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The Thoughtful Spot

February 2022 - A Creek Corner

2/28/2022

 
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This morning I was wakened by a rather portly robin scuttering along the gutter outside my window.  Winter is almost gone.  Now I sit on a sun-warmed stone with my toes in an icy, chattering creek, sunlight streams through leafless trees, and there are songbirds calling from every side.  Though another frost or four will certainly still come, it feels safe to say that spring is on the move.


I saw a tree, all gaunt and grey,
As mindful of a winter’s day:
And there a lonely bird did sit
Upon the topmost branch of it,
Who to my thought did sweeter sing
Than any minstrel of a king.


- Geoffrey Bache Smith
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My thoughtful spot today is a lovely corner off a trail behind a neighborhood.  Long ago some kind soul set stepping stones across this busy creek, or at least it looks as thought is was long ago, for the stones are very deeply set and covered in moss.  And there is a quiet, thoughtful bench, and a picnic table, slightly the worse for weather, yet somehow made friendlier by that.

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Then was winter shaken, and fair was the earth's embrace.

 - Beowulf, ll. 1136b-1137a

Green leaves are peering through the buds on a wild rose bush (Rosa canina), which is currently also home to a little nest.  It is clearly last year's handiwork, but I've no doubt it will be made shipshape by new inhabitants in the near future.

Chickweed (
Stellaria media)  and henbit (Lamium amplexicaule) and blue creeping speedwell (Veronica repens), nestled deep in oft-overlooked obscurity, herald in their tiny, joyful way the sunny days and warmth ahead.  And a single, bright faced dandelion (Taraxacum officinale,) on a tiny stem is the first brave one of its kind to emerge in this little thoughtful spot.

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Nothing ever seems impossible in Spring, you know.

- L. M. Montgomery

The creek running over the stepping stones almost drowns out the construction trucks near by.  There are millions of dancing stars on its surface, and gleeful little clusters of bubbles at the corners of the rocks.  There is a sunbeam on the field across the creek, and I must follow it...
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January 2022 - Winter Sun

1/31/2022

 
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A solitary, empty, stone urn sits in front of me.  A patinated pedestal filled with frozen earth, and beyond it a tidy holly hedge blocks this little corner of nature from the surrounding houses.  It is a sheltered, sun-dappled place where I have sat often before, quiet and very nearly warm on these brightly brisk winter days - a perfect thoughtful spot.  These really are the best days of winter: when  the mornings are frosty and the air is almost too cold to breath deeply, then those mornings fade into afternoons like this one, afternoons of crystalline skies and almost warm enough sunshine. 

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Glory be to God for dappled things!

- Gerard Manley Hopkins, Pied Beauty

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If you sit on the ground one of these afternoons, and close your eyes in a sheltered spot where the sun shines through and the wind is stilled, sometime between the frosts of morning and evening, you can almost imagine a whole host of tiny roots slowly waking up in the earth beneath, tempted by the sunshine warmth to rouse from their winter's rest, and beginning to think about sending out new shoots and new life.  It feels as though all creation around me is tentatively, half-way waking.  Perhaps, when the frost returns tonight, all those curious little roots and sprouts with nestle back down into the warm depths of the soil once more, realizing that winter isn't yet over with that wonderful feeling of waking too early on a Saturday morning, and discovering that there's no need to dash out into the chilly world just yet.


It was one of those days when...
it is summer in the light and winter in the shade.

- Charles Dickens, Great Expectations
Wild daffodil noses are peering up in the dappled patch of woods along the sidewalk.  And a cacophonous pair of Canada geese have taken up residence, despite the glowering disapproval of the neighborhood homeowners' association, in the undergrowth of the tidy holly hedge.  I've heard these next few weeks referred to as the quickening of the year.  What a lovely phrase.  It is the season when the first tiny glimpses of waking life are just beginning to appear again. 

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... a new year, full of things that never have been...

- Rainer Maria Rilke

Though ice still clings to the grasses around the mouth of a little culvert nearby, and the bushes are still white with frost most mornings, still it seems that perhaps, slowly and happily, the world is indeed beginning to quicken. 
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December 2021 - A Waterfall Hike

12/31/2021

 
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It's been a balmy December.  The warm, damp, mizzle-filled days have felt almost spring-like, and the scent of moss and old logs is at once new and nostalgic.  I'm wandering through the woods today with the people I love best, and finding perfect thoughtful spots around every corner of three winding miles of trails.  The green, almost rainforest atmosphere of these woods is deliciously conducive to thoughtful spots, and every other step there is a log or a stump or a lush moss carpet on a stone, just waiting to be comfortably sat upon as a vantage point from which the deep valley and the creek below us might be enjoyed.

Along a stream that raced and ran / Through tangled trees and over stones,
That long had heard the pipes o' Pan / And shared the joys that nature owns,
I met a fellow fisherman, / Who greeted me in cheerful tones.

 - Edgar Guest, The Fisherman

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We stumbled upon the foundation of an old home beside the trail.  It was settled in a perfect corner between large trees, and just a few steps down the path away from it a bridge led over a small waterfall.  What a pleasant place to live it must have been. The dried flowers of the wild hydrangeas still look as though they're blooming, and the mountain laurel is everywhere.  In the spring this path must be overwhelmed by their pink and white blooms.

An early morning walk is a blessing for the whole day.

 - Henry David Thoreau

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These are also the sort of woods which provide fairy-house trees in abundance. Hollowed out trunks with tiny violets sprouting at the base, and little ribbon streams leading to puddle-sized lakes.  And, oh, the mushrooms!  Ruffled white tree ears and tiny toadstools that look as though they've been lifted straight from the illustrations of Beatrix Potter, and dainty umbrellas nestled in the soldier moss.

Fairy places, fairy things,/Fairy woods where the wild bee wings,
Tiny woods below whose boughs/Shady fairies weave a house...

 - Robert Lewis Stevenson, A Child's Garden of Verses

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But then, then we clambered through a creek, rounded a corner, passed a tall ledge of sharp layers of slate and bedrock, and arrived at a waterfall of glorious proportions.  No words can do justice to this glassy torrent.  It was magnificent. 
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November 2021 - A Morning Walk

11/29/2021

 
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The landscape sleeps in mist from morn till noon;

- John Clare, A Shepherd's Calendar: November

The morning mist is frosty.  The dried seed heads of the iron weed are encased in a feathery shroud of white, and they glitter in the early morning light. The air is cold and bright, and all the world seems awake and gleeful and scattered with twinkling dust. I'm in somewhat unfamiliar woods, I've walked them before but I don't know them like my woods at home, so there's an air of discovery around every turn: a little bridge to span a marshy patch of trail, a bramble of wild roses covered in hips, a little grove of cattails.  They all come as a surprise, little gifts of wonder on this most stunning of frosty mornings.



Listen…
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees
And fall.

- Adelaide Crapsey, November Night

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A mocking bird is trying to balance herself on a swaying wild hydrangea, the beautiful dried flower head is tossing even in this gentle breeze, yet she is holding her seat gracefully.  Her long grey tail flicks this way and that as the branch moves, the only sign that she is having to exert any energy at all to keep her delicate perch.

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The frost flowers have bloomed in abundance this morning. The delicate tendrils and ribbons that cling to the dead stalks are utterly marvelous, and every one unique. I wonder what it would be like to watch them form, to see that thinnest, most delicate layer of frost twist and curl out from the stalk and create these magical little clusters of ribbon-like ice.

November has always seemed to me the Norway of the year.

-Emily Dickinson
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I love how the frost makes everything sparkle, yet at the same time hides things, just a bit, from clear sight.  It softens the edges of the dried grasses, and accentuates the broad veins of the fallen leaves, and harmonizes in such a bright yet gentle way all the colors of the landscape.  But there are some colors it cannot soften, for here, lurking patiently beneath a twining profusion of grey-green, frost-embroidered leaves, is a spark of red.  A brilliant, red, still-blooming honeysuckle, it seems a reminder that summer has only just fallen asleep.  This ice-encased flower must be one of the most beautiful discoveries at this misty morning thoughtful spot.
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October 2021 - By a Pond

10/31/2021

 
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Autumn is a second Spring, when every leaf is a flower.

- Albert Camus

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I am sitting on a bench overlooking a small duck pond, which is currently divested of its few waddling inhabitants, as it is late afternoon and they know by habit that if they wander over to a certain house in the neighborhood about this time they are ensured a hearty dinner.  This sun in bright and mellow, "the maturing sun," Keats called it, and that seems to describe it perfectly today, it is not exuberant, but constant.   Above me is a canopy of brilliant orange, made even more intense by the sunlight, and just across the street is a row a  gold.


As long as autumn lasts, I shall not have hands, canvas, and colors
enough to paint the beautiful things I see.

- Vincent van Gogh
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Four young ginkgo (Ginkgo biloba) trees, resplendent in drooping branches of brilliant yellow leaves stand there, to walk beneath them is to enter a great hall of golden arches, with a golden carpet underfoot.  I've always loved ginkgo trees.  I love their tenacity and longevity even in harsh environs, their legendary benefits for the mind and memory are fascinating, and their graceful, almost willow-like branches, which earned them the common name "maidenhair tree," are stunning.    But I think my favorite thing about them is the curious fact that these leaves must not be harvested while green and thriving, as one might expect, but now, in all their golden glory, just as they fall from the tree. 


Lo! I am come to autumn / When all the leaves are gold...

- G. K. Chesterton, Gold Leaves
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Along the tops of all the yellow trees,
The golden-yellow trees, the sunshine lies;

- George MacDonald, Autumn's Gold

I cannot resist gathering up a great armful of these brilliant leaves and tossing them into the air to watch them tumble down.  This cheerful little thoughtful spot is chilly but bright on this glorious, final shout of color day.  What a perfect ending to autumn. 

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September 2021 - Thoughtful Spots are Everywhere

9/30/2021

 
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Since I first began to visit it a year ago in midsummer, my Thoughtful Spot has been a haven, a refuge of permanence and rhythm, a place without chaos, and filled with the marvelous.  But even as the seasons have changed in my thoughtful spot, so the seasons of life change. 

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"What day is it today?"
asked Pooh.

"It's today!"
squealed Piglet

"My favorite day."
said Pooh

 - A. A. Milne
Another year is upon us and it is time to seek out new challenges, and mine is to find Thoughtful Spots everywhere. I have recently moved from my quite rural nook to the outskirts of a busy downtown, and, though sorely missing my pathless woods and lonely pastures, I am discovering that quiet thoughtful spots, little corners of beauty and wonder, can be found wherever you may be.

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Always be on the look out for the presence of wonder.
 - E. B. White

So join me on this new adventure of searching for a little hermitage, surrounded by the beauty of nature, to study and observe and marvel at, every month.  Whether it be an old log in the hundred acre wood, a mossy rock beside a waterfall,  or a path to the grocery store through maples that are just beginning to turn, these thoughtful spots must be sought after and discovered, wondered at and then shared, as they teach us to never take for granted the glorious minutia of daily life, and the overwhelming beauty with which God has filled the world around us.

It's a dangerous business, going out your door.  You step onto the road and, if you don't keep your feet, there's no telling where you might be swept off to.

 - J. R. R. Tolkein

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August 2021 - New England Summer

8/31/2021

 
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Many complaints have been made against the hot and muggy southern summers, but I have always loved them. There's a calm and stillness in the humid air that is not as unpleasant as it's made out to be, and provides a lovely contrast to three other seasons who's scents and breezes are filled with eagerness and expectancy and energy. So I really do love a southern summer, I love the tall iron weed and the garden's abundance and the few, brief months in which there are leaves on the black walnut trees.  But this summer I experienced what I have not seen for many years, a New England summer, and it was spectacular.

Great is the sun, and wide he goes /Through empty heaven with repose; 
And in the blue and glowing days /More thick than rain he showers his rays. 

 - Robert Lewis Stevenson, The Summer Sun

A few quiet corners of New England beach and bike path became my Thoughtful Spot this August. The colors struck me the most,  just the endless, shimmering shades of blue would  be enough to instill wonder, but then there is the neon pink of the beach plum flowers and the dusky red of their fruit against deep, green leaves and many-hued pebbles and fallow sand and suddenly this seaside world is a vibrant, exuberant tumult of of perfectly clashing colors.
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My grandmother and I went shelling at my New England Thoughtful Spot. This odd promontory of land that wraps around a little harbor has provided us with many treasures in years past, and today it turned up the rarest find yet, a tiny shard of tumbled blue beach glass.  The tide nearly trapped us on a cluster of rocks between the beach and the path - isn't it marvelous to watch the tide come in?  It seems as though you can see each wave inching just the slightest bit closer, ever so slowly, but if you stop watching for only a moment, the beach is suddenly, all at once, several feet narrower that it was before, as though the waves are playfully teasing you, and creeping up while you aren't looking.

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In small proportions we just beauties see;
And in short measures life may perfect be.

 - Ben Johnson, The Noble Nature
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There's a wonderful feeling of smallness that only the ocean can inspire. I stood at the top of the seawall, staring first down at a gentle surf collapsing against stones and dissolving into clouds of raindrops below me, then out to the indiscernible  horizon  It is impossible not to think that every worry or trouble is somehow less significant, for if I, in all my vastness and power respond in an instant to His word, the ocean seems to say, how can your cares be too great?
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July 2021 - A Thoughtful Spot of Yesteryear

7/24/2021

 
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It was summer, and the days were perfectly warm and breezy, the sort of days that seem to demand and deserve to be spent wholly out of doors.  On the rare occasion when it seemed necessary to be inside for a while,  the sunshine peered in through every window, as if searching for company and wondering why everyone wasn't out enjoying its exuberance.  It was a summer of  discoveries, adventures, and great wonders, of meandering down wooded trails, and stumbling upon breathtaking mountainscapes with little wooden benches perfectly situated to view them.  This was the summer of  2019, two months of which I spent in a tiny town nestled in the Swiss Alps where a rather lovely thoughtful spot can be found.

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This thoughtful spot was introduced to me by a friend when a few of us set off for a walk on an early summer evening.  We turned by a fountain down in the town and started up a road, quite a steep road and as narrow as a sidewalk. We lumbered up this hill, admiring the views of the town gradually sinking below us to the right, and little chalets built against the supporting mountainside to the left, and then we reached the top, to be met by a barrier of trees and scruffy underbrush, which did not seem a terribly exciting vista at all.  But then we rounded a corner.

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Settled on the edge of a grassy field, surrounded by foreign pink and yellow wildflowers interspersed with familiar lacy yarrow and tiny self-heal blossoms, just off a little footpath shaded by a still-blooming elder, was a bench.  It was one of those perfectly shaped wooden benches, the kind you can sit on comfortably for a long while, and you could smell wild mint every once in a while when you sat there, though I never could discover where it grew.  In front of this bench, just two steps away, was a very steep slope down to the little town again, and straight out in front of it was a truly majestic view.   That evening we wandered further around the tree line to see a tiny sliver of Lake Geneva, far below and away from us, and stayed to watch it turn to a bright red crescent in the sunset.  But that first walk was far from the last time I visited this thoughtful spot.  For it was a wondrously beautiful place to pray, to read of great ideals, to write letters to the people I love best, to think, and to marvel.  It also became the site of a rather painful injury when I discovered a old metal tram rail hidden in the grass by tripping and cutting my knee on it.  The yarrow and self-heal were my faithful friends then, and helped turn an ugly gash into a now fading scar. 

I often wonder who is sitting at that thoughtful spot now, though I have no doubt that it is beloved by someone and its peaceful solitude is enjoyed by many.  It's easy, though now two years later, to let my thoughts drift to a sweater discarded in the sun's warmth, cheery wildflowers, resplendent purple and blue mountains, and a little wooden bench from which to enjoy it all.  A great many memories can be summed up in a photograph, and so it always makes me smile to see that, though still in Switzerland where I sincerely hope it is the favorite spot of many other thinkers, my beloved thoughtful spot of yesteryear also resides, quite happily, at the top of this page.

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Midsummer 2021

6/30/2021

 
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The sky is dark and soft, and the air is filled with the scent of a brewing storm.  But the grey of the cloudy sky has its magic, for, in the absence of the blinding summer sunlight, I can look straight upward at the sky. Dozens of songbirds and their fledglings are scattered in a crowded, busy silhouette against the grey.  I don't know if there are always so many at the edge of the woods when I walk here, but they are remarkable today.

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Green is the grass and the leaves of trees,
Green is the smell of a country breeze.
Green is a coolness you get in the shade
Of the tall old woods
Where the moss is made.
Green is an olive, and a pickle.
The sound of green is a water trickle.
Green is the world after the rain,
Bright and bathed and beautiful again.


 - Mary O'Neill, What is Green?
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Here at my thoughtful spot the dark sky is hidden by the engulfing, dancing shades of green and growing things.  Not a flower bloom is to be seen - the jewelweed is late this year - everything is all rich, deep, multi-hued green.  Even the oddly handsome little fellow who has decided to sit next to my mossy rock blends almost invisibly into the green around us.  He looks like some sort of Katydid, but I can't seem to identify him concretely. 

The earth has donned her mantle of brightest green;
all things are glad and flourishing.

 - Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist
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There are candy-pink mimosa blooms, and the red and yellow honeysuckle, and the lacy cream blossoms of the elder tree just around the corner, over the hill, and beyond the little bend in the creek.  But in this little hollow of moss and tumbling water that I have come to love so well, there seems to be no need for such ornaments, lovely though they be.  It is perfect today in its unique, subdued sort of monochrome.  How different it looks from midsummer a year ago, when iridescent dancing damselflies and sparkling orange jewelweed blooms met me for the first time at this thoughtful spot.  How pleasant it has been to return to it often, and to glimpse the ever changing yet ever present beauty of this little place.  How quickly this year in my Thoughtful Spot has passed by.

And so... with the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow fast in movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

The air has cooled in an instant, a rumble of thunder is overhead.  Old childhood words dance through my thoughts, as they always do in this particular sort of weather.  Wind's in the east, mist's blowing in/Like something is brewing, about to begin...
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The First Rose of Summer

5/15/2021

 
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Over a thousand years ago, in the forests of Germany, a wandering king stumbled across a rose bush.  He believed this rose symbolized hope and health and built a cathedral around it, a city soon sprang up around the cathedral and the wildflower grew, undeterred by the passing centuries, until the cathedral was bombed during World War II.  The ancient rose, too, was thought to have been destroyed, but the next spring saw it valiantly blooming once again among the ruins.  This Hildesheim Rose still flowers every spring and is believed to be the oldest living rose bush in the world, yet throughout its history it has been celebrated for more than just its legendary age, for it, like most roses, also possesses many medicinal benefits.  As spring is upon us and wild roses are bursting into bloom in our own back yards, the perfect time has arrived to learn about the medicinal uses for this fragrant herb, and to preserve its healthful properties to be enjoyed throughout the year.

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Roses have always held a prized place in the herbalist’s materia medica.  Rose petals have strong anti-inflammatory, analgesic, and astringent properties and are very high in antioxidants and vitamin C.  They are a valuable first aid herb and can be used topically to soothe and ease inflammation caused poison ivy or similar skin irritations, and the petals have been used for centuries to aid in wound healing, as they relieve pain, prevent infection, and reduce inflammation.  An infusion of the petals has been shown to relieve headaches, help lower a fever, and support the immune system, and, of course, the marvelous scent of roses has also gained this herb lasting fame. The essential oil has long been valued for its ability to lift the spirits, and both historical herbalism and recent studies agree that the fragrance of roses can aid in relieving anxiety and stress.

Wild roses, a general phrase for a multitude of unique species, grow throughout most of the United States.  Commonly found varieties that are excellent for medicinal use include Rosa mulitflora, Rosa palustris, and Rosa carolina, all of which are thorny shrubs that produce strongly scented, five petaled flowers in the spring, and bright red hips in the late autumn. Many cultivated roses also contain medicinal benefits, particularly older varieties with a strong fragrance, however, roses that do not have a scent or have been sprayed with pesticides should be avoided.

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Once you have selected a rose bush, the petals can be harvested by holding the flower over a basket and gently tapping the base of the flower head so that the petals fall.  With this method, just the petals are removed, leaving the rose hips on the plant to ripen and be harvested in the autumn.  It is best to gather rose petals just after the dew has dried but before mid-day to capture the maximum essential oil content.  The harvested petals can be spread out on a rack to allow any insects that might have been hiding in the flowers to make their way out. 

There are many ways to preserve medicinal herbs, and one of the simplest methods of preserving rose petals is to simply air dry them on a mesh rack, or in a low dehydrator. They can then be stored in a glass jar with a tightly fitting lid and used for blending teas or making infused oils and vinegars.  However, my personal favorite way to preserve fresh rose petals is to steep them in honey.  Honey preservation has a long and fascinating history, and as honey is recognized as one of the few foods that has an indefinite shelf life, it is the perfect method to both preserve and enhance the medicinal properties of fresh, low-moisture herbs. It is always best to use raw honey, preferably from a local source, when making herbal preparations. 

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To make rose petal infused honey, fill a jar with the freshly harvested rose petals and  cover them with raw honey.  Stir gently to remove any air pockets, cover the jar and allow the honey to steep for at least several days before using.  The rose petals will break down slightly and the honey will become infused with their flavor.  The resulting herbal preparation has a very long shelf life, and can be used in a variety of ways. Rose honey can be stirred into tea or spread on toast to support the immune system and as a daily dose of vitamin C; the combination of roses and raw local honey has also been shown to be a very effective remedy for seasonal allergy symptoms, especially when taken preventatively; and, as both honey and rose petals possess legendary beautifying qualities, rose-infused honey can be used as a moisturizing face mask, either on its own or combined with white or red clay.  

These beautiful flowers have delighted gardeners, poets, and herbalists alike for centuries, and the healthful benefits of this herb can be easily infused into daily life.  So next time you pass a rambling bramble bush, stop, and smell the roses, and then gather their petals and enjoy the beautiful medicinal properties of this wildflower.  

Rose Petal Honey
  • Fresh rose petals (enough to fill a jar)
  • Raw honey
Gather fresh rose petals just after the dew has dried but before mid-day to capture the maximum healing benefits.  Fill the jar with rose petals, cover the petals with honey, and stir to remove air bubbles.  Allow the honey to infuse for at least several days before using.
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    Do You Have a
    Thoughtful Spot?

    Many current trends in natural health focus on ecotherapy and shinrin-yoku, or forest bathing, reiterating with scientific studies and medical terminology something that Winnie the Pooh taught us many years ago:  we all need
    a "Thotful Spot". 
    We need a little corner surrounded by nature where we can sit and be still, ponder and pray, and observe closely the beauty around us. 

    These posts are musings and meanderings from my Thoughtful Spots, recorded once every month, and interspersed with occasional ramblings about my favorite medicinal herbs. 

    I hope you'll join me in finding a Thoughtful Spot, visit it often, record the things that make you marvel, and remember,

    "the world will never  starve for want of wonders..."
     - G.K. Chesterton

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