“Just as Knotweed is all cloned from one single plant, so the big chains are all cloned from global corporations. Just as Knotweed makes it impossible for the local plant life at its roots, and thus kills off the local insects and the local birds, so the big chain shops kill off the local independent shops around them and thus destroys the local economy. Just as Knotweed will come back again several growing seasons in a row until those of us out there with mallets and rollers are exhausted, so a big supermarket, refused planning permission, will apply again and again until the Council and local people are worn down and give in.”
Something to look forward to next spring!
From culinate.com
My friend Leda and I are partners in crime. We conspire to pick noxious weeds in a public park, which, technically, is against the law. I checked. The fine in New York City is $1,000 for removing plants from a park, although writing a ticket for picking an invasive plant like Japanese knotweed should make any self-respecting park ranger blush. When I weigh the tart, zesty taste of knotweed shoots against the threat of a hefty citation, the scales tip heavily in favor of the knotweed.
In the spring, Japanese knotweed sends up thick green spears mottled with red, like asparagus on steroids with a sunburn. Exactly when it muscles its way up through the earth depends on where you live. In New York City, the knotweed picking is best in April, so harvest earlier if you live farther south, later if farther north.
Knotweed stalks at prime harvest time.
Before it starts to branch, knotweed is very tender; after branching, the stems are so tough that you have to peel them to eat them. That’s too much work for me, so I harvest early. Knotweed grows fast; within a few days, it’s gone from tender to tough, so when I see the first spears poke up, I don’t dawdle.
Some people think knotweed is bamboo, because of its tall, woody, jointed stems. It’s not closely related, but it’s just as invasive; by the end of summer, knotweed can be six to eight feet tall. The tall, dead stalks from the previous year’s growth make excellent markers for new growth in the spring, with the young shoots poking up around the old stalks.
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Since there are so many things you can make with knotweed, you’ll have no trouble using as much as you harvest. And if you clean and freeze the stems when you get home, you can cook with it at your leisure; it keeps for months in the freezer. Knotweed wine is one of my favorite home brews; it takes less time to finish fermenting than many other wines and tastes like a good sauterne with a tawny gold color. Knotweed can be substituted for rhubarb in pies, jams, and jellies; it combines well with strawberries, blueberries, and apples. And, yes, you can use knotweed as a vegetable; it’s tart and crunchy in stir-fries and lemony delicious under hollandaise. My favorite way to eat knotweed is in a creamy soup. Nothing like turning environmental activism into lunch.
These white currants are growing in my friends’ (Ruth & Oliver) compound on Cortes Island.
They are an albino sport of the red currant, with lower acidity and a chalky seed. And they look like alien magic eggs.
NY Time’ guest columnist Leon Kreitzman writing for Olivia Judson’s The Wild Side,wrote in April about bees’ ability to tell the time of day and harvest pollen accordingly
In “Philosophia Botanica” (1751), the great taxonomist Carl Linnaeus proposed that it should be possible to plant a floral clock. He noted that two species of daisy, the hawk’s-beard and the hawkbit, opened and closed at their respective times within about a half-hour each day. He suggested planting these daisies along with St. John’s Wort, marigolds, water-lilies and other species in a circle. The rhythmic opening and closing of the plants would be the effective hands of this clock.
Here’s a suggested collection of plants to use, which would open in sequence over time.
Horologium Flore, via Whispering Crane Institute
I’m staying at the sculptor Julia Barton’s beautiful house in a hamlet called Donkleywood in Northumberland National Park, surrounded by sheep fields. It’s raining out, and her garden is sparkling. Swallows are absailing in and out of the eaves.
The Duchess of Northumberland was granted permission to grow all sorts of toxic, noxious, illicit and delightful magickal plants, including cannabis, magic mushrooms and opium poppies in her garden at Alnwick Castle.
This excerpt comes from the San Francisco Chronicle, October 2005:
Open since February 2005, the Poison Garden is but the latest head twirler in the Duchess of Northumberland’s garden….
“I wanted to create a garden that was beautiful yet pleasurable, educational yet not stuffy,” the duchess said. “A place where families would want to come and spend the day.”
“The Poison Garden is a place of excitement and intrigue,” said the duchess, “especially for children. More seriously, it is a place for visitors to learn about the dangerous side of plants. Drugs are a major concern across the country and an emotive issue. Here we offer a new avenue to get people talking about the misuse of drugs — most of which grow in nature.” Cannabis, opium poppies, magic mushrooms and coca are among the garden’s plantings that required special government permission to grow.
Oddities learned along the way: Wild clematis, old man’s beard, was once part of the equipment of professional beggars, who rubbed its sap into scratches to make temporary but satisfactorily weeping ulcers. Monk’s pepper alters the hormonal balance in both sexes. Laburnum, a beautiful and popular shrub, causes convulsions, vomiting and frothing at the mouth when nibbled. Nibblers of strychnine, innocuously known as Quaker’s button, can end up with its dramatic final symptom — a posthumous fixed grin. Henbane in the right dosage will take someone to the doors of death, but not through them. “You will look convincingly dead,” said Holmes, adding reassuringly, “but should recover.”
…and she looks so nice, and wholesome!
The Duchess of Northumberland, who funded and designed the Poison Garden
The Duchess has written a companion book, “The Poison Diaries;” it’s a cross between a pastiche almanac and a moral tale:
“Giant pandas are ‘charismatic megafauna,’ a category that includes whales and other sea mammals, salmon and other inspirational fish, eagles and other flashy raptors. In each instance, the creatures help spotlight the hundreds of humbler but equally endangered species: the black-spored quillwort, the longhorn fairy shrimp.”
—”Birth and Rebirth,” USA Today, August 23, 1999
Usually thought of as poster children for environmental issues, they’re often super cuddly or super scary. Or both (like polar bears).
I’d add to this list:
Jellyfish (alien death squad)
Squirrels (mischievous urban representatives)
But people look at me funny if I start geeking out about plankton or mycelial networks (although the latter can get pretty trippy). If we could spin them right, they’d be seen for the superheroes they are.
