Every Wednesday, I hope to find a new ‘weed’ to investigate. My only criterion will be that I will not have deliberately planted the subject of our inquiry. Who knows what we will find…..

Dear Readers, this week we are back, yet again, in the cemetery, where there is currently an abundance of wild carrot. I had never really looked at this plant before, but what enthralls me is the way that the plant opens, with the green bracts below the flowerheads forming into what my book describes as a ‘fist’. To me, they look much more like cosy green nests.

One very distinctive feature of wild carrot is that, right in the middle, you can often see a single cherry-coloured flower as in the photo below, standing tall amongst the normal white blooms. Indeed, this has given the plant the name ‘Queen Anne’s Lace’ in North America, because the red flower is supposed to be a drop of blood from when Queen Anne pricked her finger. In the UK, Queen Anne’s Lace is a vernacular name for cow parsley. No wonder botanists like to stick to the Latin name. It’s believed that the red flower attracts insects, and indeed the flower does look as if some kind of creature is already sitting there. Wild carrot is a useful companion plant because, like so many umbellifers, it attracts predatory wasps, who will make short work of many pest species. However, be careful as the leaves can cause dermatitis amongst those with sensitive skin.

Domesticated carrots are cultivars of a subspecies of wild carrot, Daucus carota sativus. Both the leaves and root of wild carrot are said to have a ‘carroty’ smell, and I shall have to check this out next time I’m in the cemetery. The young root is said to be edible, though it quickly becomes woody. It is very important not to confuse wild carrot with either Hemlock (which has purple blotches on the stem) or Hemlock Water-dropwort (which is hairless) as both are amongst our most poisonous plants. If in doubt, don’t would be my advice. The flowers can be used as fritters, or to make a jelly, and if you scroll down here you will find a recipe for the latter. Indeed, I recommend The Carrot Museum website for all things carroty, and am only sorry that such a thing doesn’t exist in bricks and mortar. I have seldom been more delighted to find a blog and I have to say that for me it’s one of those sites that makes me grateful that there’s an internet.  For example, here is a page on people who make music out of carrots.Just as a random sample, I have selected the group Flutenveg, and can recommend listening to their sample tunes. It’s amazing what you can do with a root vegetable.

But, back to the wild carrot.

Medicinally, wild carrot was used very widely. The red flower was considered to be efficacious in the treatment of epilepsy, but a decoction made from the whole plant has been used for kidney and bladder problems, and for gout. The seeds, bruised, are said to be useful for flatulence, and are said on the Permaculture website to have ‘hints of citrus, cumin, coriander, and caraway.’ They have also been used as anti-lithics, in the treatment of kidney and bladder stones. Historically, wild carrot seeds have also been used as an abortifacient in the early stages of pregnancy (this effect was known to the Romans amongst others), and so the seeds should be avoided by those who are pregnant and want to remain that way. And herewith is the usual warning that wild plants should only be used by those who know what they are doing, and are confident with both their identification skills and their understanding of the properties of the plants that they are working with. Anything else is both disrespectful to the plant, and dangerous to the patient.

Wild carrot can be used to produce a creamy-white dye, and is also, to my astonishment, used by the perfumery industry, though it is largely the aromatic seed that is used as an ingredient. Here is a review of a perfume called ‘I Love Les Carrottes’ by the perfume house Honore des Pres:

‘I Love Les Carottes is a raw, cult, artistic and gentle cocktail of notes which promises a happy ending with a touch of euphoria on a grey, rainy day. It was inspired by carrot and echo of optimistic aromas in sunny winter morning, at time of brunch in New York or after a crazy, sleepless night full of party and euphoric tensions. Its notes introduce joy and health, since carrot is so beneficial. Initiated and inspired by creation of this fragrance, Olivia brought so much love into cooking, defrosting and recooking organic carrot from Harlem, while mixing zests of fresh carrot. She even wrote her recipe – to mix carrot seed characteristic for clear earth aromas with gentle orange aromas, Caribbean vanilla, patchouli and iris root butter. Available as 50ml EDP. I Love Les Carottes was launched in 2010.’

Well. For once in my life I am speechless. Though if someone could create an ‘Eau des Pomme de Terre’, preferably with the Pomme de Terre mashed, I would be most interested. Or even an ‘Eau de Parsnips Roasted’.

But sarcasm aside, I can see that carrot and orange might make quite a pleasant basis for a perfume. And who wouldn’t like a ‘happy ending with a touch of euphoria on a grey, rainy day?’ Sign me up, for sure.

Photo Credits

Photo One – Warren Lynn at https://www.flickr.com/photos/warrenlynn/14612829613

All other photos copyright Vivienne Palmer. Free to use and share non-commercially, but please attribute and link back to the blog, thank you!

Every Wednesday, I hope to find a new ‘weed’ to investigate. My only criterion will be that I will not have deliberately planted the subject of our inquiry. Who knows what we will find…..

Dear Readers, I have previously written about Hedge Bindweed, which is the big white-flowered vine that is currently trying to infiltrate my garden over the back fence. But today, I wanted to sing the praises of a smaller, more delicate flower. If I saw it in the garden centre, with its candy-pink and white flowers, I would be very tempted to buy it. Unfortunately, it is designated as a ‘weed’, and although not quite as enthusiastic as its large-blossomed cousin, it can certainly cover a fair area in a short period of time.

I spotted this example at Woodberry Wetland, a brilliant new nature reserve in north London that I shall be writing about soon. But it is also happily growing through the brambles in the cemetery, so within my half-mile ‘territory’. It is a native plant to the UK, but was introduced to North America, as far back as 1739. It probably arrived in the New World amidst contaminated grain seed, but it has made itself very much at home, and is considered a serious Invasive Species there. It is very difficult to eradicate as the seeds can lay dormant for up to 20 years, and are often spread far afield by birds. Plus, like so many of the Convulvulus family, it has fragile roots which break easily. As the plant can grow from the tiniest fragment, this is not a happy situation if you were hoping to be Bindweed free. I speak from experience when I say that if you turn your back for a second, the little fingers of bindweed will wrap around your plants and head skyward, turning well-behaved borders into a tangled mass.

But, truly, what exquisite flowers this plant has. The pink and white pattern has always reminded me of a striped Venetian glass goblet, and it must also have struck a chord with the Brothers Grimm, because here, in full, is a short story about this plant.

Every Wednesday, I hope to find a new ‘weed’ to investigate. My only criterion will be that I will not have deliberately planted the subject of our inquiry. Who knows what we will find…..

Dear Readers, the ‘wildflower meadow’ area in the cemetery continues to provide a healthy harvest of vigorous and unusual ‘weeds’. This plant is a member of the daisy family, and at first glance it looks like just another thistle. However, if you take a close look at the base of the flower head you will see a fine mass of little hooks.

These hooks are used by the plant when the seedhead is ripe: they cling to the fur of any passing animal, and stay there until the animal (or their owner) grooms them out, which will probably be a fair distance away from the original plant. If you’ve ever walked through a patch of the dried ‘burs’ wearing a woollen skirt (or accompanied by a golden retriever) you will know all about their sticking power. In fact a Swiss engineer, George de Mestral, got the idea for Velcro from just such a walk. So many of our ideas for new materials and gadgets come from the natural world,

The burs are also notorious for trapping small creatures, especially birds – on the Plant Lives website, Sue Eland reports how a stormy petrel was rescued from the embrace of this plant, but only after the poor creature had become trapped by his wings, body and feet. You can see how a mouse or finch might end up completely entangled.

Lesser burdock is a native plant (there is a bigger species, called predictably greater burdock (Arctium lappa) which is an ancient introduction). Although many native plants feature in ancient rituals and folklore, lesser burdock is interesting in having such a ceremony still extant. On the second Friday in August, there is a ‘Burry Man’ parade in Queensferry which has been happening since at least 1687. The ‘Burry man’ is completely covered in burs (except for the flowery hat on his head and his feet) and he goes from house to house, receiving gifts and a number of ‘drams’ as he goes. In Flora Britannica, Richard Mabey describes how the costume is made from patches of cloth, each stuck with up to 500 burs which have been gathered by local people and left to dry out. The costume more or less holds itself together, such is the sticking power of the seedheads, and it takes about two hours to cover the unfortunate Burry man. Once in the costume, it isn’t possible to get out of it, so one of the requirements is definitely a strong bladder, plus an ability to withstand the inevitable irritation of the bur ‘hooks’ piercing through the cloth and causing some measure of discomfort. The total perambulation around South Queensferry takes nine hours and, what with the heat, the whisky and the aggravation of the costume it takes a man who is determined to uphold this ancient costume to complete the course.

The origins of the Burry man probably have their roots in much  more ancient practices, and one interesting idea, again from Flora Britannica, is that the figure of the Burry man was a kind of scapegoat – in Buckie on the Moray Firth, a Burry man paraded through the streets when the fishing season was bad, to bring better luck to the fishing. It may be that the hooks of the burs reminded people of fishing hooks, so there was maybe a kind of sympathetic magic going on.

In Anatolia, the burdock is said to be protective against the evil eye, and a motif that symbolises the plant is sometimes woven into kilims (rugs). With its many flowers, it also symbolises abundance.

Like all members of the thistle family, the flowers of lesser burdock are very popular with bees (like the common carder bumblebee above). The roots and shoots are also eaten by humans: although the burdock in dandelion and burdock cordial is nowadays imported from eastern Europe as a flavour essence, it was originally taken from the roots of this plant. It was also used to make a kind of beer.If you fancy having a go at lesser burdock stirfry, there is a recipe here, but note that burdock is a biennial, and only the first year roots are considered suitable. In other words, if your plant already has flowers and burrs, you are too late.

Lesser burdock has a variety of uses in traditional medicine. It is considered to be a diuretic, a disphoretic ( a substance that causes sweating) and an excellent blood purifier. Burdock root oil is also said to be a fine scalp treatment.

All in all, I am very impressed with lesser burdock. It has been used medicinally and for food, it is a key part of one of the few ancient folk rituals that are still being performed in the UK, and it provides nectar at a time of the year when many other plants are waning. Furthermore, it was the inspiration for velcro, which does everything from fasten my parents’ shoes now that laces are too difficult, and keeps the front of my waterproof secure when there is a downpour. The burs might be a bit too ‘sticky’ for comfort sometimes, but it seems to me that this is a small price to pay for the pleasure of its company. And I am aware that the area where it grows in the cemetery is likely to be completely ‘exfoliated’ shortly, and all the perennials and biennials will be destroyed, so I am making the most of this most eccentric of ‘weeds’, because it will soon be gone. Though I do wonder how many dog walkers will be transporting its children to the most distant parts of the cemetery and beyond. I shall look with interest to see where else this plant might ‘crop up’.

Photo Credits

Photo One : By Oliver Benton – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=37795655

Photo Two : By Chiswick Chap – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=46631044

All other photos copyright Vivienne Palmer. Free to use and share non-commercially, but please attribute and link back to the blog, thank you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Every Wednesday, I hope to find a new ‘weed’ to investigate. My only criterion will be that I will not have deliberately planted the subject of our inquiry. Who knows what we will find…..

Dear Readers, you may often see this sweet pea lookalike scrambling amongst the buddleia between railway lines, or erupting from wasteland beside electricity substations. Here in East Finchley, it is often seen  in more weed-friendly front gardens, and if it cropped up in mine I would certainly leave it, pretty plant that it is. Unlike the ‘domestic’ sweet pea, this plant has no scent and is a perennial with a preference for clay soil, largely because although it likes full sun, it requires moisture, which heavier substrates provide. Although in its wild form it is sometimes considered to be a weed, there are also cultivated varieties which are marketed as ‘everlasting sweet pea’. It seems that the dividing line between ‘pest’ and ‘garden plant’ is even more blurred with this plant than with other species.

The ‘peas’ of other members of the Lathyrus genus cause a kind of poisoning called Lathyrism, which causes paralysis of the larynx, excitability, paralysis of the lower limbs and eventual death. Lathyrus sativus, or the grass pea, has been a famine food in several countries, and during the Spanish War of Independence against Napoleon resulted in the deaths of many poor people, as documented by Goya in the woodcut below. The cultivated sweet pea causes a slightly different kind of poisoning, which attacks the connective tissue. Although there is no evidence to suggest that broad-leaved everlasting pea has been implicated in any such nastiness, I’d certainly be very reluctant to ingest any parts of this plant, although I have seen the flowers described as edible.

Broad-leaved everlasting pea first appeared in cultivation in the UK by the fifteenth century, and had ‘escaped’ by 1670. I am curious as to why it was originally ‘imported’ – many early plants were brought here because of their medicinal properties, or their value as food plants or flavourings, but this plant has none of these benefits, at least as far as I’m able to ascertain. I wonder if its combination of tolerance of clay soils and nitrogen fixing abilities made it a good choice as a ‘green manure’ for improving soils? On the other hand, maybe it was brought here solely by virtue of its hardiness and attractiveness. It certainly attracted the attention of such artists as P.J.Redouté, who is  perhaps better known for his nineteenth century paintings of old-fashioned roses.

So, next time you are sitting on a crowded train heading out of London Bridge or Waterloo stations, have a look at the mass of ‘weeds’ growing at the junctions between the lines. I can more or less guarantee that somewhere there will be a neon-pink tangle of broad-leaved everlasting pea brightening up the place. It’s amazing what you can spot during a commute. It’s almost worth bringing your binoculars.

Photo Credits

Photo One – Swallowtail Garden Seeds (https://www.flickr.com/photos/swallowtailgardenseeds/14913883105)

All other photos copyright Vivienne Palmer. Free to use and share non-commercially, but please attribute and link back to the blog, thank you!

Every Wednesday, I hope to find a new ‘weed’ to investigate. My only criterion will be that I will not have deliberately planted the subject of our inquiry. Who knows what we will find…..

Dear Readers, while I was doing my walk around the County Roads last week, I spotted this strange plant growing at the base of the wall outside Kentucky Fried Chicken. I was immediately very puzzled. What on earth was it? I looked through my flower books, and decided that I needed some help to identify it. Within ten minutes of posting the photos on the Wild Flowers of Britain and Ireland Facebook page, someone had pointed out that it wasn’t a wild flower at all, but a liverwort. So, welcome to my first ever Wednesday Liverwort!

Liverworts have been around for much longer than flowering plants: fossil evidence dates back some 470 million years, and they were probably the first plants to colonise dry land. Unlike ‘normal’ plants, their tissues are not divided into roots, stems and leaves: instead there is a mass called a thallus. In star-headed liverwort, the top layer of the thallus, which is exposed to the sun,  is where the photosynthesis happens, and the lower level is used for storing the sugars that the plant needs to grow.

In the photo below, the thallus is the green leafy stuff, and this is what does the day-to-day work of the liverwort. However, I want to talk first about the strange sucker-like ‘cups’ that stud the thallus.

These ‘cup-shaped receptacles’ are called gemmae cups. These are used in asexual reproduction: each cup holds a mass of cells which, when detached from the parent plant, can form a whole new, genetically identical plant to the parent. These ‘gemmae’ are detached by rainfall (or, given their position at the foot of the wall, by dog or human urine I suspect).

But what about the ‘stars’?

Each of the ‘stars’ (called an archegonium) contains an egg cell, and is the female sexual organ of the plant. In star-headed liverwort, the individual plants are either male or female, so ‘she’ will be waiting for sperm from a male plant. In the photo below, you can see the male plants amongst the female plants – the sexual structures (or antheridia) are the flatter, more flower-like objects. The plants in this photo should be able to reproduce sexually, but, with no sign of male structures for my local plant, I fear it will be down to asexual reproduction if it wants to go forth and multiply. How handy, though, to have a back-up solution to the age-old problem of passing on your genes!

If you find yourself fascinated by the sex-life of star-headed liverwort, there is a fascinating blog by a biologist who is working with this species, and trying to discover what it is that made this species such an early coloniser of dry land. There are lots of photos, and even a film. Well worth a look.

So, liverworts have found a variety of solutions to the problem of reproduction, which may explain why they are so successful. There are few habitats that don’t have an array of these plants. Star-headed liverwort has three different subspecies, with the one that I found, sp. ruderalis, being predominantly found in man-made or disturbed habitats. It is said to be a serious ‘weed’ of pot plants, especially in nurseries,  but can also be found in the usual urban sites: cracks in the pavement, brickwork, footpaths etc.

It is a significant earlier coloniser of sites which have been burned, and in the US has been known to completely cover land after a forest fire, helping to minimise the effects of soil erosion. Furthermore, it only subsists for two to three years after the initial event, and has no effect on the subsequent growth of other plants. It seems to act as a kind of safety blanket, allowing the soil to recover and holding it together.

What a tough plant it is, and almost always unnoticed.

Why, though, are liverworts called liverworts? The thallus was thought to have the texture and shape of liver, and the Doctrine of Signatures (whereby the shape, smell or colour of a plant was thought to be a sign from God about what it could be used for) indicated that it would therefore be useful in the treatment of jaundice and other such conditions. The whole liverwort group are sometimes known as ‘hepatics’ for this reason. There is also a flowering plant called Hepatica (and rather pretty it is too) that was also used in the treatment of the liver because of its three-lobed leaves.

So, I am a new convert to the liverwort appreciation society. The average ‘weed’ goes unnoticed amongst us, but these plants are even more discreet. And yet, they were one of the first green things that ever grew on the rocks of our barren land, and they have been doing this for longer than any other plant. If I had a hat, I would definitely doff it to the star-headed liverwort. It is indeed a star.

Photo Credits

Photo One – By J.F Gaffard Jeffdelonge at fr.wikipedia (photo by Jeffdelonge) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)], via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Two – By Roymartinlindman – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=31815328

Photo Three – By Manfred Morgner (ka-em-zwei-ein) – selbst, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=205516

All other photos copyright Vivienne Palmer. Free to use and share non-commercially, but please attribute and link back to the blog, thank you!