.....misunderstood goldenrod

Yogis,

Poor Ms Goldenrod. She always seems to take the blame.

As a late bloomer, it isn’t until early September that she puts on her show. Large plumes of tiny yellow flowers bloom brightly on tall upright stalks. A lover of crowds, she is typically surrounded by many of her friends creating a vibrant display. Often gathered along sides of roads, in open meadows and in fields, goldenrod sways with the breezes of the approaching fall as if to capture your attention.

It is at this same time of year that the telltale sneezes and watery eyes of fall seasonal allergies kick into gear. Of course, the wave from Ms Goldenrod, and the tissue in hand get woven together in our mind, convincing us that she must be the culprit. But alas, she is not……..

It is virtually impossible to be allergic to goldenrod, but ragweed on the other hand can wreak havoc to the respiratory system. Ragweed, however, is a green somewhat shy nondescript plant, choosing to bloom at the same time as goldenrod, and often, right under her shadow. Very sly.

Not only does goldenrod not cause you suffering, she offers healing in so many different ways. This week I sat in the garden and spent time with her making medicines.

I began by making a tincture. Taking a tall stalk, I removed all of the leaves and flowers and chopped them up into a mason jar, filling it to the top. For this batch I chose brandy as the solvent, pouring it into the jar until all of the plant material was covered. The jar will now sit inside out of the sun for a minimum of six weeks before I strain out the plant and bottle the now medicinal liquid.

Next, goldenrod infused oil. Exact same process except I used good quality organic olive oil as the solvent. Oils must be strained after six weeks and will last about a year. I will then take this oil and make it into salves.  

Upper part of the stalks with flowers cut, tied with a rubber band and hung upside down to dry will provide tea for the upcoming cold winter days.  And the goldenrod vinegar I am making by soaking the leaves and flowers in pasteurized apple cider vinegar for a month in a dark place, will be a wonderful mineral laden addition to my salads.

So many ways to use her. But what will she do for us?

Goldenrod as a diuretic offers aid to the kidneys, helping to reduce the risk of kidney stones, remove urinary gravel and reduce inflammation of the urinary tract. She offers relief for joint pain and arthritis and is also a skin healer for wounds and eczema.

An ally for the upper respiratory system, she helps alleviate congestion, sinusitis, catarrh, colds and even….. ahem…..seasonal allergies. A salve rubbed in can calm muscle pain and she has a particular affinity for neck pain.

Watch for her as you drive about these next couple of weeks and wait for her wave. She will be the one covered with bees and butterflies. And now you know you don’t have to be afraid to get close to say hi……

Thank you goldenrod,
SARAH

.......sand in my sleeping bag

Yogis,

Another successful two-day camping trip to Assateague Maryland is in the books.  An island south of Ocean City, Assateague is best known for its wild horses. I am not sure if this was the fourth or fifth year, but it has clearly become a marker on my end of summer calendar.

Once again, I was blessed with an east breeze meaning no mosquitoes or biting flies. Thank you Universe..…. But there was a mixture of wind, sun, rain, cool breezes and one gorgeous sunset.

As I woke on day two, I realized that in order to enjoy camping, with the added layer of camping at the beach, there are certain things you have to be OK with. You don’t necessarily have to love them, but you can’t be irritated or upset by them, or there really is no point in going. Here is the list I came up.

You have to be ok with:

·        Setting up a tent and other camping contraptions that love to take off in the wind….while there is wind.

·        Being outside for 48 straight hours and accepting whatever weather Mother Nature throws your way with grace. Even the 2 am rainstorm which leaves a small puddle in the tent.

·        Having all your belongings slightly damp in the morning.

·        Having you slightly damp in the morning.

·        Being hot…..being cold

·        Taking a shower but then having to stick your sandy foot through your pant leg, ensuring that you have sand – well, everywhere.

·        Being dirty, no matter how many showers you take

·        Feeling completely dependent on a flashlight for your every move after 8pm

·        Sleeping on the ground in a sleeping bag that is of course, sandy.

·        Squatting outside the tent during the night and hoping no one is watching you, among several other concerns that this position brings up –  multiple times a night if you are my age

So why do I do it? How could all of this bring me enjoyment?

The second night as I snuck out of the tent for the third time the sky had finally cleared. There was a chilly breeze and I stood in utter awe of the infinite stars above. For a moment time stood still.

Being sweaty, dirty and sandy with nothing between me and the sky above makes me feel alive! I am offered a sense of connection to something greater. It stirs me.

I know camping is not for everyone, but there is something that makes each of us feel alive. That fills you with pure and simple joy all the way to your core. Those things that cause you to tingle and your heart to flutter.

What is that for you? Have you made time for it lately? If not, put that marker on your calendar. Life is meant to be lived.

Still finding sand in my ears,
SARAH

......mycophobia

Yogis,

Mycophobia. The fear of mushrooms. I am pretty sure I have had a touch of this for most of my life.

Unlike the beautiful mushroom booths at today’s farmer’s markets, growing up I only remember one basic type of mushroom that would try to sneak into my food. The memory is of them being a nondescript grayish brown and slimy. In a gravy. Sliced onto pizza. The consistency creepy in my mouth and rare that they made it passed my tongue and down my throat. I disliked mushrooms and couldn’t understand them.

Being advised not to touch them.  Knocking them over if they grew with that poof that sometimes erupts from who knows where. And somehow learning never, never ever pick and eat them. Some might be ok, but others able to strike you down with a quick and painful death. There are those that can literally change your mind while in fairy tales the mushrooms never played a good role. And looking like that, how can they be a friend?

As we sleep they push up through the soil from a dark unknown place below, some reaching quite remarkable sizes. Others in shapes that remind you of …….oh my.  Then a few days or even hours later they vanish. How can we possibly have a chance to get to know them? The mysterious mushroom.

Over these last couple years however, the mushrooms around me have been waving to get my attention. As a nature lover I decided it is finally time to introduce myself and pay more attention. What I have discovered is fascinating.

A mushroom is the spore bearing fruit of the up to 5 million different forms of fungi that live beneath our feet. Paul Stammets, a mycologist, was a guest on a Joe Rogan podcast and explains how we, as well as all animals, evolved from fungi and carry some of the same DNA. His mission is to bring fungi and mushrooms to the forefront of research as potential cures for disease, mental illness and even climate change.

I decided to take a mushroom walk to get better acquainted. As Phoebe and I strolled I sent my attention to the ground and within a half hour I easily saw 20 different types. Some tiny while others huge. Browns, grays, yellow, red and even purple. Smooth ones, frilly ones, tall and short. Standing alone or gathered in family groups. Each unique.

In this new journey I began recognizing an edible type named ‘Chicken of the Woods’ on my way to the creek. A beauty of various golds and oranges she grows on fallen trees. I investigated further and found ideas for cooking. I brought my bag, harvested a few, chopped them and sauteed with olive oil, garlic and thyme. Now I haven’t eaten chicken in 30 years, but I do believe it does indeed taste like chicken……although doesn’t everything?  Quite yummy.

I realize now that mushrooms are not to be feared but do deserve our deep respect. She has much to teach us.

I think my mycophobia may have been conquered.

Bowing to the mushroom,
SARAH

.....plenty

Yogis,

A word that has been resonating with me recently is ‘plenty’.

A local free magazine was sitting at the checkout in the Bethesda Coop store – my home away from home. The front covered with a picture of fresh peaches and the word PLENTY in big bold print. I grabbed one.  I love the roundness of that word.

The dictionary defines it as ‘more than sufficient’, ‘an adequate or more than adequate amount’ or ‘abundant’ . Some of its other synonyms are ample, bountiful, generous and liberal. When I say the word to myself, the energy that flows through is that of enough. Having enough. Feeling enough. Being enough. Plenty.

Plenty doesn’t cause a sensation of excess in me. Not luxury or indulgence. Nor stingy or selfish. Simply enough. That when it is present, I can let go of gripping, reaching and hoarding. I can lie back and float in a sea of plenty. Can you feel it?

One of the laws of the Universe is that there is plenty. Plenty of everything for everyone……but for some reason we don’t believe it. Our minds tend to prefer to work from the uncomfortable place of lack. Of not enough. We strive daily for more and more, seeking the very sensation that feeling plenty would pour down on us.

Yesterday in my garden I could feel plenty in action. No matter which way I turned the flowers smiled at me. Butterflies so close I could feel the breeze of their delicate wings. The scent of lavender and mint on my hands as I brush back my hair, and the rosemary and sage ready and waiting to be made into herbed salts. It all got me thinking…….

What if we all suddenly awakened to a sense of plenty. Where you knew without doubt there was enough. Money, of course, but more importantly love and peace and friendship. Food and warmth. Plenty for every single person. A current that continually flowed in.

How would that feel? How would that change you? Would you finally be able to drop your shoulders and let go of that tension?

However, in return, you would be required to give fully of all your unique gifts. If your gift is teaching, you teach wholly, openly and with love. To everyone.  If you are a good listener, you might spend your days with the ill or elderly. If you are a builder you build for all, without judgment or care for pay. A musician or artist, your role is bringing beauty daily to the world with abandon. A doctor……heal all in need. A gardener feeds her neighbors.

All would be required to do, and to do wholeheartedly in service to others, but with the skills you are passionate about. Allowing your gifts and the unique way you express them to pour out in abundance. An out flowing of the current of giving. Plenty. Following your dharma……your purpose.

You pour out…..  Plenty flows in……..

What would a world like that look like? What would your role be? Would you want it?

Swimming in a sea of plenty,
SARAH

.......the morning after

Yogis,

According to legend, the month July was named after Julius Caesar and was given 31 days. When Augustus Caesar later ruled the Roman Empire, he wanted the following month named after him, giving us August. Of course, he wanted it to also have 31 days. The story goes that those two extra days were taken from February, leaving it with only 28 days.

For me, these two months are clearly delineated each year by my last week of July beach tradition.

As I leave home we are in the thick of July with its blazing sun, hard as rock dirt, summer picnics and parades. Dense heavy trees offer shade and the boisterous singing of the birds fills the air. Tomatoes are all getting their orange tinge and the blooms of the flowers span nearly every color in the rainbow. July is like the big party bash…..the full moon…..the apex. What we all have waited for since those dreary dark days of the thankfully shortened February.

Upon my return I can’t help but notice the shift. August reminds me of the morning after the party. Arriving on the other side. The funny thing is I love them both…..for different reasons.

When I studied with Susun Weed several years ago it was early August and she noted how our calendar may mark autumn’s beginning as September 21, but nature knows that August 1^st is the true turn. I watch year after year, and she is absolutely right.

Within a week of my return I know without fail that there will be falling leaves and they don’t disappoint. If you gaze closely through the trees you can see a bit more as the leaves have already begun to draw back some of their fullness. Yellow will begin to dot the landscape both in the trees and the garden.

August flowers still bloom gloriously, but often on stalks that have begun to yellow. The mint seems lazier and the basil a little leggy. The bustling yellow birdhouse which held its third wren family as I left, sits vacated and eerily silent on my return and will remain so until spring. Nature and life have suddenly become a little slower and quieter.

I always take a trip to the garden nursery for a couple perennials when I get back. Where the rush of July required attendants to manage the chaotic parking lot, I now can stroll leisurely through the aisles with only a few other customers. Plants clustered together on fewer tables, all 30% off. Many remind me of the abandoned dogs in a shelter, staring at me sadly, hoping they might finally be chosen and make it into a cart.

Heaven forbid you want to buy a bathing suit in August!! Those aisles are now lined with school supplies. The shorts and tshirts have been picked over and replaced by sweaters. Calendars are pulled out to enter the fall activities. Why are we so driven to rush these rare slow days when life already speeds by so quickly?

Once again, I am running in the dark. A hint of crisp air brushing my skin as I step out the door. Spiders webs catching my hair as I hike. The tomatoes starting now, not necessarily destined to make it to the table. And of course…..a visit to the county fair.

I could go on and on……. In fact I did for the two hour Yin workshop last week. But I will leave you with this. August is exactly as it is supposed to be. August is plenty. I love August.

Sleeping under the quiet August moon,
SARAH

Earth Medicine.....some personal stories

Yogis,

Do you have this running through your lawn or garden? She is ground ivy (Glechoma hederacea), a member of the mint family which you can tell by her square stem. In spring she wears small delicate purple blooms, but for the rest of the summer she marches proudly forward with simple green scalloped opposite leaves on runners, tormenting many gardeners.  

I would like to share a personal story about ground ivy and how earth medicine works.

I don’t treat my lawn, so it is jam-packed with liver cleansing dandelion, bee loving clover and delicious chickweed. There is one area out front however that I was hoping wouldn’t fill with ground ivy. Over the last few months, each time I walked by I would pause and spend some quiet time pulling some, which was honestly more like a meditation as it certainly isn’t an effective plan.

During this same time, I have had some mucus in the back of my throat which is referred to as catarrh. I began doing research for potential causes and some herbal remedies. Well…..you guessed it. Ground ivy! No wonder it keeps creeping closer and closer to grab my attention. That is how plant medicine works. What you need will be found nearby. Nature heals.

Fresh flowering ground ivy can be used to make tincture or vinegar or dry her for tea. An astringent, she dries things up and is also an ally for mild lung problems, digestive issues and coughs. I am now popping a couple in my mouth each day. Thank you ground ivy!

Another example. I have a large pot on my back deck in which I always plant a cherry tomato bush. This summer I kept glancing out at the empty forlorn looking pot and saying I had to get to the nursery. Then forgetting. Week after week.

One day I was giving a Reiki session and the pot was directly in my line of vision. I noticed something. I saw some green. Later I walked out and immediately recognized the leaves. I smelled to make sure and it was indeed a tomato plant! I am now harvesting many small tomatoes each morning and a second plant has also popped up. This is not the first time that my thoughts have brought a plant. Nature is magical.

Finally, this week this little beauty appeared in my empty plant container. She makes me smile. What better medicine is there than that?

If you ever would like me to come introduce you to your own yard’s earth medicine, give me a call!

Popping Ground Ivy leaves into my mouth,
SARAH

.....sand castles and twizzlers

Yogis,
I was only 26 years old the first time I went. With a four-year-old son in tow and another nestled inside me, I fell in love with the Outer Banks. A few hours ago, I arrived home from my thirty first visit. Thirty one consecutive end of July’s spent on the same block and same stretch of beach, with the same crowd of friends.

This year my youngest son is 26. There is nothing like an annual tradition to view time through.

For the first many years there was always one of us pregnant or nursing an infant under the shade of an umbrella. Followed then by summers filled with toddlers, boogie boards, giant sand castles and twizzlers. Trips to urgent care sprinkled in and searching for ghost crabs on the beach at night. During those years our ‘adult’ cocktail party, a single break away from the kids, brought out the teenager in all of us….which we paid for dearly early the next morning.

Years become a blur and suddenly the toddlers are teenagers and we are now the ones nervously keeping tabs on them and the beer refrigerator, kept awake by their card games, music and late night bowls of cereal. Only truly resting when we hear them close their bedroom doors. Informing them that they are now responsible for making their own sandwiches and carrying their own chairs.

This year there were six of the sweetest little girls in our circle, daughters of some of those very same teenagers, building sand castles and eating sand covered twizzlers. Three more babies will enter the world and our group by the time we return. The ‘kid’ picture taking on a new meaning. Watching others doing what we ourselves have done and wondering where the time has gone.

The wild shrubbery has grown taller on the street. So much so that our view of the ocean between the houses in front of us is partially blocked. The bird sanctuary land next to our street where the boys played and deer wandered is now filled with 6 bedroom homes. The dunes continue their skyward growth and every couple of years new taller steps get built directly above the old ones.

Yet some things have not been touched by time. The pulsating drone of the cicadas which fills the hot air as we arrive. Pelicans flying in formation over our heads. Incredible skies and seemingly infinite stars. Our laughter.

As I pulled out of the neighborhood and onto route 12 to head home in the quiet of the early morning the rising sun shone into the car over my left shoulder. For a split second I felt the exact same way I have every single year at that moment when I make the turn. Yes, it has been 31 years but there is that part of me that also remains untouched by time. The part that has witnessed this inevitable yet beautiful passage of time.

I still eat twizzlers,
SARAH