Learn about the tulip craze:
Tulipomania: The Story of the World’s Most Coveted Flower and the Extraordinary Passions It Aroused, by Mike Dash
MAY 14
On this day in 1607, the first permanent British settlement in North America was established at Jamestown, Virginia.
In Virginia, there is a plant called the Jamestown weed, whereof some having eaten plentifully became fools for several days, one would blow up a feather in the air, another sit naked, like a monkey, grinning at the rest, or fondly kiss and paw his companions. . . .
—COTTON MATHER, 1720
Jimsonweed
The amusing story of the soldiers who ate the hallucinogenic herb Jamestown weed, or jimsonweed, is often told as an example of what not to do: Don’t eat plants you’re not familiar with. The unwise soldiers, who recovered after eleven days, were lucky, for they had feasted on Datura stramonium, a psychoactive member of the nightshade family. Jimsonweed and other related plants contain a narcotic that has been used in many cultures as a poison, a medicine (chiefly as a painkiller and wound healer), and as a ceremonial hallucinogenic: an aid to worship, or to obtaining prophetic dreams or messages. And yes, it can kill you, if you eat enough of it.
BRUGMANSIA
Knowing about the dangers of Datura, I was surprised to see a beautiful specimen of Brugmansia—called Angel’s Trumpet—in the nursery last year, without any warning of its toxicity. When I asked the clerk about it, she just smiled. “Nonsense,” she said. “It’s completely harmless.”
Not so! Like other nightshades, Brugmansia has its darker side. In pre-Conquest Colombia, slaves and wives of dead kings were given a toxic brew of Brugmansia, to sedate them so they wouldn’t make a fuss when they were buried alive with their masters and husbands. Nobody’s likely to eat it accidentally, since it doesn’t taste good. But do keep children (especially adolescents who might be inclined to experiment) away from the plant.
And one other word, while we’re on the subject. Many familiar plants are toxic, some of them fatally so. These include oleander, azalea, iris, larkspur, daffodil, crocus, lantana, caladium, dieffenbachia, lupine, castor bean, lily of the valley, poinsettia, bittersweet, boxwood, English ivy, and nicotiana. We don’t have to give these beauties up, but we do need to know what they are and how to handle them.
Read more about plants that have a darker side to their personality:
Murder, Magic, and Medicine, by John Mann
MAY 15
American poet Emily Dickinson died on this day in 1886.
My plants look finely now. I am going to send you a little geranium leaf, which you must press for me. Have you made an herbarium yet? I hope you will if you have not, it would be such a treasure to you.
—EMILY DICKINSON, AGE 14, IN A LETTER TO ABIAH ROOT
Miss Dickinson’s Herbarium
When young Emily Dickinson was a student at Amherst Academy, she began creating an herbarium, a leather-bound collection of pressed plants and flowers. She compiled 66 pages, each page displaying 5 or more specimens. The pressed materials, identified by their botanical names in Emily’s small, precise lettering, are attached to the right-hand pages; the left-hand pages, which serve to protect the pressed plants, are blank. The plants, over 450 of them, are mounted on the page with paper bands, glued at each end, allowing the plant to be removed from the page. (Now, of course, the plants are too fragile for removal. Archivists at the Houghton Library of Harvard University, where the collection is held, have prepared photographs of each page for use by researchers; the originals are kept in a special temperature- and humidity-controlled area.)
Emily Dickinson’s love of flowers is evident in the more than 1,800 poems she wrote. Only ten were published in her lifetime; the others were not discovered until her sister found them, neatly organized, after Dickinson’s death. She is considered one of America’s finest poets.
TO MAKE YOUR OWN HERBARIUM
Collect the whole plant, including the roots, leaves, twigs, blossoms, and seeds. Clean. Spread on newspaper and press in layers, separated by blotting paper and/or pieces of cardboard. Change the blotting papers daily until the plants are dry (a week or more). Arrange the plants on acid-free pages. Mount them with paper strips or acid-free glue. Include the plant’s common and botanical names, the place and date of collection, and perhaps a record of your impressions and experiences of the plant. Keep your pages in a binder, or make special covers for them, bound with raffia or ribbon. Shelve in a dark place.
Read more about Emily Dickinson’s herbs and flowers: The Gardens of Emily Dickinson, by Judith Farr
I hide myself within my flower,
That wearing on your breast,
You, unsuspecting, wear me too—
And angels know the rest.
—EMILY DICKINSON
MAY 16
Boursin cheese—a mild, creamy cheese flavored with herbs—was originally created in 1957 by François Boursin in the Normandy region of France. Now, the term is used to describe many herb-flavored cheeses.
Herbs and Cheese
Cheese has been an important part of the human diet for at least 5,000 years, and its smooth texture and (usually!) unobtrusive taste make it a perfect companion for savory herbs. Boursin, an herbed cheese spread that originated in France, makes the best of the natural duo. You can buy it at the supermarket, or make your own taste-alike.
BOURSIN
1 cup farmer’s cheese
1 cup Asaigo or Parmesan cheese, grated
8 ounces cream cheese, softened (don’t use “lite” or low-fat)
1 stick butter, softened
1 teaspoon lemon juice
2 tablespoons minced chives
3 cloves garlic, finely minced
½ cup minced parsley
1 teaspoon fresh minced marjoram
1 teaspoon fresh minced thyme
In a large bowl, blend the cheeses. Blend in the butter and lemon juice. Add the other ingredients and mix well. Refrigerate to blend flavors. Makes about 30 ounces.
BOURSIN BASIL ROLLUPS
8 ounces Boursin, softened
4 8-inch flour tortillas
16 fresh basil leaves, washed and dried
4 ounces thin-shaved deli roast beef
4 teaspoons Dijon mustard
To make this easy appetizer, divide Boursin into fourths and spread one portion over each tortilla. Cover with fresh basil leaves, then layer with roast beef. Spread 1 teaspoon mustard over the meat. Roll up the tortillas tightly and wrap in plastic wrap. Chill 2-3 hours. To serve, cut in slices, straight across or diagonal. Arrange on a platter with fresh greens and herb sprigs.
If you will have a very dainty Nettle Cheese, which is the finest Summer Cheese which can be eaten . . . as soone as it is drained from the Brine, you shall lay it upon fresh Nettles, and cover it all over with the same, and let it ripen Therein. Observing to renew your Nettles once in two days, and every time you renew them, to turn the Cheese.
—GERVASE MARKHAM, THE ENGLISH HOUSEWIFE, 1615
MAY 17
The first Kentucky Derby was run on this day in 1875.
... the mounds of ices, and the bowls of mint-julep and sherry cobbler they make in these latitudes, are refreshments never to be thought of afterwards, in summer, by those who would preserve contented minds.
—CHARLES DICKENS, TRAVELING IN AMERICA IN 1842
Will the Real Mint Julep Please Stand Up?
The mint julep is more than the official Derby Day drink—it’s a page of history. Although mint may have been added for the first time in Maryland (or was it Virginia or Carolina?) in the 1700s, the “julep” is an ancient drink known to several cultures. The Persians called it gulab and made it with rose water. To the Portuguese, it was julepe. And in pharmaceutical Latin, julapium refers to any sweetened, aromatic mixture containing a medicated water or an essential oil.
Julep is French, but the mint julep is definitely American. The American South, that is
. And if Southern humorist Irving S. Cobb is right, the mint julep may have been a casus belli of the War Between the States. It seems to have something to do with nutmeg. “Down our way we’ve always had a theory,” he said. “The war was brought on by some Yankee coming down South and putting nutmeg in a julep. So our folks just up and left the Union flat.”
THE PERFECT MINT JULEP
Beyond the no-nutmeg dictum, there’s not much unanimity about how to make the perfect mint julep. The classic Kentucky version: dissolve one lump of sugar in a little water, and add two ounces of bourbon. Pour over shaved ice in a silver mug and stir. Push four sprigs of fresh mint down into the ice and add a short straw. On the other hand, there’s the “muddling” school, where the mint is crushed with a spoon in a spoonful of bourbon. And should the mint go in stems up or stems down? Must the ice be shaved, or does crushed ice do as well? Why is the straw short? Do you need a straw at all? What about that silver cup—wouldn’t it taste just as good in a glass?
And then there’s the recipe developed by an editor of the Louisville Courier-Journal, and quoted in Joe Nickell’s book, The Kentucky Mint Julep. It requires not just one but two glasses, but other than that, it’s simple:
Pour the bourbon into the first glass, and mix the mint, sugar and water in the second. Throw out the second and drink the first.
Read more about the mint, the bourbon, and the Great Horse Race:
The Kentucky Mint Julep, by Joe Nickell
MAY 18
In some years, today is Hug Your Cat Day.
“I’ve always been curious about catnip,” Dottie said, watching the melee [cats tussling over a catnip mouse]. “What makes cats go crazy over it?”
“It’s genetic,” I replied. “Nearly all cats are attracted to the volatile oils in the bruised leaves—even the big cats, lions, tigers. But only about two-thirds have the gene that makes them go bananas.”
“Maybe I should grow some catnip,” she said. “Trouble is, the house cats will tear it up.”
“They will if you set out plants,” I said. “But they’ll probably ignore it if you grow it from seed.”
—HANGMAN’S ROOT: A CHINA BAYLES MYSTERY
Hangman’s Root: About China’s Books Cats vs. Catnip, Round 1
When I settled down to write the third book in the China Bayles series, I already had a character in mind: Dottie Riddle, the Cat Lady of Pecan Springs, who corralled homeless cats in her backyard, thereby setting several nasty neighborhood plots in motion. (Dottie is based on someone I knew years ago: a wonderful woman who could never turn away a homeless kitty.) Where there are cats, there’s bound to be some catnip, so I chose that as the signature herb for the book.
It was a paragraph describing catnip in Michael Castleman’s book, The Healing Herbs, that gave me an important idea:
Colonists introduced catnip into North America... [They] believed catnip roots made even the kindest person mean. Hangmen used to consume the roots before executions to get in the right mood for their work.
As I thought about the implications of this, I suddenly knew the title of the book—Hangman’s Root—and my killer’s modus operandi. But more important, I began to understand that every herb has a story to tell, and that the plant’s story had the potential of shaping the mystery I wanted to write. It was an ah-ha moment, and from that time on, I began to use herbs in these mysteries in a new way: not just to add texture and interest to the narrative or even to give the mystery greater depth, but to help me find the real story, the story that’s hidden in the story of a particular plant.
Read more:
Hangman’s Root: A China Bayles Mystery, by Susan Wittig Albert
The Healing Herbs: The Ultimate Guide to the Curative Power of Nature’s Medicines, by Michael Castleman
MAY 19
The sight of a cat in this strange ecstasy over a bunch of Catnip always gives me a half-sense of fear; she becomes such a truly wild creature, such a miniature tiger.
—ALICE MORSE EARLE, OLD TIME GARDENS, 1901
Cats vs. Catnip, Round 2
Catnip (Nepeta cataria) is a perennial member of the mint family, cultivated for centuries for both culinary and medicinal use. In England, the fresh leaves were sprinkled on green salads and the dried herb, mixed with sage and thyme, was used as a seasoning rub for meats. Before China tea became available, people drank tea brewed from the catnip they grew in their gardens. Unlike stimulant teas, catnip tea has a calming effect and was used to induce sleep, quiet upset nerves, and soothe upset stomachs. It was also used to treat colds and flu, reduce fevers, and bring on menstruation—an all-round useful herb.
Now, we use catnip as an ornamental and bee plant, or grow it for our cats. The leaves contain a chemical called nepetalactone, which felines—the tiniest housecats and the largest lions—find irresistible. The chemical induces a harmless physiological reaction that seems to be psychosexual: that is, catnip has both a euphoric and an aphrodisiac effect. Susceptibility is genetic. Some cats just don’t get turned on, while others go . . . well, bananas. (Be especially careful if there are lions in the neighborhood.) When you grow catnip from seed, cats are oblivious to it; when you set transplants, you will inevitably bruise a leaf, releasing the volatile oil, and the cats will come running. Surround it with chicken wire and hope for the best.
CATNIP VS. MOSQUITOES
Researchers from the University of Iowa have reported that nepetalactone is ten times more effective at repelling mosquitoes than DEET, the synthetic chemical compound used in most insect repellents. You can make some for yourself.
CATNIP MOSQUITO REPELLENT
2 cups catnip, washed
2 cups almond oil
Bruise catnip and pack into a clean jar. Cover with oil, put a lid on the jar and set in a cool, dark place for two weeks. Shake jar lightly every day, and push herbs under the oil to avoid mold. Strain into a clean jar, seal and refrigerate for up to 8 months. To use, rub on exposed skin. (If your mosquitoes are especially ferocious, you can add other strong-smelling herbs, such as rosemary, pennyroyal, basil.)
May kittens never make big cats. May chicks never grow full size.
Many May bugs proclaim a warm summer. —TRADITIONAL FARM LORE
MAY 20
About this time, the ancient Romans celebrated the Rosalia, or Festival of Roses, in honor of the goddess Flora.
Delia opened a box, took out a plastic bag, and opened it. “Have you ever smelled anything so sweet?” she asked with a smile, taking out a string of large black beads. “They’re rose beads. They’d make a lovely family heirloom.”
—“THE ROSEMARY CAPER,” IN AN UNTHYMELY DEATH
An Old-fashioned Treasure
In our grandmothers’ time, women were very fond of beautiful black beads made from fresh rose petals. They took a long time to make—two weeks or more—and involved a great deal of work. In her short story, “The Rosemary Caper,” China describes an easier way to make this old-fashioned herbal treasure, using a cast-iron pot or large skillet. The iron in the pot helps to blacken the beads. If you can find some rusty nails, add those.
ROSE BEADS
In a cast-iron cooking container, place a quart of fresh, finely minced red rose petals, a cup of water, a few drops of rose oil to enhance the scent, and rusty nails, if you have any. Simmer for one hour. Remove from heat, stir well with a wooden spoon, and let it stand overnight. The next day, repeat the simmering process, adding water if necessary, until the doughy mixture has turned very dark. Let it stand until it dries to a claylike consistency that can be easily molded. Wet your hands and roll into beads a little larger than a marble. (They will shrink about 50 percent as they dry.) Place on paper towels. When the beads are partly dry, thread a large needle with dental floss, string the beads, and hang them to dry, turning regularly so that they don’t stick to the floss. In a week, your rose beads are ready for their final stringing. Alternate them with smaller, pretty beads used as spacers. Add a clasp and store in an airti
ght container to preserve the scent. As you wear them against your skin, they will warm and give out a sweet fragrance.
A Bag to Smell Unto, or to Cause One to Sleep
Take drie Rose leaves, keep them close in a glass which will keep them sweet, then take powder of Mints, powder of cloves in a grosse powder. Put the same to the Rose leaves, then put all these together in a bag, and take that to bed with you, and it will cause you to sleepe, and it is good to smell unto at other times.
—RAM’S LITTLE DODOEN, 1606
Read more about old ways to use roses:
Rose Recipes from Olden Times, by Eleanour Sinclair Rohde
MAY 21
China Bayles' Book of Days Page 20
