especially Patricia Tomasulo, Ani Khoubesserian, KevinPain, Jeanne Strausman, and McEvoy Campbell. To Michael Burns, forhis computer assistance. To Citi Bakery for organic oatmeal, everyday. To the founders and members of the Sixth Street and Avenue Bgarden for creating and maintaining that miracle. To HannahKirschner and Marisa DeDominicis, most deeply, for sewing,listening, feeding, mothering, sistering, and making much of thework-in-progress. To Jeanne Liotta for meals, late-night telephoneventing, good sense, and every winter solstice. To ChloeLiotta-Janes for hugs when most needed. To all my yoga students forbeing a welcome diversion from the computer screen. To ChristineKerrigan for helping me continue to teach as I wrote. To NoonieMarx and Eliot Stewart for demanding progress reports. To BrianThomas for humor at the right moments. To Melody Doves, NaomiEshlev and Ilana Storace for reminding me of what I was doing. ToLiza Lauber and Dale Bellisfield for reading sections of the work.To Harriet McCaig, Celia Brown, and Sarah Lewis for helping me keepthe holidays. To Jane Wylie Potter Thornquist, bodhisattva ofcompassion and song sister, for Rilke and cookies. To Birgit Staudtfor giving me courage. To Kathilyn and Piotr Probosz forhospitality. To Christina Huber and Darryl for helping me getoff-island to the woods and water. To Mia and Madeline, Kali, Luccaand Selene, Akiva, Hillel and Yehudah, and Michelle. To Michael andEllie Berger, for conversations about Halachic Judaism. To Mom,Dad, and Shari, for being proud.

Lastly, and with much devotion, I hug thetrees for hugging me all these years and reminding me that there isalways more than meets the eye. I kiss the earth in thanks forbeing so beautiful and inspiring, and the herbs for the magic andmedicine they bring. To the blue spruce for sheltering me, thewillow tree for whispering, and the elder, for hearing. May we all,always, be surrounded by the soul of nature.

INTRODUCTION

WHEN I WAS a young girl I learned that theBrooklyn neighborhood in which I lived was called Midwood. My mindimmediately and emphatically swept away all the neat row houseswith their front lawns and driveways and conjured up a dark,evergreen forest in which giant trees bore themselves proudly,protecting the few hidden dwellings with their long, solid trunks.Ribbons of smoke plumed the treetops, rising from the chimneys ofthese old stone homes. When I discovered that Brooklyn had, justone hundred years earlier, been farmland, I saw myself standingbeside my horse, upon a ridge, arms folded and feet planted,surveying a horizon bordered by pastures of grazing sheep.

Although I was raised in an urbanenvironment, nature somehow burrowed its roots quite forcefullyinto the ground of my imagination. In truth, at the time theyseemed exactly the same: Both nature and my imagination wereunconfined, limitless in possibility. As a child I knew that if Ilooked at a leaf long enough, a miracle was sure to take placeright before my very eyes. All the books I admired agreed with me;they confirmed the existence of trolls, dwarves, fairies, andwitches with pictoral renderings and vivid tales. I spent a goodbit of time hunting for these creatures beneath mushrooms and inthe sidewalk cracks. So when a lone yellow blossom grew tall out ofa fissure in the cement, I assumed it was the handiwork of elvesand dropped to the ground, peering beneath the plants basal leavesjust in case I might spy a fairy wing. If I grew silent and cockedmy ear toward the bee in the peonys pollen-drenched center, Imight hear bee-speech in the sound of the drone. If I left theright gift-a penny, a song, a thimble full of water-a plant mighteven give me its name.

Needless to say, I skipped along the drivewayand through the neighbors yard in a constant state of anticipationthat bordered on ecstasy. I never lost faith because it was notfaith that drove me: It was certainty, and the excitement of thequest. My eyes became skilled at spotting the oak betweenbuildings, the red berries in the yew hedge, at gazing into a netof branches to find the camouflaged nest, all as I waited for momto pick me up from school.

Though one might have augured that I wouldmake my home in a valley of lush greenery, what has always beenfamiliar and comfortable to me is seeking out the green amidconcrete surroundings. Encountering and attending to nature in thecity fulfills my early childhood requirements for treasure: That itmust be sought, recognized, and earned before it will reveal itsname and the full measure of its richness.

It was destiny that led me to love the wildweeds enough to seek their names even as I planted myself inManhattan, island of stubborn, urban beauty. Much of myapprenticeship in the craft and art of herbalism took place inCentral Parks meadows and brambles, where my teacher taught me howto become silent and listen as the trees, shrubs, and herbswhispered their names into the wind. Alongside these excursionsinto the field were hands-on experiments in inventing and preparingdifferent unguents, teas, powders, and mixtures from roots, leaves,berries, flowers, and seeds we gathered.