Mid-August, New York

The old Celtic and Gaelic calendars marked the beginning of autumn at August 1st, and here in farm country that makes a great deal of sense.  While spring has a feeling of galloping joy and summer a tone of happy waiting, now there is a small but noticeable tension.  It’s time to start thinking about the approaching winter – the countdown has begun.

The first cutting of hay is in and the second underway, tree fruits are in or waiting, fields and vegetable gardens are bursting with ripening crops.  Even if crops aren’t ready yet, a practiced eye can see what the yield will be, and there’s no more time for adjustments: we’ll get what we get, and any changes will have to be made next year.  Stores are full of canning supplies; man and beast alike are stashing away the bounty.

Looking down over the swamp (we prefer the term “wetlands”), where a month ago it was pink and blue with wild phlox, cornflowers and mallows, now it’s the deep rose of Joe Pye Weed and milkweed, with fluffy white Queen Anne’s Lace and touches of early goldenrod.

The flower beds have hit a lull, with only echinacea (thank goodness for all the new varieties!), Phlox “David” and “Bright Eyes” and a few lingering daylilies still in bloom.  Mums haven’t cracked color yet.  The summer annuals are still in bloom, but are starting to look a little tired – time to gather seeds for next year and make notes in the garden journal.

The birds aren’t as full of conversation as a month ago, now that the babies are fledged, but crickets, grasshoppers, humming bees and a few cicadas are heard during the day, and the full chorus of katydids at night.  Still a few frog voices, but not as many.  I haven’t seen any monarch caterpillars on the milkweed yet, but they should be along any day now.

The skies darken earlier, of course, and are more likely to be free of haze.  We’ll be watching for shooting stars around the 15th!

Karen Albeck is an amateur naturalist and natural journal-keeper who watches for Signs of the Season in central New York state.

Photos were provided by Karen Albeck.

Preserving Summer Herbs

by Erin Fossett

September is a month of changes. When our lives were bound more closely to the land, it was a time of hope, and celebration of the harvest. It was also a busy season, as farmers worked feverishly to bring in their crops before the first freeze. There was a feeling of abundance, but also of transition, of letting go.  We still feel it, watching the change of the seasons. The days continue to shorten, leaves change colors, and even in the glory of Indian summer the nights take on a chill. In our own gardens, the plants that we nurtured so carefully for months are now going to seed, losing their summertime glory. Soon it will be time to clip away the old growth and turn the soil over, preparing the ground for winter.

One way to celebrate the energy of September is to preserve the flavors and scents of summer through herbal teas, vinegars, flavored oils, and honeys. Whether you have a full garden, a kitchen window box, or buy your herbs dried and in bulk, these creations are fun and relatively simple to make, and offer another way to share seasonal bounty with your friends. (For buying dried herbs in bulk, as well as herbal making supplies, visit Mountain Rose Herbals.)

Herbal Iced Tea Cubes. In September, I try to make daily batches of strong herbal tea, using the last of my chamomile, lemon balm, peppermint, and catnip. I let the tea steep for up to eight hours, and then pour into ice cube trays and freeze. The finished ice cubes will store in freezer bags for up to three months, and can be added to smoothies, or melted and diluted with hot water for a refreshing cup of herbal tea.

Ice cube trays are also handy for freezing big batches of fresh tomato sauce or pesto, using the last basil from your garden. Let the sauce cool thoroughly before freezing, and store the frozen cubes in freezer bags for up three months, thawing as needed.

Herb Infused Vinegars. Herbal vinegars make a flavorful addition to salad dressings and dips, as well as a nourishing daily tonic to help strengthen the blood or tone the digestive system. Good herbs to use in your vinegars include garlic, basil, oregano, thyme, tarragon, and sage. Experiment with combinations. Pairings of dill and peppermint, or fennel and ginger, are wonderful for upset stomachs.

Place about a cup of finely chopped fresh herbs (or ¼ cup of dried herbs) into clean pint-sized glass canning jars. Cover the herbs with organic apple cider vinegar, leaving about an inch of room at the top of the jar. (Avoid white vinegar, which is bleached with harsh chemicals.) Cover the jar tightly, label with the ingredients and date, and then store the mixture in a dark place at room temperature, shaking vigorously every few days.

After about four to six weeks, strain out the vinegar by pouring it through a colander lined with a doubled piece of cheesecloth or an old sheet. Be sure to squeeze out all of the infused liquid from the plant material before composting. Store the mixture in glass jars or tincture bottles, carefully marked with the ingredients and date. The finished vinegar will keep for a year.

Herbal Oils. You can also use herbs to make flavored olive oils, for both internal and external uses. In this case, place 1/3 cup of already dried plant materials in a clean, dry glass jar. (Make certain the jar is completely dry, as any moisture can ruin the oil.) Cover the herbs with high quality, organic olive oil, leaving an inch or two of room at the top of the jar. Cover this mixture with a cloth for the first few days, before you seal the lid, as the plants will continue to expel gasses as they absorb the oil. Also be sure to check the mixture after a few hours to see if more oil is needed to cover the herbs.

Let the oil sit in a sunny window for 10 to 14 days, shaking daily, before straining the plant material out. Store the finished oil in a dark place, and use within a year. You might want to try garlic, oregano, or basil for use in cooking or dressings. I also like to make a mixture of calendula blossoms, lavender, and plantain for a wonderful skin conditioner.

NOTE: An easy way to dry herbs is to scatter them across an old window screen outside or in a sunny window, or hang bunches upside down until the blossoms dry and can be extracted.

Herb Infused Honey. Herbal honeys provide a wonderful addition to hot teas during the winter cold season. To make these, melt a quart of locally grown (if available) wildflower honey over low heat until it is just warmed through. (Don’t let it boil.) Add ½ cup of finely chopped fresh herbs, such as lavender, ginger, lemon balm, or chamomile. (Use only ¼ cup if the herbs are dried.) Leave the mixture on low heat for 15 to 20 minutes, stirring occasionally, and then pour the honey (without straining) into heat-resistant glass canning jars. Secure the lids and label with the ingredients and date. The herbs will continue to infuse the honey as it sits. You can then either strain out the honey as you use it, or drink the tea with the herbs still in it. The honey will keep for 18 months.

Erin Fossett is a freelance fiction writer and editor living in Colorado. Her fiction has been awarded by the Colorado Council on the Arts. She provides writing coaching and editing services through wild Word Writing and can be reached at wildwordmedia AT msn DOT com.

All photos taken by Erin Fossett.

The Autumn of Life

by Edia Stanford-Bruce

The year I turned 40, I disappeared.

It had been coming on gradually, this “fading,” but I waved it away as the mere product of an over-active imagination or peri-menopausal anxiety. The atmosphere in several areas of my life was shot through with an unsettling chilliness and the earth seemed to be holding her breath; waiting for something.  Then, one night, frost hit. The next day, I was “middle aged.”

I began to notice magazine covers in bookstore racks. There were articles about how to be a sexy lover; how to be a beautiful bride; how to be a happy mom-to-be; how to be a good mom, how to pay for college and then, that was it. There was no sign life existed after 35.

I would pick through the mall attempting to dress a body that was betraying me, not shedding the creeping weight gain, shoving me toward the women’s sizes.  “My size” clothes were now located deep in the innards of stores hidden well away from the “career” misses and miles away from the uber-trendy petites on the highly visible outer aisles. Clothes after 35 were cheaply made, boring colored and fashion null. The personnel in my favorite stores began to ignore me and I sought solace in new boutiques especially for “my size”.

The changes growing older brought frightened me. Every year something that to my mind affirmed my identity as a woman, as a mother, as a productive member of society, dropped away. I shriveled inside like leaves denied the summer sun. At the point I thought that there was no more purpose for living and no more reason to expect anything but to blow away, I turned 50.

My gardens and all the earth became my professors. I began to listen and examine closely the lessons about living they were teaching. The first, most important lesson is that each season has its own specific work. Autumn is the season of harvests. The work of autumn is to gather in– whether for dinner, for preserving, or for next year’s seed. So, with same the purposeful energy that I harvested my peppers and tomatoes from the gardens I gathered in the produce my soul grew in the summertime of my life.

At 40 I was examining the early fruit harvest of my poison beds (habitual negative thought) — lack of self esteem and depression. However, by 50 I had learned that there were several more harvests to come before the killing frost that signals the beginning of winter. Now was the time of the fruit harvest of the more prosperous intellectual groves of beautifully ripe love for art, literature and spirituality. Not only that, the grain harvest of the second career 30’s and 40’s was standing in the field, ready for the scythe. That meant the half-century mark of my life was no time to mourn the passing of life’s summer. There was still work to do.

Most mind bending of all, I discovered an “interim” planting time—a time to sow the seed of a third career. Then I really began to appreciate the benefits of the season when the oppressive heat cools into twilight glow. The invisibility of the autumn woman came as a surprising blessing. The pressure was off to be pretty, perky and cute. People would carry home my words like prized cuttings because I was now someone who would be seriously listened to. Some of “Mami’s wisdom” gained from living would be preserved, not in Mason jars, but in scrapbooks and the memories of those who heard the stories.

This was not a time to categorize myself as “lost potential.” It was not a time to envy the energy, smooth skin, and toned muscles of youth. I began to notice more positive—even sexy– images of autumn women boldly looking out at me from magazine stands and more stylish clothing in stores as I turned 56 last month. However, there is still resistance to full acceptance and understanding of the seasons of adulthood after summer. I disappeared as a customer to the media and businesses that pandered to the youth market. Yet because of this, I entered a new season of freedom where I did not have to cater to images of how I should look or behave. There indeed was life—a new adventure– after 35. I embraced the crone and danced into the autumn life.

Edia Stanford-Bruce is a freelance writer and the Vice President for Public Relations, Booz-Allen Hamilton Toastmasters Club in Tyson’s Corner, VA. She earned the BA from Norfolk State University School of Journalism and also holds a M.Ed. in early childhood education from Rutgers University, specializing in literacy. Currently, she volunteers with Reston Interfaith as an administrative assistant supporting Stonegate Village Residents Services Office in Reston, VA. She and husband, retired pastor Rev. Dr. George Bruce, are happily empty-nesting in Reston’s Historic Lake Anne neighborhood. Her commentary about searching for work in the second half of life, “Victoree’s Blog: No White Flag”, is available on wordpress.com.

Books on Uncluttering

By Virginia Roberts

Most people engage in spring cleaning. I do. But I also believe in a full, plentiful and productive harvest—starting with my living quarters. Now, I am a packrat. I won’t go so far as to say I am a hoarder on the level of those folks found on reality television or in Homer and Langley, a novel by E.L. Doctrow based on the lives of two brothers who were found dead in New York early in the last century, essentially victims of their own mad collecting—but what my home contains is well, rather intense. (And the aforementioned are really good inspiration to clean out closets).

I am not ashamed to say my book and media collection is larger than the local library. This is what happens when a librarian marries a literature professor and they breed. When the shelves were outgrown in the formal living room, more were built elsewhere. Closets have been taken over. Books line stairs, and are stacked against walls (they make exceptional insulation). I justify my yarn and craft item stash by giving away most everything created from it. I cannot justify three generations of shoe and clothing collection. Except to say most was given to me.

That is how it often happens. I am a stuff magnet. People know I know how to give it away. And I do. It is almost a second job. I have many area charities and shelters programmed on my cell phone. Local schools, libraries, churches, and most of the adults and children I know have been recipients of windfalls of items that have no use at my work or in my life (with consent—I always ask). No one seems surprised by the amount of stuff.

But let’s be honest. What to do with all this stuff? Well, there is lots of stuff advice out there. Some good and some, well, completely useless.

First, some practical advice, don’t buy the “organize your stuff” books and vids, borrow them. I am not saying this because I am a librarian. I am saying this, because in the land of the chronically disorganized the organizational media rarely takes priority.

But, if you are looking for a justification for your mess, Eric Abrahamson and David Freedman, authors of A Perfect Mess:  The Hidden Benefits of Disorder—how crammed closets, cluttered offices, and on-the-fly-planning make the world a better place will make you feel better. They discuss the messy but organized strategies of millions. They also believe messy is the root of creativity as well as invention, and that oldie but goodie: a clean house (or desk) is the sign of someone with too much time on their hands. They do give great tips on how to optimize your messy (organizational) style, and how not to look a mess. So, even they recognize the psychological truth that it just isn’t socially acceptable to live in a fire hazard or have your life a walking designated disaster.

But<gasp>there are TONS of books on the shelves of the library! So now organization is overwhelming!  Well, for a traditional approach, I recommend Organizing from the Inside Out by Julia Morgenstern, which contains several different styles, levels of organization, and bullet points. It also has a very good what works and what doesn’t section at the end of each chapter. She recommends schedules for when to do things and using lists of supplies, either preprinted or in an designated area, to organize shopping so over-purchase—and therefore clutter does not occur. Now, to be fair, almost every one of these books offers a certain amount of this, but Morganstern is realistic about the amount of prep time and the actual time organization can take. She is less realistic about the skills and cost required to organize your space. Her latest book When Organizing Isn’t Enough—SHED your stuff, change your life explores the emotional connection with personal belongings at length, and how to separate the wheat from the chaff and easily chuck the stuff from life that might be a drag.  I like this book. I like it a lot. It offers personal stories. It gives excellent reasons and allows time for someone to get used to the idea that the stuff needs to move on. And then it offers encouragement to remove the stuff. Because removing the stuff does change you. A weight can be lifted.

There is an Idiots Guide for organizing and a Dummies book on the same topic. The Idiots Guide by Georgene Lockwood is a comprehensive guide that is sympathetic to the plight of being disorganized, and its various permeations. She examines organizational goals by areas of life rather than where you live. While there are clear rules of engagement, she also gives endless possibilities based on different styles so it’s not a lock on how organization has to take place. The For Dummies book by Eileen Roth is more like that famous organizer and housecleaner (and pitchman) Don Aslett in that it has less exploration of the emotional wheres and whyfors and more on the this is your space, this is your mind, and this is how it should be organized. This book does offer some neat tricks and gadgets (you can buy more stuff!) to organize the stuff. If operating with very clear boundaries is the goal, this is the book for you.

HGTV Mission Organization is for those folks who have no time to read a book but do have time to sit in front of a video. Host Gail O’Neill works with individuals and spaces. As reality television, this series strikes me more as inspiration rather than a how to, unless you want to purchase or make stuff to organize your stuff.

For the paper-challenged there is also Flylady.net a website that offers tips, tricks, and if you email her, personal encouragement. While there is an online shop, that is not her purpose. The first message you see on her site is the question: “Do you live in CHAOS (Can’t have Anyone Over Syndrome)?”  She literally has a “baby steps” tab that which begins with the suggestion you “shine your sink” daily because if you can clean that every day, other cleaning is sure to follow. She isn’t kidding. I cleaned under my sink (after shining it) for the first time in 10 years. The stuff that didn’t get thrown out, and did not go into immediate circulation landed at a local shelter. I don’t need 100 small containers of stuff or 15 tubes of lipstick—and before you get upset, they were less than a year old and unused, beyond that, I am not saying.

For more specialized or different models of organization that are not just for the specified audiences—Organizing the Disorganized Child by Martin L. Kutscher and Marcella Moran is a short, readable book for parents. It discusses different learning and organizational styles and encourages parental involvement. The authors stress life skills, visual organizers and planners, the importance of routine and the possibility that some other factors may be in play, like ADHD.  There is also Organizing Solutions for People with Attention Deficit Disorder by Susan C. Pinsky. It’s a great place to start, with its bold font and one tip per page. Pinsky lists the rules of organizing in the front of this thin completely useable volume and stresses  visual organization and routine—clear bins, stuff on shelves rather than cabinets (easy enough to do—remove the doors), papers kept in clear files and binders and placing things like mail and keys in the same place every day—so needed items are seen rather than stored.

Ultimately, you alone determine what to harvest, what to store and where to send your surplus. But as a nation, the bulk of us cannot travel with our houses on our backs anymore—or even in a house and storage unit—and wouldn’t know where to start if we tried. So it might be good to plan a little fall harvest, even if you don’t have a vegetable garden. Next month, books regarding a more traditional harvest.

Virginia Roberts is a library director, currently embroiled in an organizing frenzy, in a small, rural, northern great lakes village where she enjoys wind, water, and the abundance of the seasons.

Late Summer

Another great essay from Bill Felker’s lovely essays about his seasonal observations in Yellow Springs, Ohio, taken from Poor Will’s Almanack. This is from August 2004:

When I get up before five these mornings, I sit by my window and I feel the fall moving toward me. Outside, there is no wind; the yard is quiet. The trees and flowers are motionless. The early summer chorus of birds has almost ended. Only a cardinal and a bullfrog sing off and on. Sometimes, the jays are nervous and whine in the trees. Sometimes, I hear crows across town. The katydids stopped calling in the middle of the night. It is too early in the day for cicadas and bees. The August crickets are still growing up; they won’t chant for a few days.

I can’t decide whether the shift in the season has followed the silence or preceded it. I don’t know if my perceptions are real or imaginary. Maybe I’m just restless. It’s been hot since the end of May. The heat wears me down like it wears down the plants and animals, draws life from the garden, the pond, and the brain.

Of course the varieties of flowering plants are different now from what they were a few weeks ago, and the tint of the leaves has deepened in some places, faded in others. There is a haze to the sky; it builds up through the sluggish fronts of middle summer. Maybe that lack of purity is what tells me the earth has shifted on its axis, that it is turning back toward the sun for winter, that I have run out of summer one more time without having kept the promises I made to myself in April.

I have often tried to list the births and deaths of plants, insects and animals that define the shift to autumn. But I have never looked closely enough, have not watched or listened or thought carefully enough, and so the emotions of late summer can comer over me quickly and hard, and I listen to the stillness, trying to understand what has happened, wishing I had paid closer attention, thinking maybe if I really understood the process better, then I wouldn’t feel so bereft at the end.

But no matter how many notes I take, I know that when the birds are quiet in the morning and the wind stops blowing, I am at the end of one more cycle of planning and longing and then I can’t help repeating the same questions I asked a season ago. What next? What should I do now? Will there be enough time? Where do I go from here? How can I make amends for what I haven’t done? Whom should I still love? What does it matter?

The beautiful photo of a haybale on a hazy day was taken by Cate Kerr of Beyond the Fields We Know.

New Moon in Libra: Comparisons are Odious

by April Elliott Kent

There is a popular expression that warns, “Don’t compare your insides to other people’s outsides,” and it’s particularly good advice for this Libra New Moon season. [The new moon of October 16 was in Libra.] Libra, as the relationship sign, symbolizes a keen awareness of others that can work to our advantage in relationships and in certain careers, too. But that same awareness can become a liability when it leads us to draw comparisons between ourselves and others – comparisons that can damage self-esteem and breed envy.

We humans are social animals, and we take our cues about what to do and be and desire from watching the people around us. The problem is that we rarely have access to the full story behind their outward appearances. We may envy a man for driving a new, expensive vehicle, yet for all we know he may park that car in front of a dumpy apartment building each night. Most of us admire the sleek figure of a supermodel, but is there a healthy, happy woman inside that beautiful body? Possibly not, if rumors about eating disorders in the modeling business are to be believed.

Born with the Moon in the seventh house – the house associated with Libra – I confess that I spend a lot more time and energy than I should comparing myself with other people. This friend has a more graceful home; that one has a sweeter personality; the other, more clients. All that energy wasted on anxiety, envy, and guilt! It’s as disempowering as when I used to leaf through fashion magazines in my twenties and compare myself to their unrealistic images of feminine beauty.

I wasn’t always this way, though. Years ago, before I became an astrologer, I was a musician. I never recall looking over my shoulder to figure out which musicians were better or more successful than I was; all I cared about was expressing myself exactly the way I wanted to. But as I developed more musical skill, I occasionally dealt with fellow musicians who were envious of me. I always wondered: why were they so focused on what I was doing instead of simply concentrating on sharpening their own abilities?

Now that I’ve moved on to a career that is less suited to rugged individualism and much more Libran in its emphasis on counseling and salesmanship, I understand envy a bit better. It’s all good and well to become skilled at the technical parts of my job, but it’s not enough; to make a living, an astrologer has to become skilled at reading people, not just their charts, and to market herself in a way others find appealing. Somehow I’ve gotten it into my head that my colleagues have figured this stuff out in a way that I haven’t, and I can’t seem to stop comparing my achievements with theirs. Are their websites more popular than mine, their mailing lists larger, their resumes more impressive? What do they know that I don’t?

Being ruled by comparisons is odious. But is it ever a good thing, a healthy thing to cultivate a heightened awareness of other people? Of course. Being sensitive to others is the basis of a society’s laws and rules of etiquette. Growing up, we learn social skills by comparing ourselves to our parents, our brothers and sisters, and our playmates, who show us how to behave and let us know when we’ve stepped out of line. In astrology, this civilizing process is symbolized by Libra. How attuned are we to the needs of others? How adept at blending into society, at least to the extent necessary to stay out of jail and enjoy the occasional dinner party?

Looking back at my musician days, it’s clear that while I didn’t suffer the pain of constant comparisons and envy, my lack of social grace made me an insensitive and ineffective collaborator. I often made tactless comments, insisted on having my own way, and generally played poorly with others. Had I made a career in music, I’m not sure I’d have developed any social skills at all; I might well have ended up with success in my work but none at all in my personal life.

Becoming an astrologer has civilized me a bit, even if (and perhaps because) it has made me more vulnerable to criticism and comparisons. To be of any value as an astrologer I’ve had to nurture the promise of my seventh house Moon, with its ability to get inside another’s skin and see the world through their eyes. But developing a heightened awareness of others can be a difficult skill to switch off at the end of the day. When you spend too much time looking through another’s eyes, it can be all too easy to lose track of your own truth.

As the (very Libran) adage goes, “Moderation is best in all things.” Marching to the beat of your own drum, Aries-style, is vitally important, but so, too, is knowing how to appeal to your audience and how to connect with other people in an effective way. Most of us are a little more comfortable at one end of the spectrum than the other, but each of us can learn to navigate the balancing act more deftly.

The Full Moon in Aries earlier this month offered valuable preparation for this New Moon season by reminding us to love what we are, pursue our dreams, and let our individual lights shine. A strong self of self makes us less vulnerable to Libra’s shadow side of envy and of comparing our insides to other people’s outsides. At this New Moon, let the Libra spirit add the polish of sensitivity and balance to your Aries self-confidence – a lovely lampshade that needn’t obscure your individual light in order to soften it to a warm, inviting glow.

April Elliott Kent has been a professional astrologer since 1990 and is a longtime member of both ISAR and NCGR. A regular contributor to Llewellyn’s Moon Sign Book and The Mountain Astrologer magazine, she has also contributed articles to the websites MoonCircles.com, Beliefnet.com, and AOL Horoscopes. Her first book, Star Guide to Weddings, was published in 2008 by Llewellyn Worldwide. April lives in San Diego with her husband of 15 years and their two cats. She can be reached by email; enjoy her web site Big Sky Astrology.

Pumpkin Recipes

I love pumpkin pie, pumpkin pecan bread and my daughter’s creamy pumpkin black bean chili. What’s your favorite pumpkin recipe?

Creamy Pumpkin Black Bean Chili
By Shaw Fitzgerald

2 tablespoons butter or olive oil
1 medium white (or yellow) onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 to 3 teaspoons Thai Kitchen red curry paste
1 to 2 teaspoons cinnamon
Dash clove powder

1 to 2 15 oz cans of black beans
1 29 oz can of pumpkin or one medium-sized sugar pumpkin, roasted
1 large semi-tart apple (such as Gala), diced
2 cups chicken broth or vegetable broth
1/3 to ½ cup heavy cream

Secret ingredient: tablespoon of European (unsweetened) cocoa powder
If not available, add one teaspoon instant coffee or a shot of espresso

Grated cheddar cheese for topping

This recipe is better if you roast the pumpkin yourself, plus then you have some pumpkin seeds to roast for garnish. First halve and clean a medium-sized sugar pumpkin, then slice it like a cantaloupe. Coat the slices with oil and lay them on an oiled baking sheet.

I add enough water so the pumpkins will steam and cover the whole baking sheet tightly with tinfoil. Put this in an oven at medium heat for about 30 to 45 minutes. After the slices have cooled, you will be able to easily peel off the shell.

Saute diced onion in butter until translucent. Add the curry paste and garlic and let bloom. Add the chicken broth, black beans and apples. Let simmer and reduce. Add cinnamon and clove. Add the roasted pumpkin, pressing the pieces against the sides of the pan to turn them into mush. Simmer another 10 to 20 minutes until thickened. Add the cream and stir in. Add salt and pepper to taste. Serve with grated cheddar cheese on top (and/or roasted pumpkin seeds).

Easily made vegetarian or even vegan by substituting vegetable broth for chicken broth, olive oil for butter and omitting the cream.

The pumpkin quote comes from this great web site, French Word-A-Day, which contains the French quotation plus some great pumpkin expressions. Did you know that in France, having a migraine is having a pumpkin head?

Marigold: Flower of November

Many observers mention the bright yellow flower used as an offering on graves on altars and graves in Mexico on Day of the Dead. Sometimes it is called a marigold, the Tzeltals call it tusus and Brenner writes about the pungent, yellow cempoalxochitl. As with bird names, flower names are often difficult to translate, so it’s possible all three of these are the same flower.

Marigolds have confusing names. Tagetes erecta is the most common variety, and is known as the African marigold, though it is not native to Africa. Tagetes patula is called the French marigold, though it’s not native to France. Tagetes lucida is known in Mexico as Pericon. It is used to make a sweet, licorice-flavored tea.

It also appears under the names of Spanish tarragon and Mexican mint marigold. Then there’s tagetes minuta, also known as Mexican marigold, which, according to Wikipedia, is an important culinary herb with a flavor like a mixture of sweet basil, tarragon, mint and citrus.

In Europe, the flower was named in honor of the Virgin Mary: Mary’s gold. (The calendula is also called a marigold, or sometimes, a pot marigold.) Although the genus name, tagetes, is often derived from an Etruscan prophet, Tages, that seems unlikely. This is a New World plant which first appears in 16th century European herbals under the name, tagetes, which may derive from tanacetum, as it has the same strong odor as tansy.

The marigold—one species is called tagetes azteca–was brought to Europe by Portugese explorers who found it growing wild in Brazil in the sixteenth century. The flower was sacred to the Aztecs who used it to decorate shrines and temples. It was sometimes used as a symbol of the Spanish conquest, the red stains on the yellow blossoms representing the blood shed by the Spanish. It was also called flor de muerto, the flower of death.

Friar Duran writing about the Aztec culture described a festival called Farewell to Flowers, celebrated before the first frost:

Among the most solemn feasts was the one called Farewell to the Flowers, which meant that frost was coming and flowers would wither and dry up. A solemn festivity, filled with rejoicing and merrymaking, was held to bid them farewell. On that same day they commemorated a goddess named Xochiquetzalli, which means “Flowery Plumage.”

On this day they were as happy as could be, the same happiness and delight they feel today on smelling any kind of flower, whether it have an agreeable or a displeasing scent, as long as it is a flower. They become the happiest people in the world smelling them, for these natives in general are most sensuous and pleasure-loving. They find gladness and joy in spending the entire day smelling a little flower or a bouquet made of different kinds of flowers; their gifts are accompanied by them; they relieve the tediousness of journeys with flowers. To sum up, they find the smelling of flowers so comforting that they even stave off and manage to survive hunger by smelling them. Thus they passed their lives among flowers in such blindness and darkness, since they had been deceived and persuaded by the devil, who had observed their love for blossoms and flowers. . .

On this day their persons, temples, houses and streets were adorned with flowers. . . . Thus decorated with flowers, they engaged in different dances, merrymaking, festivities, and farces, all filled with gladness and good cheer. All this was in honor of and reverence for flowers. This day was called Xochilhuitl, which means “Feast of the Flowers,” and no other finery-gold, silver, stones, feathers-was worn on this day-only flowers. Besides being the day of the flowers it was the day of a goddess, who, as I have said, was called Xochiquetzal. This goddess was the patroness of painters, embroiderers, weavers, silversmiths, sculptors, and all those whose profession it was to imitate nature in crafts and in drawing. All held this goddess to be their patroness, and her feast was specially solemnized by them. . . (238)

[This selection was translated by John Curl and found at the web site of the Foundation for the Advancement of Meso-American Studies.]

The Portugese took the flower to India where it soon became a sacred flower in Hindu worship. It is grown in great quantities in India and Thailand and used in garlands for rituals, weddings and festivals. You can see the garlands ornamenting cars, carts and tools during the Dussera festival in India in this article at Julie Ardery’s wonderful site, Human Flower Project, where you can also read a great article by Jill Nokes about her journey on the trail of Zempasuchitl.

Marigold flowers can be dried and added to scrambled eggs or other egg and cheese dishes. In Mexico, the dried flower heads are fed to chickens because they add color to the flesh of the chickens who eat them and to the yolks of the eggs they produce.  The flower petals also produce a yellow dye.

The marigold is a great companion plant in the garden. Both the odor of the leaves and chemicals in the root keep away pests. The smell of linalool found in marigolds (and lavender and sweet peas) has been shown to reduce stress.

One of my favorite sources for garden plants, Mountain Valley Growers, sells several unusual varieties of marigold and provides thorough descriptions of them, including the results of a taste test between French marigold and Spanish marigold.

If you want seeds instead, go to this article (also at the fabulous Human Flower Project web site) about marigold missionary, David Moffitt, who gives away thousands of marigold seeds away if you send him a self-addressed stamped envelope.

In the language of the flowers, marigolds have unfortunate meanings. African marigolds mean “vulgar minds” and French marigolds mean “jealousy.”

References:
Greenaway, Kate, Language of Flowers
Kaplan, Lawrence, “Historical and Ethnobotanical Aspects of Domestication in Tagetes,” adapted from a paper presented at the IX International Botanical Congress at Montreal, August 28, 1959

Making a Turnip Lantern

The turnip lantern was probably the Celtic predecessor of the American Halloween pumpkin. In Ireland and Scotland, on Halloween children went souling with turnip lanterns or kail-runt torches (a candle stuck in the hollowed-out stem of a cabbage). In Somerset, on Punky Night (October 25) children paraded with lanterns made of hollowed-out mangel-wurzels (a type of beet), with the shells carved into faces and other designs.

Supposedly these vegetable lanterns were once used to guide people home from a fair in a neighboring village but it seems also possible that, like candles in windows, they were used to welcome the souls of the dead, returning at this time of the year. Folklorist Ronald Hutton believes the lit lanterns represent the flickering lights seen in marshes which are believed to be the souls of unbaptized children. In eastern England, Jack O’Lantern is another name for the marsh flames, which are called “spunkies” or “punkies” in Somerset.

Marian McNeill provides instructions on how to make a turnip lantern in The Silver Bough:

1. Choose a large, round turnip. (The turnip chosen for carving was probably the rutabaga or swede, not the smaller round turnip that is usually sold under that name in the United States.)
2. Cut a thick slice–about a quarter of the whole–off the top.
3. Scoop out the inside, preferably with a spoon, taking care not to break the skin but making the shell as thin as possible. Leave a stump at the bottom and hollow it out to serve as a socket for the candle.
4. With a fine, sharp knife, etch a design on the turnip. Be careful not to cut through the skin. Suggested: a man-in-the-moon face, a skull and cross-bones, etc.
5. Get a candle and set it firmly in the socket.
6. Make two holes near the top, one on each side of the face.
7. Thread a piece of string or wire through the holes to act as a handle. It should be long enough to prevent any risk of burning one’s hand. A forked stick can also be used with the lantern suspended from the two branches of the V.

According to McNeill, the lit lantern emits a soft, luminous glow and the device you have carved stands out clearly. It is definitely more eerie, and certainly more unique, than the traditional jack o’lantern and would be a new challenge for those of you who have mastered the art of pumpkin carving.

Margaret Oomen describes how she created an artistic version of a turnip lantern at her blog, Resurrection Fern. Her lantern is much more like those carried on Punky Night in Somerset as described by Christina Hole: “Instead of the simple holes for eyes and nose of the usual Hallowtide ‘face,’ quite intricate flower-, ship-, or animal-patterns are cut on the outer skin of the mangold.” Punky Night is still celebrated in Hinton St. George on the last Thursday in October. After the procession, the carved vegetables are displayed and judged. See this blog entry for an account of the festivities in 2008.

Here’s a funny link with good photos of turnip lanterns from someone who complains about the terrible stench of a burning turnip. Another reason to choose a pumpkin. He also suggests using a pepper, while Oomen mentions the possibility of carving a potato. They would certainly be easier to carve. And probably smell better.

In a hot debate about the relative merits of the turnip or the pumpkin at this Manx web site where Halloween is called Hop tu Naa, there’s a mention that in Peel on the Isle of Man, the turnips carved are the swede turnips (rutabagas in America) which have a long root you can hold in your hand, like a torch, rather than suspending the turnip from a string as in the directions above.

Photo of turnip lantern uploaded by Geni at wikipedia.org.

References:
Hole, Christina, A Dictionary of British Folk Customs
Hutton, Ronald, The Stations of the Sun
McNeil, Marian, The Silver Bough, Volume 3

Days of the Dead

The Tzeltals of Mexico celebrate the Feast of the Dead for thirteen days, beginning on October 25th. Graves are decorated with pine needles and tusus (yellow wild flowers).

In Puebla, the accidentados (the souls of those who died in accidents) return on October 28th, followed by the angelitos (the souls of dead children) who show up at noon on October 31, to be followed by the souls of dead adults on November 1. This sequence probably derives from the Aztec calendar which devoted two months to the dead: the ninth month to dead infants, the tenth month to dead adults.

The Aztecs did not fear death like European Christians, for whom it was a time of judgment. The Aztecs saw death as a phase in a cyclic journey. In fact, to die was to wake from the dream of life. In the Yucatan, the Maya bury their dead with food, drink, clothing and other things they will need on their journey to the place of the dead.

The combination of the indigenous reverence for death with the Catholic holidays of All Saints and All Souls brought to Mexico by the Spaniards in 1521 produced a flowering of ritual and art in Mexico around the time of this holiday. Vendors sell skeletons made of paper mache or clay and wire with cotton wool hair, dressed as postmen, revolutionaries, street vendors, wedding couples and musicians and macabre toys, like clay skulls with movable lower jaws or skeletons that dance on a string. In Oaxaca, you can turn a handle and watch skeletons in small painted wooden theatres rise up in their coffins or drink from a cup. Printers make special editions and comic publications, satirizing famous people both dead and alive, who are depicted in skeleton or skull form with satirical obituaries, describing the person and his (mis)deeds.

Children beg for “a funeral” or “a death” and are given treats like bones made of milk chocolate and sugar skulls with maraschino cherries for eyes and grins of syrup and rows of fine gold teeth, sometimes bearing their name. One visitor to Mexico in 1884 remarked on figures in the shape of guitars, sheep, angels, souls in purgatory (I’d like to see this!) and animals “of every species, enough to form specimens for Noah’s ark.”

The Days of the Dead are a time of reunion. People travel home. Altars are set up in houses, and decorated with flowers, leaves, fruit, incense and candles.  Sometimes flower petals are scattered in a path from the altar to the open door to guide the returning dead.

Ofrendas, offerings, to the dead of food and drink are placed on the altar. The dead derive nourishment from the smell of the food and drink so it should have a strong aroma. Starr mentions liquors, cigarettes, mole, pulque and tamales. Anita Brenner in Idols Behind Altars mentions beans, chili, tortillas, and other ordinary dishes plus the specialties of the season: “pumpkins baked with sugar cane, pulque or a bluish maize-brew with a delicate sugar film, and Dead Mens’ Bread. For the children, candy skulls, pastry coffins, ribs and thigh-bones made of chocolate and frosted sugar, tombstones, wreaths, and pretentious funerals.”

Everyone goes to church. Masses are said. Genealogies recited. On the night of November 1, people gather in cemeteries and spend the night with “the little dead ones.” A priest might come and sprinkle the graves with holy water. Candles burn on every grave which are decorated with offerings and flowers. Brenner mentions heavy purple wild blossoms and the yellow pungent cempoalxochitl (marigolds). In Zinacantan, the graves are covered with pine needles, pine boughs and red geraniums and offerings. In Jimenez, people bring the bed in which the person died to the cemetery, hung with lace and curtains, white for children and black for adults. Those who have no beds take tables and place them over the grave instead, decorating them with gold and silver paper stars, paper flowers, etc. Sometimes bands serenade the dead with songs and music. In other places, people dance. Refreshments are sold at the gate.

In San Augustin, the children gather at the church early in the morning of October 31st. From there, they walk to the graveyard, carrying a banner depicting the Eucharist, bread angels and green branches, accompanied by a prayer-maker and a few women and a band. In the graveyard, they say prayers and then return to the church, bringing back with them the souls of the angelitos, the dead children. After praying a second time, they go home to feast with their parents on mole, tamales, bread, squash, fruits, pumpkin prepared with brown sugar, maize cobs and other foods. At night four dishes are put on the floor of the house, together with candles, flowers and food for the dead. Bread and fruit are put on a “sun-and-water” bed made from maize stalks. Candles and tiny angels are left on the dry stone walls and fences so that the village children can come and carry them off. Animals are watched to make sure they don’t eat the offerings; dogs are sometimes muzzled during this holiday so their barking doesn’t drive away the dead. In the morning, the family eats the food left out for the dead and prepares another feast for the dead adults. On the third day, November 2nd, the children, along with the prayer-maker and the band, take the dead back to the graveyard.

References:
Brenner, Anita, Idols behind Altars. Beacon Press 1970, quoted in Sayer
Sayer, Chloe, ed, Mexico: The Day of the Dead, London: Redstone Press
Starr, Frederick, from a catalogue for the Collection of Objects Illustrating the Folklore of Mexico, produced for the Folkore Society in London quoted by Sayer

The beautiful photographs were taken by Judy Maselli in Oaxaca, Mexico.

Taken from my Halloween holiday e-book which contains recipes for sugar skulls and bones of the dead, plus more information on other cultural variants of this holiday including I Morti in Italy, Samhain in Ireland, Nos Galan Gaef in Wales. You can order it and get an instant download link at my store.

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