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. 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.

Within the clouds and raindrops of this late spring, early summer is showing it's face.  It's in the brilliant color of a tiny wild strawberry (Fragaria vesca) that is hiding beneath a clump of violets.   It's in the first red clover blooms (Trifolium pratens), which always seem to appear earlier and disappear later than I expect, their lengthy blooming season providing plenty of opportunity to harvest and dry them for a tea to support the lymphatic system. 

The new season is in the may-apples (podophyllum peltatum), with their tiny yellow fruits forming under the swaying villages of their umbrella leaves. And it's in the massive and delicate fiddlehead fern that almost blocks my view of the waterfall as I sit here, its lacy fragility dances in the slightest wind, yet it is secured so resolutely to the corner of rock on this little ledge.

A study of wildflowers could consume a lifetime I think, and a very pleasant lifetime it would be.  No two are alike, their miniature faces droop demurely in the shade or toss joyfully heavenward to bask in the sun.  Some are five simple petals, like the flowers we first drew as children, some intricate orchids with bright yellow throats.  The chickweed blooms (Stellaria media) in starry white clusters beside the pale pink petals of  spring beauty (Claytonia virginica) and the fragile but valiant bluets (Houstonia caerulea).  And the violets!  There are Common Blue violets, (Viola sororia) most denying their name with deep purple shades or pure white blooms; there are the minuscule bearded dwarf violets, so detailed they almost need to be examined with a magnifying glass to be fully appreciated; and yellow violets, their sunny color warning that, unlike their companions, they are inedible.