Beloved Medicine

Yesterday was a hard day. It was a heavy day made of granite formed of all things troublesome. Or so it felt. Mental and emotional energies where in overload as I processed a sadness born the night before. I puttered as I considered so many considerations. I plugged in occasional distractions hoping they'd offer some relief to the tenseness in my chest, maybe unwind the twist in my gut, and offer some comfort to the tenderness of my being. I journaled in word and in art (of course I did). Shoulder rolls and intentional breath work peppered the day. As did tears. An after-dinner gumdrop coaxed me to relax into the evening, and eventually to sleep.

Today's a new beginning and a fresh start. That's what we tell ourselves, right? Yes, indeedy-do. And yet, what's that belly-tug, and those disquieting whispers?

I'm hoping that it's inspiration, be it gestating, forming, or fully formed. That would be swell. Today is a Friday, and for me it is a day for love. Venerdi, dies Veneris, the day of Venus, of Aphrodite. Friday, the day of Freya. The day of The Cure. Love, damnit. And inspiration.

I have a sense that all that sadness and potential grief that I ingested, digested, absorbed, and assimilated since Wednesday is preparing for phase one of elimination today. I hope so. Phase one, because some details of life can be hard to digest in the first swallow. Heck, I've had troubles that have taken me months, years even, to breakdown into meaningful bits that I can sort into the Work bins or Now, Later, and NeverThankYouVeryMuch... and then, move on, at least for today. This current collection of troublesome particles, varied in size, shape, roughness and smoothness, feel like a collection of those longer-term troubles that linger. And linger. They linger because they need the kind of attention that requires re-ingestion, re-digestion and re-absorption, re-assimilation, as well as be subjected to additional rounds of re-elimination. Not to mention potential repeats.

That's where I am. So I'll start my day with collecting all those troublesome bits, placing them in a box made of heart and mind to put on the shelf with other such boxes, to go through on another day (most likely several). Today is for love, and I'll be doing my best to make room for all things love, loving, and lovely, as I do every Friday. Maybe, just maybe, I'll peek into that box in the bright light of day to see if any tender glimmers catch on any of those bits. That could be nice. That could be a sweet and loving inspiration, and a spark that might ignite the magick and Medicine I need today. Tomorrow. And so on.

With that, may whatever troubles you hold be faced with bold candidness, big love, and a well-tuned digestive system that keeps the sustenance you need, and that releases the shit.

And may your never lose your sense of humor, for it is beloved Medicine.

🕊

once upon a time

It’s the first Monday in January and I’m still waiting for winter. Well, winter’s here, yet I’m waiting for winter snow. We’ve had flurries and dustings and minor accumulations. Nothing lasting. Since the solstice, we’ve had some bitter cold. We’ve had some biting winds. What we’re missing is that blanket of snow that covers and protects life as I know it. Well… life as I knew it. Once upon a time.

Today will be cold again, with the winds taking a break before picking up again tomorrow. And there’s no snow in the 10-day forecast.

I sit here in the pre-dawn darkness, sending prayer, journaling, cursing our collective fossil fuel addiction, and so many conventions that starve and deplete Gaia, and all her kin. And, lest it be missed, that includes us two-leggeds. I sit here in the pre-dawn darkness recalling a 30 year old memory of the first time I saw robins in February, and my expression at that time, “this can’t be good.” We’ve had winter robins ever since. It wasn’t always like that. Once upon a time.

Today, not for the first time, I’ll be sending protective prayers to the garlic, shallots, and all the perennials, and the winter seeds. I’ll offer my intentions and actions to my beloved Gaia, and all her kin, for passive protection, sure, and also that we may revolt against the behaviors and actions that starve and deplete her, and all her kin.

I invite you to consider your behaviors and actions. I invite you to consider those that nourish and sustain life, and those that deplete and starve life. Those that add value, and those that add waste. I invite you to consider how you might shift your conduct so that it may be more restorative, less wasteful, more harmonic, less compliant to the ill willed, indoctrinated conventions of these times in which we live.

For decades, I’ve been shifting my ways. It feels so lonely. And here in the dark of early morning, my ancestors whisper (especially my rooted kin) that it wasn’t always like this. It wasn’t always lonely. And it doesn’t have to be. 

May this invitation inspire you into action… today, and every day, one gesture at a time, one choice at a time, small magick and large, alone and with as much community as you can inspire, in reciprocity with and for Gaia, and all her kin. For the collective future of all life. May this invitation inspire a new and renewed once upon a time.

🕊️

too few

 

the world is ablaze
my beloved gaia mourns 
too few seem to care

Justice. 🕊

The Work, Pleasure, and Play

There's Moonshine watercolor shadow work in progress. It seems to be activating some of the murky sludge that's apparently in deep retreat at the bottom of my current cauldron. It's feeling very turbid, and... ominous even. So I'm taking and making time with all the facets of this fascinating and - dare I say - daunting exercise.

On the lighter side of creative expression is a focus on Pleasure (after all, it is the lusty month of May). So I'm amusing (and, quite frankly, distracting) myself with inks, paints, pencils, pens, etc., with zero expectations of outcomes, in a way that is pure play. And I dig it.

This is a season that reminds me that "workdesk" takes on meaning that includes the shelves of seedlings 'n' plants still down in the basement under the grow-lights, and the plants in the greenhouse, and the plants hardening of on the table outside the greenhouse... workdesks, one and all. 

I sporadically join the weekly creative fun of What's On Your Workdesk? Wednesday, and this is one of those days. Join the fun, or simply visit the creations of this week's sharings at WOYWW. 

Peace. 🕊

Unblocked

 

Today I woke early. Most folx who know me would likely say I wake early every day. And I do. So, when I say, “Today I woke early,” I’m talkin’ two-ish, ante meridiem. This has been happening intermittently over the past week or so. This is unusual for me. So when it happened again this morning I honored the early morning darkness that was clearly begging for my attention. My attention started with consideration of my relationship with coming off this recent full, eclipse, Libra moon now in Scorpio as it leans into its waning. It seems my still waters are flowing deep, and I’m swimming in them.

I leveraged the dark, quiet time to engage my heart breath*… to feel my heart fill to overflow with love, to fan the flames under that love, to feel the grounding verve coming up from the earth’s core to meet my heart, to feel the cosmic verve from the core of the universe reaching down through me to that heartful space within, that I may stir it all in that pulsing cauldron until it overflows like fluid steam entering my body, by being, spilling over into my intimate world, out to the community, and expanding outward with every exhale to fill the earth and all the kin, the atmosphere, extending deep into the mystery of the universe… the one voice, cycling back and forth and heart-blending with every breath.

I emerged from this daily rite to put the kettle on, prepare the beans for the coffee pot, and snuggle with my spouse until the water boiled. He poured the water, set the timer, as I started my morning ritual of doodle-journaling, which continues throughout the day. My written journal asked for attention as well, which was nothing more than to note a mantra that surfaced five days ago: Look back. See forward. So that’s what I did. I looked back through the pages of this word journal - an ol’ school composition book - and saw that I (re)started the practice last May Day. As I paged through, I took notice of so many serendipities, and felt a fresh waves of inspiration bubbling up from those still, deep (and dare I say, muddy) waters of mine. Of ours.

These inspirations wash over me now, offering an odd and lovely cleansing and clearing of a kind not felt in decades, refreshing me and my passage forward. A passage made aware to me in January; a passage blocked, and blocked no more. I sit with this and recall a February musing, “When I first started blogging back in 2004, the writing was for me, myself and I. I may need to reclaim some of that.” And yeah, I’m feeling that shit. And it feels like Good Shit. Good shit unearthed from the blessed egregore that is my Moonshine coven.

Peace. 🕊

*I was re-introduced to the heart breath years ago while learning with Nicki Scully, and now adapt it to my needs in the moment. 

Fullness

 

It has been a full week. Full, as in overflowing. Full, as in so much of the Work culminating with mystery, validation, and clarity. I see the peaks and valleys of the Work I’ve been doing for decades, the more recent Work that I’m doing with the support of my Moonshine coven, and I see the Work that lies before me… and the portal I prepare to step through to work the Work.

The coming days will be focused on alert 'n' conscious chewing and digesting of all The Things that have culminated over (and under and around) these past several days. Absorbing and assimilating will follow, for sure. And elimination too, eventually.

The digestion metaphor is really working for me right now. While journaling this morning I cracked myself up when the term “Portal Potty” manifested. Crude, perhaps. Funny, for sure. And, in this moment in time, fully fitting.

Yesterday, during a superlative reading - a reading that stands up ‘n’ out among decades of readings that I’ve received - I expressed out loud how grateful I am for my sense of humor. It holds me, comforts me, carries me, and it accompanies me to the deep, dark spaces that offer the hard Medicine, the shadow Medicine, the Medicine that heals like no other.

So, today I’m feeling full. I have Work to do, and preparation for passage through the portal that awaits me. But today, I relax with the fullness, the focus, the chewing, the humor, and deep gratitude for the privilege to have such opportunity.

Peace. 🕊

Siamo Uno

Today, March 13, marks a long time of loving anniversary.

I first laid eyes on my spouse in 1976, during college orientation. It wasn’t a romantic moment, as I may well be the least romantic person you’ll ever encounter, so romance has never really been a thing for me. It was a moment, though. I saw this mop-headed guy sitting at a table looking as if he was trying to fold himself into himself. Know what I mean? I probably thought something like, “What a sad sack.” And maybe I added something like, “Cute, though.” Well, maybe not.

1977 came along and we moved in together. Ten years after that, on Friday, March 13, we were married in our living room by some justice of the peace (what an obtuse title), the ceremony witnessed by two beloved friends. I was dressed in black. There’s backstory to all that, and maybe I’ll revisit it at some point in written form, but today is about honoring our own personal storm of love. And, sweet gods, I do love storms.

Today I smile as I consider the number 47. It adds to 11, and that adds to 2. And that feels about right. Balance, harmony, a union of two ones. Siamo uno.

I can’t imagine sharing these 47 years with anyone else. We were chatting about this long time over our early morning coffee. He said he’s glad I still love him. And I do. He said he’s glad we’re still friends. And we are. He said he’s glad I’m happy. I responded, “Who says I'm happy?” And we laughed. We’re blessed to have a lot of laughter in our life together. Siamo uno.

So, yeah, today we observe our 47 years together. I’ll celebrate by pulling together our tax kit, and other stuff. He’ll celebrate by working on the chick brooder he’s making, and other stuff. The forecast is looking unseasonably pleasant, so we’ll likely make time ‘n’ space to sit on the deck, as we so often do, and raise a bottle of ale to us, as we often do. Just another day. Another day shared. Siamo uno.

Peace. 🕊

The Mighty Pause Button

I sit in the early hours of the day with that single page note in my mind and in my heart, knowing I'll reread the physical thing at some point, but in the meantime, I need to trust my memory, my feels, my intuitive knowing. As I sit with the memory and consider the words that were written, as I recall them, I settle on just a few, with one word - admittedly - difficult to decipher, but I’m confident of my decoding. I'm hit with a realization that those words were offered not as a request for communication as was implied, but rather, as the saying goes, with ill will.

Of this I feel a mighty certainty. Why? Because I already knew it.

When I place space between myself and others I do it either with their blessing, or I do it silently. When I do it silently, and others read their own trappings into that silence, the space, that has nothing to do with me. Know what I mean? When they choose to take their own trappings and turn them against the silence, the space, that's not my plight. It's theirs. They're conjuring their own... silence, their own space, their own stuff, not mine.

And I see how personal they’ve taken my silence, the space I chose to create when my mom passed. And it’s space. It’s malleable. I mean, I communicate with others within this space. But I digress. It’s a talent.

To not take things personal is a challenge, for sure. Yet it is a worthy cause, and one that can offer mighty Medicine. My mom and I had some lively discussions on this topic, as she pretty much took most everything personal. It seems a deeply rooted familial quirk. I still struggle with it. After all. I grew up in a very take-things-personal environment. Yet do my best, thanks to decades of the Work, to press my pause button when I feel those familiar jolts. I pause so I may digest, discern, possibly evolve ‘n’ heal, and - in the interpersonal realm - avoid reacting. From here I may respond from a place of solicitude, or stand mute. 

For now, this is where I rest, where I sit, where the Work will do what it does... what we do together.

Peace. 🕊

Foul Language & Good Medicine

Yesterday was a good day - for me - until it wasn’t. In the grand scheme of this world we share, doing the personal, healing Work that I do sometimes feels petty to me. Yet that Work is mighty Medicine, and it does support me in what I might deem the more important work of justice in which I participate. Anyhoo…

So, there I was, moon void of course, embracing High Priestess verve, feeling some deep internal harmony that I’d not felt in a long while. And it felt so rich and nourishing. I had taken action that morning on something that felt good, and right, and ripe. I was feeling poised, comforted by my choices and actions. It was - for me - a sweet day. And then the mail arrived.

An envelope with the point of origin obvious seemed to glare at me, challenging the good Medicine of the day that had blessed me. I might have set it aside, as I’ve done with similar correspondence in the past, to open and examine some other day, but some internal impulse tore one side of the envelope and pulled out the contents. There was a second sealed envelope that I set aside, and I unfolded the single sheet of paper and read the words. My palms began to sweat, a heavy, coiled lump of a feeling settled between my solar plexus and my heart. As I type these words in this moment those visceral responses return as I wonder if the tormentor, the tormentor I just wrote of the day before, has an ally?

I engaged my grounding heart breath between each read, as I steadied myself to understand the short message, and not make assumptions. Yet each read knocked me off my center. I felt pissed, I felt frustrated, I felt a familiar intrusion… and then I felt wonder.

Wonder and curiosity are things I understand, and hold great honor for, as they have guided me well through so many aspects of my life, and the Work. Yet the curiosity perceived in the words I read and re-read are born - I am confident - of the shared fabrications of the tormentor. Serendipity. Fucking serendipity. I thought, “this fucking Work, it’s fucking magick, and it’s fucking Medicine. Will fucking wonders never fucking cease?”

I continued to engage my heart breath, and settled in that place of wonder… wondering how it is that there are folx in the world that have so little interest, meaning and value in their own lives that they’re compelled to poke around in the lives of others. How it is that there are folx that are unable to tend to their own business, their own lives? How it is that there are folx so empty that they reach into the personal matters of others to fill their void? And do so with nebulosity.

From that place of wonder I settled into the sadness of it. Theirs, and mine.

Today I wonder if I’ll respond to that correspondence… tomorrow, next week, next month, ever?

So, now, on this gift of a leap year day, I sit with it… and await the Work that will guide me on this healing journey. And wouldn’t ya know… it arrives in my email with March’s Moonshine guidance. Serendipity. Fucking serendipity. Fucking magick. Fucking Medicine. And I feel the gratitude. The fucking gratitude.

Peace. 🕊

mia madre... random musings for her day of birth...

My mother would have been 105 years old today. I think of her every day, like today. She was tough as fuck, with a heart more loyal and tender than I ever knew during her life. We shared a rough relationship. We shared a hard love with roots sunk deep into infinity. I used to say, “she’s so hard to love.” And at times, sweet goddess help me, she was. Now I say, “I’m so hard to love.” And, at times, I am. Assuredly so. There were some 4o years between us. This June will mark 11 years since her passing into the Big Mystery. I never (a word I rarely use) imagined that I would miss her as much as I do.

She could drive me to utter distraction. She knew my buttons and would press them relentlessly. And it didn’t bring out the best in me. And where I might have once blamed her for this, I now own it. But that’s another story for another day. I used to quip that we were like fine olive oil ‘n’ good wine vinegar: Hard to blend, but when we did, we were delicious.

She would likely have benefited from therapy ‘n’ medication. And the Work. As we aged together, we did some of the Work together… and it softened some of the edges, and enabled us to emulsify the best in both of us. And I’m so grateful for that.

I understand, now, that most - if not all - of her mental ‘n’ emotional peculiarities were born of her past, her herstory, the familial trauma born of the “meanness” that my uncle Chuck, her beloved baby brother, mentioned in ol’ school, typed correspondence to her. I recognize, too, that she had a singular tormentor throughout her adult life. A tormentor I knew, and still do - from a distance. A tormentor I recognized some 45 years ago when I placed distance between us. As much distance as I was able. It was a purely intuitive choice at that time, a decision born without conscious awareness. Conscious awareness I now claim. And I’m so grateful for that. And that’s yet another story for yet another day.

My mother, little Rita, as I called her in her later years, was a loyal keeper of a sacred contract. A covenant taken with her into that Big Mystery. And I love her more now for knowing that. Her tormentor is now my tormentor. Or so it seems. This tormentor is not a loyal keeper of anything sacred.

My mother could be so challenging to me that I would often say, “All I can do is love her.” And I did. I still do. And sadly, I now echo those words toward the tormentor; hers and mine. I don’t need to like the tormentor. I don’t need to forgive the tormentor. I don’t need to be around the tormentor. And I will not enable the tormentor. All I can do… is love her. From where I am. Reluctantly so.

My mother had an easy life. And a hard life. That’s often life. I’m grateful, in this moment, that she came to be mia madre, a loyal keeper of a sacred contract. A sacred contract that is my story. Was my story. Will be my story again. A sacred contract embezzled by the tormentor. A sacred story shattered to bits by the tormentor. A sacred agreement that I, with the support of the spirit of little Rita, will reclaim, repair, and make whole and holy once again.

Buon compleanno, mia madre. Ti voglio bene.

---

When I first started blogging back in 2004, the writing was for me, myself and I. I may need to reclaim some of that.

Peace. 🕊

Hibernation Continues

February arrives, and I find myself in the days of Imbolc, the Indo-European name for this sacred liminal space between winter solstice and vernal equinox. These days invite me to recall that winter's worst may still lie ahead, externally - sure, and also internally. I often refer to February as the longest month of the year... because, for me, the pattern is that it is. 

This year I embrace this liminal space - this time between times - by reviewing the list of My Wants, and I see things I have absolutely no recall of writing, and take delight in them, especially those that are made and making manifest in my world. I see other things that I realize do not belong to me, and I gladly cross them off the list. I see Work and work that needs to be done in the days and months ahead, and I honor the planning, plotting and doing that carries this magic. 

I draw a tarot card, as is my habit as each calendar month presents, and this morning I chuckled as I drew The Hermit, and offered hand-to-heart honor to the introspective, solitary realm in which I feel most comforted, most challenged and... most safe; a realm in which I may stay rooted for this calendar phase. And I am grateful. So in these days of Imbolc's liminal space I shall tend the roots of this verve so that my seeking may continue as I plan, plot and gently do The Things in my own way, at my own pace, for this world that I love so much. 

As I consider these ruminations, I step outside into the damp chill to offer Gaia gratitude for the abundance she graces to all life, even to the ignorant 'n' dismissive. I ask for gentleness, internal and external, as I tread through this long, long month of February, alone-n-accompanied by all life.

[ As my hibernation continues I offer mammoth gratitude for my Moonshine community. ::nods:: ]

Peace. 🕊

Allium sativum – Beloved Garlic

 

Meet Allium sativum  – Garlic 

Family: Amaryllidaceae 

This botanical family is often referred to as the Amaryllis family. It’s a bulbous plant typically with linear leaves. The flowers usually bisexual (hermaphrodite), symmetrical, arranged in umbels on the stem, and pollinated by bees and other beloved garden pollinators. The petals and sepals are undifferentiated as tepals, which may be fused at the base into a floral tube. 

 

The family, which the botanists designated in 1805, contains about 1600 species, divided into about 75 genera, 17 tribes and three subfamilies.

 

Allium is the genus of garlic, and sativum indicates the species of our hard and soft neck garlic. 

 

It’s related, as you might imagine (and I hope you do) to the onion, shallot and leek. It’s considered native to central Asia, and has a long documented history of use, over 7000 years, in the Mediterranean, Africa, Asia, and Europe. It was honored as Food and Medicine in ancient Egypt. It’s honored as a Food and Medicine my home, thank you very much.

 

As a backyard farmer, I honor Allium sativum, garlic, which is sometimes – and disrespectfully so – referred to as the stinking rose for its wild and generous nature. When my spouse ‘n’ I moved to the little patch of Mohican territory that we call home, there was garlic growing in the tiny garden. It had been “neglected” and I began tending to it… spreading out the “seed” and dividing the bulbs to replant every autumn, until modest harvests evolved to respectable harvests. The original lady of the house was named Edith, and so I call this garlic Edith’s garlic. In the last 30 years I can probably count the number of times I’ve purchased garlic for kitchen use on one hand. In 2015 I purchased garlic for planting, since the season’s yield was unusually puny. Since then, I have purchased garlic for planting to try different varieties and see which ones might adapt best to our changing climate. I’m still challenged by this.

 

Aside from the garden garlic, I have Allium sativum growing free ‘n’ wild around our little acre, in this bed and that, and I am grateful. Of course, there’s the wild Allium Canadensis and the introduced Allium tuberosum growing here and there as well.

 

Harvest: Leaves, stems, scapes, flower heads, bulbs.

Harvest the scapes (and leaves), spring to summer, as they mature sprout and curl. Harvest the bulbs, in midsummer, after aerial parts are browning and dying back. Plant the bulbs in autumn.

 

Taste: Pungent.

 

Humors: Hot and dry.

 

Actions: antibacterial, anticoagulant, antifungal, Anti-thelmintic  (combats parasitical worms), antimicrobial, antispasmodic, immunologic, cholagogue (promotes the discharge of bile), diaphoretic, hypotensive, and more.

 

Constituents: Alkaloids, amino acids, phytoestrogens, sulfur compounds, Volatile oil, and more.

 

Contraindications: Allergies, hot-n-dry constitutions, used in moderation it is considered universally safe. 

Uses: 

 

Garlic has a longstanding history as food and Medicine around the world and has been used for treating an array of ailments, and is often considered to be most valuable for its medicinal qualities when used fresh (unheated) and/or dried. I leverage the virtues of garlic fresh, dried and cooked, and honor the potential of Medicine and flavor that’s extracted in any preparation.

 

This is one of those botanicals that I use almost daily in one form or another as food and Medicine – raw, cooked, fresh and dried, infused in vinegar, honey, water.

Garlic is revered for supporting cardiovascular health. Susun Weed says “a four-year study found women who ingested 900 mg (1/4 teaspoonful) of garlic powder daily had 18 percent less arterial plaque than those taking a placebo.” She also suggests that eating a half a garlic clove a day will – noticeably – lower high blood pressure. It is also credited for preventing blood clots, reducing platelet clumping and clotting (thus reducing the chances of stroke). It’s been used to lower blood pressure, blood cholesterol, and is a botanical that supports the cardiovascular system in a holistic way. Susun Weed refers to garlic as “a great friend to old hearts.” Rosalee de la Foret suggests that regular use of garlic “can optimize cholesterol levels and improve cardiovascular function.”

 

So, one can see from this why garlic is beloved around the globe. Right? I know I 💕 garlic! ::nods:: 

 

It’s considered to be a highly effective anti-microbial plant, acting on bacteria, viruses, fungi, and alimentary parasites, to the point where it’s referred to as antibiotic, a term that bothers me for reasons I both understand and don’t. Having said that, I’ve used it to stave off infection, dosing fresh plant matter tincture throughout the day at first sign of heat/flame/fever. 

Guido Masé describes garlic as, “Directly antiviral, ameliorates influenza symptoms, and its pungent compounds have been found to reduce cytokine storm. 3-4 cloves daily is ideal, as close to freshly cut as possible (chop first).”

That said, garlic is a great fiery herb for colds (and other infections) which is why it’s a core ingredient in so many Fire Cider formulas. I make an infused honey syrup with garlic, which is nice to have around during cold season. I’ve tinctured it though rarely use it in that form. And I love it in Fire Cider, or any infused vinegar.

It’s also touted as a cancer preventative, and blood sugar stabilizer.

 

Topically, garlic has been traditionally used as an infused oil for earache, often with other herbs, as well as for fungal infections like athletes’ foot.

 

And so much more.

Dance with Allium sativum  – Garlic

 

There are countless ways to dance with garlic, as it is – for me – a foundational botanical that beautifully coalesces the contemporary and conventional definitions of food and Medicine. 

 

Garlic Honey

Fill a jar with fresh garlic cloves, peels on or off, sliced, chopped, minced – whatever inspires you in the moment. Cover with honey and let sit for a few days (or many months) before using. I let mine macerate in the honey for 6-8 weeks then (often) strain the honey into a bottle, and use the garlic solids in/as Food.

Take a spoonful at first sign of symptom, or any time. 

I love it in salad, veg, and meat dressings to add that sweet, savory medicinal deliciousness. 

I’ve kept strained garlic honey – at room temp – for more than two-years (before it was used up) and unstrained for about a year (for the same reason). I have no clue how long this delicious tonic stays viable. Honey is indefinitely stable, but with the addition of fresh organic matter, I imagine its shelf life may have a limit, even if it be a ferment start. But it’s so good that you’ll use it up before this even becomes a concern. 

 

Garlic Oil

I make only as much as I’ll use in a month or two. I usually keep it in cold storage to protect and extend its viability. Here’s some ideas to get you making your own…

 

Mince fresh garlic cloves, place in a pot, cover with olive oil, heat over low-to-moderate flame until the sound of sputtering is heard. Remove from heat and let cool. Repeat this a several times, being careful not to burn the garlic. Strain the oil into a jar, label and enjoy. Use the remaining garlic solids in or on food as inspired. Keep refrigerated to extend its “shelf life.”

Also, garlic oil may be made in a dehydrator, or at air-temp, as one might for any herbal infused oil for topical use – to harness the medicinal qualities credited to it in its fresh, unheated state. I’ve used this method for medicinal topical use.

 

Garlic Lemonade

 

Mince a few cloves of fresh garlic and place them in a 1-quart mason jar. Fill the jar with boiling water, cover and steep for 30 minutes. Strain the infusion to remove the garlic solids (and feed them to your dog, or chickens, or self!). To the strained liquid add the juice of one whole lemon.  Sweeten to taste with honey. Sip warm, as often as needed or desired. – adapted from Aviva Romm

 

 

Leah Penniman’s Soup Joumou

 

1 lb Kabocha squash or Caribbean pumpkin, peeled and chopped

½ pound roasted, shredded chicken or beef (optional)

8 cups water

4 cloves garlic, crushed

1 celery stalk, chopped

1 large onion, chopped

2 potatoes, chopped

½ lb. cabbage, chopped

1 turnip, diced

2 carrots, chopped

2 leeks or scallions, chopped

1 cup sweet corn, fresh or canned

1 tbsp chopped parsley

1 whole scotch bonnet pepper or other spicy pepper

¼ lb pasta (optional)

1 tbsp lime juice

2 whole cloves

1 can (12 oz) whole coconut milk

Salt, pepper, and thyme to taste

Dash of sweetener (optional)

Coat the squash/pumpkin in a bit of oil, spread out on a baking sheet, and roast in a 375 F oven until golden brown and tender (about 40 to 45 minutes). Simultaneously, in a separate pan, roast the remaining vegetables (except corn, parsley, hot pepper) in oil and a bit of salt until golden and tender.

Blend the cooked squash with coconut milk in a blender or food processor.

Mix the squash-coconut mixture with the water and bring to a low boil.

Add the roasted vegetables, as well as the corn, parsley, and hot pepper.

Add the spices, optional sweetener, and lime juice to suit your taste.

Cook for 15-20 minutes to blend the flavors.

If you are using pasta, add it when there are 10 remaining minutes of cook time. Enjoy!

Tips/Techniques: The squash and hot peppers are essential ingredients. All other ingredients can be substituted with similar vegetables that are locally available, such as kale or tomatoes for example.

 

The above is just one of countless recipes that leverages and celebrates the flavor and Medicine of garlic. 

 

Other ideas:

Garlic Dip

Garlic Infused Vinegar

Garlic Pesto

Garlic Toast

Garlic/Ginger broth 

Bottom Line: If you eat it, get some garlic in/on it.

 

 

And here’s a list for you to consider of potential ways to dance with garlic . If you’re familiar with my usual list, you’ll see it’s much shorter as I’ve removed things like tea and hard candy, as they just don’t appeal to me. Your mileage may vary. So, in your botanical dancing, should you discover something that delights you, please share your experiences and additions with us!

 

·       tincture

·       infused vinegar 

·       infused oil

·       salves/balms

·       compress 

·       poultice

·       baths, soaks, sitz baths

·       syrup

·       jelly

·       infused honey

·       capsules

·       steam

·       bath and culinary salts

·       medicinal pesto (for external application)

·       beads, pendants, talismans

·       spiritual healing - baths and healing ceremonies

·       food, food, food

·       etc.

 

resources:

Rosalee de la Forêt, Alchemy of Herbs, book and site

David Hoffman, Medical Herbalism

Guido Masé, Herbal support for Influenza

Aviva Romm, 7 Natural Cold Busters

Susun Weed, Do You Love Garlic? She Loves You!, susunweed.com/An_Article_Garlic.htm

The Benefits of Garlic for Poultry: backyardpoultrymag.com

Personal notes from multiple sources

Personal experience

Peace. 🕊