Fall...and snippets of Summer

We've had so many warm, sunny days this fall that I've been able to sneak in a few last-minute outdoor chores and harvests that I might otherwise have missed.  Of course, as I type this, snow is falling thickly outside, so it looks like winter has arrived....

Ethel helping with the garlic

Yesterday, I finally got around to planting the garlic. I chose a bed along the western fence of our garden that I had left fallow this year, after applying a good dressing of rabbit manure in the spring.  There was some red clover growing there over the summer, along with a jungle of lambs quarters which will make a nice crop of greens in the spring when it self-seeds. 

I pulled all of the greenery and smoothed out the soil.  It is great to see the soil after three years of amendment--finally starting to resemble the rich, organic loveliness that is the goal.  Between the reliable source of rabbit manure, and the manure/bedding from the girls, my garden flourishes no matter how much I neglect it.

My plan for the bed is to plant the garlic now and then following with a planting of pole beans and/or squash vines in late spring.  Since the garlic will be ready for harvest by July, it will be out of the way for the later crops.  I plant two varieties of garlic, one that doesn't keep as long but has a soft stem that can be used to braid the bulbs together...which I love in theory and yet have never done.  *sigh*  The second variety is a great winter keeper, but the bulbs are slightly smaller and the stem is very rigid.  They both require the same growing conditions, which for today means that I need to give them fairly loose, fertile soil and a good mulching since it is so late in the season and cold is just around the corner.

Soft- and hard-neck varieties

Since the soft-neck variety doesn't keep for very long I don't plant as much of it, but plan to use it up during the summer and fall after harvesting.  Of the four rows I planted today, 2 1/2 were the winter-hardy and 1 1/2 were the soft-neck.  Then I piled several inches of bunny manure over the top and capped that with straw bedding.

A quick word about rabbit manure:  it is the one manure that is safe to put directly in your garden; it will not burn the plants like other uncomposted manures will.  It makes a nice, if stinky, mulch for taller plants because there is so much grassy bedding along with the manure pellets.  If you can find a source, definitely take advantage--check at 4H events, county fairs, etc.

I am happy to have the garlic in the ground; it is the one thing I grow in which we are self-sufficient, and I feel as though I have a standard to uphold!

Next I moved on to split up the daffodils at the end of the driveway, which for the last three years have sent up more and more leaves with fewer flowers--a sign, I assumed, that down in the soil the bulbs were dividing, multiplying, and making many smaller bulbs without enough room to flourish.  The problem, and the reason why I've been avoiding this chore, is that the daffodils come up each spring through the heavy mat of vinca and ivy that the former owners of this house planted every last place they could think of.  Arggh.

Clearing the ivy requires a ridiculous amount of sheer tugging and yanking, working through the soil with my hands to pull out roots...I already know how sore I will be tomorrow.  But the fun part was finding the little gnome-like colonies of bulbs, whiskery with roots, and separating them between my fingers.  I spaced them out and replanted them, covering the soil with a 2' x 3' piece of chickenwire to keep the squirrels out, and then topping it all with a heavy mulch of rabbit manure.  

Finally, it was time for the big event. Okay, the big event for me--which is not everyone's idea of excitement, I'll grant you.  Anyway:  echinacea root harvest!  I started these plants from seed the first spring we were here in our house, and they are just now old enough to try for roots big enough to be worthwhile. 

Roots of Echinacea purpurea

Here's the thing with herbs and healing--this is something that I've always had an interest in, no matter the guise--from traditional Chinese medicine to modern American herbalism, or within the paradigm of women, midwifery, and reproductive health.  I have no clinical studies or controlled experiments going on, but I know that over the past few years we've adapted several homemade remedies that work for us when colds come on or there are wounds to heal.

So, onto the echinacea tincture:  To get at the roots, I pushed the shovel in all around the plant and then tugged it gently up out of the ground.  I turned it over, cleaned off as much soil as I could, and snapped off the roots I wanted, and then replaced the plant in its hole, filling in around it and tamping it back into place.  I added a thick manure/bedding mulch for good measure.

I think that I could have waited another year for these plants...I've read that finger-sized roots are best, which are old enough to have developed full medicinal potency, and I didn't have as many roots that size as I'd hoped.  Of course, this wasn't exactly a summer of heavy growth for any of my unwatered native plants, so we'll see what next year brings.  I chopped up the roots into small pieces and filled a pint jar with them.   I poured 80 proof vodka over the roots, capped the jar, labelled it, and put it on the shelf to wait six weeks.  (The alcohol should be 100 proof ideally, but I used what I happened to have.)

These last warm and rainy weeks have allowed me to harvest comfrey and plantain, healing plants whether used fresh as a poultice or infused into a healing oil which can be used as is or made into lotions, creams or balms.  At this time of year, I want to preserve whatever I can because the dried versions seem to miss some essential greenness.  So I picked the wide, furry comfrey leaves that grow by my garden and the smooth green plantain leaves that grow in my lawn, let them wilt and dry for a day, and then cut them up into separate mason jars.  I poured in olive oil slowly, stirring with a stick to release air bubbles, until the oil topped the herbs with space to spare.  Now they will sit in the sunny window sill for a few weeks, slowly infusing the oil with their goodness.

I also put together a few new items and one old standby:

First, we were out of toothpaste--which is actually a peppermint tooth powder that I've been making for the past year or so out of baking soda, stevia powder, and peppermint essential oil.   I have never measured my formula, which isn't helpful, but it goes something like this:  2-3 big spoonsful of baking soda, one medium spoon of stevia, liberal sprinkling of essential oil.  Mix.  Repeat until jar is full or you've made the desired quantity.  To use, spoon a heaping portion on a wet toothbrush and brush teeth.  (Or if you get lazy about using the spoon like we do, then dip your dry toothbrush in the powder, wet with a few drops of water under the tap, and brush.)


As for the new stuff, I decided to work on a hair & scalp oil-- specifically, jojoba oil infused with rosemary, lavender, nettles, and horsetail.  Once the oil has infused for 4-6 weeks, I will add a few other essential oils such as clary sage, lemon, and patchouli, and then use this as an overnight treatment for my scalp, which gets dry at times.  All of the herbs and essential oils are ones that are either good for hair and scalp in general or for dandruff or itchy scalp.  It will smell amazing.

Lemongrass honey and rosemary lavender oil.  Mmmm.

Lemongrass Honey--this was a last minute idea and an easy one--I snapped off one of the thickest stems at the base of the plant I'm attempting to over-winter, chopped up the green leaves, and then peeled the dry outer leaves from around the heart of the stem, which I cut up into small rounds.  The leaves and stem pieces I put in a small jar and covered with honey.  This can steep for weeks, and will be completely wonderful in tea over the winter.

Oh and one final announcement:  I have a wonderful new addition to my office, in memory of my friend Cathy's mother, Molly Malone.  This hutch held her recipe boxes and china for over thirty years before she passed away last month--and now it holds all of my crafty herbal homesteading paraphenalia.   An apothecary hutch?  A potion cupboard?  Who knows what to call it...but thank you, Molly.  I have no doubt that you would approve of the new purpose for this lovely old piece.

Books, herbs...and room to work.

Finally, all of the herbs in jars.

Chickens, gardening, homemade cleaners--ta da!

Lemon verbena.  Best scent ever.

Whole lotta love & loss

Consider yourself warned:  I've been trying to write this post for most of my life.  


(If that is a bit too dramatic for you, then at least believe that I've been wrestling with it all summer.)


So here's a question:

Do you ever look back and see distinct eras in your life? Do you think:

I wish I'd known that chapter of my life was closing.  If I'd known, I would have cherished that time, savored that good-bye, lingered just a bit longer and soaked it all up before leaving.


Lately I am being slowly and surely pushed into another stage of life, one that I understand intellectually, if not emotionally.  A chapter is ending, folks, and although I am aware, I am not necessarily any more equipped to face this change with grace than if I were walking in blindly.  It is, apparently, my lot in life to mourn things preemptively and then still get smacked completely out of orbit when the dreaded event finally occurs. 

The Year of our Lord 2012--a la Maggie--is riddled with milestones:  I turned 35, my dear papa turned 80, my baby sister turns 30 this month. 

I found to my surprise, in the months leading up to my birthday, that some part of me was extremely reluctant to accept this new thirty-five-ness.  I considered this for a while, pondering it and turning it over like a pebble in my hand.  Why?  I am not particularly worried about aging, truly, or at least I never used to be, so what was wrong with me this year? 

What's wrong is that I celebrated my 30th only a few short months ago.  Now, 25--that's been a while, I'll grant you, but 30?--no way.  It is simply not possible that five years have already gone by.  If this is how time has started to pass, then we are all in big trouble.  I might blink too many times and end up 105 years old and the only person I know left alive. 

And then, my friends started losing parents.  Right and left, willy-nilly, a universe gone suddenly mad and vengeful:  six deaths in eight months.

2012 is claiming its pound of flesh, by God. 

Each time, I have found myself without words, blindly stumbling through the stash of exquisitely inadequate phrases I learned as a pastor's kid at funerals long ago: 

I'm so very sorry for your loss. 
My heart and my thoughts are with you. 
If I can help with anything, please let me know. 
If you ever need to talk, or a shoulder to cry on, I'm here. 

Each friend and parent are unique, of course, and each loss has its own sharp edges and hidden, deadly quicksand.  Each time, I retreat to my safe space with Jason, cats, chickens, garden, our shady green yard and the river nearby, constant in its silvery flow.

I come home guilty with a secret and overwhelming relief:  it isn't my parent that is gone--the child in me is still safe, still loved unconditionally, still a part of a familiar, well-ordered world.

And now we are at the crux of this post, this life-long never-ending post:

Dad was very sick over the winter, hospitalized twice, and the bad news started to pile up in layers as we watched him sleep in the hospital bed:  infections, kidneys, heart.  If I live a thousand years, I will not forget my dad sitting at the dinner table, newly home with his IV-bruised hands, so fundamently exhausted that his head hung down chin to chest, bowed and cowed like no big, strong dad of mine should ever be. Tuning in and out of the conversation, a bit bewildered, shaky, skin thin and papery, eyes occasionally losing their fire entirely.  This was bone-deep.

I've been trying since I was a teenager to be prepared for my dad to turn eighty.  And now I find that I've wasted all of this time in preparation for something that it is not possible to emotionally anticipate.

I am the oldest in a second family; my parents have always been older than my friends' folks, and that has largely been just fine.  We've had running jokes about AARP, Modern Maturity, and senior discounts at restaurants, and all the while strangers are shocked to learn that my parents are the age they are.  We keep them young--my little sister and I laugh and roll our eyes, and we will continue to do so.  There are no certainties here.  We may well celebrate Dad's 95th in fifteen years, and I will look back at this post and shake my head at the self-imposed drama, yet again.

But with every friend's loss, my faith is shaken.  When is it time to shrug off other pressing responsibilities and fly away home?  When do you drop everything and go?  How can I make the most of the closing pages of this particular chapter, the one in which I walk around the earth with my family healthy, lucid, and intact? 

While I was growing up, my parents suffered the loss of one of my older sisters, and a vivid lesson that I learned from the aftermath is that the death of a child is unnatural and the grieving almost unsurpassed.  The implication was then, and is now, that losing a parent is...natural...and therefore somehow more tolerable, a fact that I've tried to comprehend ever since. 

As a witness to my friends' grief over these last months, it seems to me that the only generalization that we can attribute to any death is that it is always unique and intensely personal to those left behind, and I know, even as I write this, that there are no ready answers to the questions that have seemed so monumental to me this year.  I have been wrong:  this is a new chapter, a blank page yet to be written, and I know that this, truly, is where adulthood begins.

****

I remember:

We were on the road, six hours through the country side, heading to the town where all of my dad's earliest stories were written, and where my own began.  The news had come that my dad's mother was dying, and we were trying to get there in time to say good-bye. 

We stopped for gas (and candy--this is my memory, after all) and for my dad to use the pay phone to call the nurse's station for an update on Grandma.   When we returned to the car, Dad was back in the driver's seat, and he was crying.  He had never done that before.

He said:  I'm an orphan now--and certain substantial and permanent parts of my universe shifted and tumbled out of place.  For the first time, I understood that he was someone's little boy, that he could be my dad and that boy at the same time...that he had been all along. 

And I know now, that it is okay to be that bewildered child still in my heart, that being an adult means inwardly balancing that child with the outer grown-up...and allowing both to do the best they can.


Outside of my window, after months of dryness, things are green again, and they are starting to grow.

Summer: in the Midwestern Sahara.

Whelp.  This is, I'm certain--but without actually checking, naturally--the longest I've gone between posts.  It has been a summer of preoccupation.  With work, primarily, which poses the constant challenge of trying new things and reluctantly stepping out of my nicely arranged comfort zone...



Plant sale in May



...but always, every moment, better than working in a cubicle.  (Or anywhere that I clock in or can't open the windows.  I really don't ask for much, seriously.)  I am, above all, glad to be having this experience, as Fall Creek Gardens becomes its own self, a non-profit entity.   This is a free education in starting an organization from the ground up, and I am so very glad that I have found such fantastic, helpful people to help keep things, well, growing, as I find my way up the mountain.



The community garden

 When work is over for the day, you would think I could write a simple blog post occasionally though, right? 

Well, yes.  I should.  I have guilt here, okay? 

But to be plainly truthful, when I am stressed, I go a bit overboard with rewarding myself.  And really, it is summertime, after all.  My after-hours life lately has been spent either hibernating at home with Jason & the animals or cooking dinner with friends.

Weekends are largely taken up with work, at least on Saturdays, and I find after my year of unemployed homesteadery that I am fiercely protective of my non-work time.  Moreover, I like it best when the non-work time is consecutive and not sprinkled about.  Even worse, as far as blogging is concerned, I spend a lot of time on the computer during the day, which results in a distinct resistance to getting out the g.d. laptop once again at night or on the weekend in order to wrack my brains for the examples of urban homesteading that I've a) had time to do and b) haven't already written about.

Wow.  Sorry.  I guess I had to get that off of my chest.  I am a bit torn between being engaged and excited about my work...and wishing that I had all the time back to explore the eco-friendly DIY world and write about my discoveries here.

With that long-winded disclaimer, I am here to tell you a few things about how I've spent the last many weeks.  But I've decided that this is best done visually, since I tend to take pictures of the fun stuff...not the endless hours at my desk.  :)  And don't worry, I have another post percolating right now.  I'll get there soon.  I promise.

But, for now, here's my summer so far:


First, there is keeping chickens cool when it is well over one hundred degrees outside.  Please note the yogurt beak...

I'm still managing to keep us supplied with lotions & herbal balms, which is always fun.

 

...Camping here.  I vaguely remember how relaxed I was just then...



 Seed starting for work.  We are so lucky to have access to the greenhouse on the State Fairgrounds...

Ahh.   More from the camping trip.  Did I mention how much fun we had with the canoe?? 

We made a quick trip up to Fort Wayne at the end of June...Dad's 80th birthday!

Please note my virtuous summer knitting.  (Now, if only I would start tackling the Christmas presents....)

Two of my favorite people, at a "The Head and the Heart" concert.  What a fun!

Not nearly enough time with the girls these days...but they are doing just fine, at least so far, despite the horrible heat.  Lots of cold treats and fresh, clean water!

Colby, however, had to have that gorgeous fur coat shaved down to the wrinkles  :)

Craftiness!  Thanks to Amy, a chicken feeder that only cost $2.

Four batches later...and I'm set for laundry soap for the foreseeable future.

I am secretly in love with my new climbing rose.  But his name is Don Juan, so I guess it's understandable.

...and, finally, what may be the only thing I harvest out of my poor, ignored home garden this year:  garlic!



Everywhere a chick-chick

It's been Chicken Central around here, folks.

Aside from the fact that I've been running around like a you-know-what, the girls are laying eggs like crazy as the amount of daylight increases--even as I disrupt their lives with frequent traveling duties as educational chickens for workshops and presentations.  As usual, I managed to put Fern through the ordeal recently of being stuck in a dog crate for a presentation while desperately in need of the nest box and some privacy.  By the end, she was complaining at the top of her lungs and racing back-and-forth in the crate frantically. 

Once we got home and opened the crate, she was out of there like shot and headed directly for the coop. Five minutes later, I had this in my hands:

Now, that is a big honking egg!  No wonder she was trumpeting her discomfort all over the Expo Hall! 

Poor Fern.  We need to figure out a better system.

Ethel has been a cause for concern lately, thanks to some nasty swelling in the scales on her feet.  In order to see what was going on, we brought her inside a few weeks ago to stand in a few inches of warm water in the bathtub.  The intent was to drown the mites that we think are the problem, and to clean her feet to make everything easier to examine.

Yes, a chicken in the bathtub.  Until the day that I have a wonderful, awesome, glorious utility sink in the garage (are you listening, Universe?), this is the only chicken-bathing option available, so you are just going to have to get past the chicken/tub oddity!  And if you think it might be difficult to get clear pictures of your gals normally, consider a photo shoot in the bathroom!  This is as good as it gets:





...and blurry or not, it still cracks me up. 

Let me tell you about a chicken in a bathtub:  Not. One. Peep. 

Apparently when you are a biddy with sore feet, entirely out of your comfort zone and standing in wet stuff up to your tummy, it behooves you to shut your trap and just keep a close eye out for possible escape routes.  Poor little Ethel stood there in her Epsom-salted water (after immediately pooping when her legs hit the water--I mean, we all know that warm water is awfully, er, relaxing....) silently looking at me a bit forlornly. 

Guess what is way more endearing than a loud, struggling chicken:  a silent, pitiful one!  After letting her soak for about ten (anxious) minutes, I got out a soft toothbrush, some gentle, homemade soap, and a rag.  Kneeling by the tub, with the shower curtain pulled shut around me, I tried to scrub softly all over her feet and legs, being especially careful around and under the swollen areas.  Some of her scales have fallen off, while others are sticking almost straight out.  I am a bad chicken mama for letting this go so long.

Once done with some initial cleaning, I wrapped her in a towel, turned her onto her back, and laid her in my lap with her feet closest to me.  One at a time, I soaped her feet and legs up again, this time trying to get the soap under the lifted scales, in an effort to get at any mites or eggs that might still be underneath.  I rinsed each foot in the sink, dried them, and then excessively slathered my herbal healing salve all over them.  The oil should smother any remaining critters, and I hoped the herbs would help soothe and heal the area.

As a final insult, I got out the hair dryer and fluffed the wettest areas on her tummy and derriere.  Jason was giggling, and so was I.

To her credit, Ethel handled all of this with calm resignation.  Only once did she really struggle, and so I picked her up from my lap and held her to my chest, intending to merely restrain her and keep her from flapping out of the towel.  To my surprise, she snuggled in and extended her neck, so that her little head was resting on my shoulder and her face was cuddled into my neck.  Having been pretty fiercly focused on the strange task at hand, I was startled for a second--and then immediately had to acknowledge a tug on the ol' heartstrings.  Poor traumatized thing.  I soothed and petted her for a few minutes, soaking up this brief bonding moment with one of my more aloof girls.  Then I got back to business, and she was calm and quiet the rest of the time.

If that weren't enough chicken news for you...I was also a foster-mama for a few days for eight little day-old fluffs last week.  With great restraint, I managed to keep from falling completely in love with my charges, but it was getting awfully risky by the end.  There is just very little in this world as sweet as a tiny chick taking an impromptu nap in the palm of your hand.  Then you multiply that sweetness times eight, factor in all sorts of different colors of fluff...and you end up with a load of temptation in a rubbermaid tub in the spare bedroom!

Happily, these little ladies were a birthday present for  my young friend Teagan, and so they quickly made their final move to her house after all children were tucked into bed the night before the Big Day.  Now they are twice as big and already requiring a larger brooder....

SO, things are going well at the little homestead in the city.  My work is also going well, and my stress-level is improving for the most part.  Since we've had the warmest March ever, I've been making a priority out of carving a little time away from my desk and meetings in order to spend a while in the yard each day, if only to sit in the sun, inhale the fragrant air, and glory in the springtime beauty all around us.  I hope you are able to do the same!

Happy Spring!!

The Library Stacks (literally)

I have a book problem. 

If you've been to my house, you already know this. 

You may have even contemplated an intervention on a few occasions while vainly searching for a clear surface on which to place your beverage...plate...bag...coat...birthday gift...or elbow. 

The man's cave

Back in the old days, when the books were confined to the actual shelves, it was already a matter of opinion as to whether we had officially reached the too-much-of-a-good-thing stage.  There are five sets of bookshelves in Jason's office, and another one in mine, with the understanding that there is also a revolving selection of around 20 more old favorites on our bedside tables at any given time.  My desk is a huge old wooden schoolteacher's desk and so, naturally, I've lined the entire length of it with books since there is still plenty of room leftover for less important items such as laptops...and then there are the cookbooks.

However, since the winter (er, of 2010) when I fell in love with the idea of keeping chickens and took home half of the animal-husbandry tomes from the local library, the shelves have been left behind in the dust.  In my defense, I've always loved the mere idea of coffeetable books, and I linger over pictures in glossy magazines where big beautiful books on art, gardens, textiles, and travel are used decoratively and structurally in living spaces.

Sadly, I think I've fallen slightly short of that aesthetic.

Many of the library books really need to go back to the library.  I'm ashamed to tell you how long some of them have been here; they're almost ex-pats at this point, hiding out and reveling amongst the Rocky Ripplians down by the river. 

But, the thing is, they are so comforting, stacked staunchly together with their wise faces looking up at me, waiting to share generously from all of the fascinating things that they know.  What if I needed one, and it wasn't there?  Crisis! 

Ever so slowly, a transformation is occurring.  Every month or so, a few more of the spines appear without any library stickers--as I can, I am buying used copies of the ones that I just can't bear to give up.  The library gets theirs back, and I still have my cohorts in crime, messily lined up around the room...

...and ready for the next adventure.

Gardener, heal thyself.

I am here today to promise the Universe (and therefore myself) that this is the last blog post I will write until I have finished and turned in the paper about this blog that I must submit in order to graduate.  Priorities, Maggie, priorities! 



However, with that said...since we can't be out in the garden right now, playing with herbs--do you want to play in the kitchen with herbs instead?  Even better, do you want to play with healing herbs and skip the culinary stuff we already know for now? 



Calendula: still blooming in late December

Yes?  Great!  

As you know, in the middle of my frenzied just-before-Christmas whir of potionmaking, I did make a batch of herbal salve, but I am not entirely sure that I achieved the consistency in the final product that I had envisioned.  To be honest, there were beeswax and olive oil flying hither and yon all over my kitchen in various proportions, and eventually I was just throwing chunks of wax in jars without any coherent attempt at measurement.

I tell you this for two reasons. 

1.  You may have been a recipient of the salve and wonder what the heck I was thinking with the goopy stuff in the jar.  I wasn't thinking; I just owe you another chunk of beeswax.

2.  A salve of olive oil and beeswax is actually whatever you want it to be, and that includes the consistency.  Which means that there is a big range in the ratios of oil to wax that are all appropriate, and as potionmaker, you get to decide which you like best.   There is a simple way to do this, and if I hadn't been in such a flurry of multi-tasking before the holidays, I would have taken the time to do so.  More on that ahead.

[This may be obvious, but just in case you are not accustomed to thinking about recipes in terms of ratios, here is how to measure your ingredients this way:  for a ratio of oil to beeswax that is 3:1 (three-to-one), you want three parts oil to one part beeswax (in the sentence, oil is mentioned first and beeswax second, so oil corresponds to the 3 and beeswax to the 1).  You can decide that any given amount is one "part"--if you decide that 1/4 cup is one "part," you would use 3/4 cup of oil and 1/4 cup of beeswax and end up with a total of one cup in a 3:1 ratio of oil to wax.]
 OK.  Here is the recipe:

Herbal Healing Salve

Ingredients:


Olive oil
Beeswax
Dried herbs
Essential oil for scent (optional)

First, infuse the oil with herbs:


Method #1


The best way to infuse an oil takes time and sunlight: place the herbs in a lidded glass container and cover them with the oil, making sure they are entirely submerged, then cover the jar and put it in a sunny, warm place for 2 weeks. Be smart about this:  make sure everything is scrupulously clean and then dried thoroughly to avoid growing a science experiment along with your infusion.  Strain the herbs from the oil with a piece of cheesecloth, old stockings, coffee filter or similar, according to directions in Method #2 below. Put new herbs in the jar, cover with the infused oil, and repeat the process for another 2 weeks. Strain and store in a cool, dark place.


Method #2

Take a canning jar or other heat-resistant glass container and fill it ¾ full with the healing herbs of your choice. Pour enough olive oil over the herbs to cover them by an inch or so. Put the jar in a pan of water on the stove and heat very slowly over low heat. (Or, heat the oil and herbs in your crockpot, or use a double boiler on the stove.) Stir gently every so often. You want to extract the good stuff from the herbs without browning them or deep-frying them in the oil, or letting the oil boil—lower heat and longer infusing is the goal. Shoot for an hour of infusing, and feel free to go longer.


Strain the oil: take a mesh strainer and line it with cheesecloth or a thin fabric like muslin. Strain the oil. It may take a while to drain through the fabric. Once most of the oil has drained through, gather up the cloth with the herbs inside and wring the last of the herbal oil out.


Making the Ointment/Salve/Balm:


The rest is simple. For every cup of herbal oil, use roughly ¼ cup of beeswax. If you grate or chop the beeswax, it melts more quickly. Add the beeswax to the herbal oil and heat slowly to melt the wax. Stir well, but gently. If you’d like, stir in a few drops of essential oil, avoiding anything that might be too harsh for the skin like peppermint or clove. (Lavender or rose essential oils are always good for skin products. Citrus scents, while yummy, dissipate quickly.)


Here is the time to check the consistency of the salve: dribble a little on a saucer and put it in the freezer for a few minutes. If it cools and is too hard, add more oil to the original and test again. If it is too soft or goopy, melt more beeswax into it. The ratio of oil to beeswax can range from 3:1 to 8:1 depending on your preference.


Once you have the desired consistency, pour the warm salve into the containers in which you wish to keep it. Stored in a cool, dark place, the salve can last for up to a year. If you use any fresh herbs when infusing the oil, wilt them to remove as much moisture as possible before adding them to the oil.


Note on ingredients:


Olive oil is a good oil to use for cosmetic and healing purposes. You can use either regular or extra-virgin olive oil (I buy the regular stuff in bulk at Costco, since the regular oil is preferred for making soap). You can also use oils such as apricot, almond, avocado, and jojoba which are great for the skin. Grapeseed oil is good for really oily skin. The less processed, the better—“cold-pressed” is good to see on the label.


Beeswax is cheaper when you can buy larger quantities. Also, keep in mind that a big hunk of it will last quite a while. I get it at a health food store or from a farmers market, but you could also see if you can find a local beekeepers association or club and see what they say. I’ve picked it up at the big beekeeping area at the State Fair before and that was cheaper than my normal store.


The herbs I used in the salve for Christmas were: comfrey, plantain, calendula, rosebuds, rosemary, peppermint, lemon balm, lavender, red clover (listed in roughly descending order of amounts used—again, I don’t measure). The finished balm has a mild, earthy, green smell that I like, without any essential oils added. Sandalwood or rose essential oils (or a few drops of both) would be delicious too.


Other good skin-healing herbs are chickweed and chamomile. If I had to pick just a few to use, I would choose comfrey, plantain, and calendula. Calendula and comfrey should be fairly easy to find; you want calendula flowers and comfrey leaves or roots. Comfrey roots are more potent and should possibly be limited to external use only (so avoid in lip balm, for example), although in that debate, I am firmly aligned on the pro-comfrey side. Plantain is probably more difficult to buy, because it is an extremely common weed. Use the leaves--we are talking about Plantego major, not those strange green bananas at the grocery.


Important enough to mention twice: if you re-use glass jars and containers (jelly jars are nice, or small mustard jars, baby food jars, etc.) make sure to remove any paper or cardboard liners in the lids. If you leave those in place, bacteria will get between the lid and the liner, and you’ll end up with mold. Similarly, make sure the jars are entirely clean and DRY before you fill them with salve—moisture will cause problems.

Bonus: save a bit of your infused oil for a wonderful, healing lip balm.
This is by far my new favorite creation at the ol’ Hanna-Goeglein camp. We have one small container in our house, and so far, I am hording it for myself.


Peppermint-Honey Healing Lip Balm:
Take two tablespoons of oil in a heat-proof glass container, set the jar in a saucepan with a few inches of water in it. Add two teaspoons of beeswax. (If you preferred to weigh your ingredients, use 30 grams of oil and 7.5 grams of beeswax or a ratio of 3:1 or 4:1.) Heat slowly on low heat until the beeswax is melted. Remove from heat. Add a dollop of raw honey if desired and stir well. Stir in a few drops of peppermint essential oil (or other varieties, but be careful not to use too much). Pour into small tubs, let cool, and blissfully slather on your lips, cuticles, cuts, scratches, etc. You can try to re-use old lip balm tube containers that have been cleaned very gently (wipe out and then disinfect with vinegar; dishwasher and even hot soapy water may damage them).

On Second Thought: a Thanksgiving Post

Dear Lord.  How is it more than a month since my last post?  Argh.  Way waaaaay more.

OK.  So, it's not that I haven't started posts. 

There was one draft that I began back in early November, and all that I will say about it is that

"Time management."

was the first sentence (fragment).

I am not qualified to expound upon that subject...obviously.  Off to the virtual trash can it goes.

The second (circa a predictable 11/24) started off with this:

"Gratitude is pretty in these days.  So is talking about being 'blessed.'  Both of those words tend to make me feel a bit twitchy to be honest, but that is a symptom of their popularity and overuse rather than a deep-seated aversion to being genuinely thankful.  This is the second year, actually, that I've tried to write a Thanksgiving post, and my failing has nothing to do with how much gratitude I feel for the gifts I have in this life."

[...but it does signify the beginning of a long tradition in aborted gratitude posts, apparently.       *sigh*] 

*   *   *

So it is not that I've been lacking stories to tell, but rather that I am suddenly a much busier, employed person.  Then you add holiday prep/panic time and a catastrophic computer failure...and we end up...here.  With a sadly neglected blog and a few more gray hairs.  Would you like a quick update on the rest of my life?  Did I mention the sprained ankle?  The contractor who quit in the middle of a project for my new job, one that had already been delayed by three weeks--?        

--Wait.  That's not the stuff I want to share; that's just stress getting in the way again.  I want to talk about the good stuff, like my most recent bout of harvesting--yes, harvesting in the last few weeks of December.  I was on the prowl for plantain, if I could still find it growing in the yard, and also out to snip the last of the comfrey that had escaped frost damage.  Both, along with some of the calendula flowers I harvested and dried all summer, were for a healing salve that I planned to make for our home medicine chest as well as for gifts.  Jason was outside with me, and as I paced along, bent over and staring intently at the ground, I started to giggle. 

Plantain is a weed.  A prevalent and much-combatted one--in fact, my guess is that it is second only to dandelions as the weed most people could easily identify, due to their constant struggle to eradicate it from the lawn or flower beds.  And here I am, in the freezing cold with a scarf over my head like a peasant woman, combing the yard for this hated plant.  To use in a potion.  For healing.  Oh, poor Jason.  I laughed again.  How did I get to this place?  How did Jason get yoked into sharing his life with a crazy person harvesting weeds in December for Christmas gifts?

Jason was over by the chicken yard, talking to the girls, and he finally noticed me snorting to myself as I shivered and snipped comfrey leaves and asked what was so funny.  I joined him, explained, and we both laughed as we stood side by side, watching the girls beg for treats.  This is a good life.  A funny life, certainly, but a rich and satisfying one where we love each other dearly despite our glaring mental health issues, and where we can stand outside in the cold together, surveying our yard, chickens, garden, weeds with pride and contentment.  Where food and beauty and even medicine can be found just beyond the kitchen door, even in December when summer's gone and the living ain't easy for man nor beast nor fat, spoiled hen.  We have so much--so much of what counts.  I may not be capable of finishing a Thanksgiving post, but I am oh, so thankful.

When I started this blog, one reason was to write it as a project for school--to record my experiments in urban sustainability, and to keep a descriptive commentary going that others could use for their own purposes (hopefully as a guide for their own adventures and not just to laugh at my ridiculous musings!)   Well, the time has come to summarize this blogging experience in a paper, and I am already feeling nostalgic. 

The simple days of working on house-projects, caring for the girls and the garden, teaching four-year-olds about seeds, soil, and Nature, the long winter evenings snuggled on the couch with knitting needles whipping around industriously--now I have to find time for these luxuries on an increasingly crowded calendar.  Herein lies the basic dilemma of the two-income home:  who makes the home while both people are at work?  I don't know what the future of this blog is, or how frequently I will be able to write posts.  Now, more than ever, I realize the hard, cold value of time and labor; no matter how much I may want to reduce our consumption by making things ourselves, the truth is that there are only so many hours in a day.  How and where will I draw these lines? 

While I don't have these answers, I do have one:  I will still be posting here.  I have grown to love this strange blog world, an odd hybrid between a diary and pulpit where I am required to ponder life and Nature and lessons-learned and then offer up my ponderings under the bloggish-assumption that these thoughts are worth recording and sharing with you. 

Of course, the bottom line is that the girls have a responsibility to their public, and I am the only one who can type!

 

Happy New Year to all of you!  Thanks for reading!