Wednesday Weed from Obergurgl – Heath Spotted Orchid

Bugwoman on Location – Old Friends

Dear Readers, today we set off on one of our favourite walks. We headed downhill into the valley to the right of the photo, known as the Rotmoos. At the far end there is a gradually retreating glacier, and this leaves a large area of terminal moraine, rocky strata where only the toughest of plants and animals can survive. But at the entrance to the Rotmoos is a much kinder area, with bogs and a more varied flora.

As we headed down, we met up with our first old friends- Long-eared sheep. They graze up here and across all the mountain valleys until the end of September, when they are driven back home. ‘Home’ normally includes Italy, but for the first time in decades the Italians are unable to pasture their sheep here because there has been an outbreak of foot-and-mouth. I’m sure many of us remember how devastating this terrible disease was when it hit the UK, and my heart goes out to the Italian farmers who are coping with it. May it be quickly brought under control, for the sake of humans and animals.

Long-eared sheep

So, here we are at the entrance to the valley. I have never seen so many of what my biology used to call ‘yellow compositae’ – in other words, dandelions and hawkbits, nippleworts and Leopards-bane, Ragwort and Groundsel. But I am keeping an eye out for another old friend.

Marmot

A holiday in Obergurgl is not complete without a marmot sighting, and, as we walked down, one galloped right across our path. But it wasn’t until we were eating our hotel-provided lunchpack that we got a proper look. For my North American animals, this is a rodent about the size and build of a groundhog. This one was looking particularly sleek and happy, and didn’t even bother to whistle when he saw us, which is most unusual – normally the slopes ring with the irritated cries of marmots.A marmot giving a proper warning whistle will stand on his back legs and then bow down as he does so, as if worshiping the mountain peaks opposite. The marmots’ main predator is the eagle, so they watch the skies with all the intensity of a meerkat on an anthill. But they also need to get on with eating before the winter comes and so some of them become indifferent to humans. It is illegal to shoot animals in the Oetz National Park, which is where Obergurgl is located, but every hotel has a fine collection of stuffed animals and mounted deer skulls to show that this wasn’t always the case.

Onwards! And here are yet more old friends.

Haflinger horses

I consider these Haflinger horses to be some of the most beautiful in the world. As they stood on the opposite shore of the glacial river that tumbles through the valley, their manes and tails stirring in the breeze, they looked like creatures of legend, made of bronze and gold. They are ‘owned’ by the family Scheiber, who own pretty much everything in the Oetz valley, from the cement works to the biggest hotel to the car hire company, but for most of their lives these horses roam free, brought in only for the winter.

As we head up the valley towards the glacier, the plant life begins to change.

Spiniest Thistle (Cirsium spinosissimum)

I love that this plant is called the Spiniest Thistle, and wonder if there is also a Spinier and Spiny species to complete the set . The Spiniest Thistle certainly lives up to its name – every surface is covered in sharp protuberances. It is an unprepossessing plant, with its yellowish-white flower, and its attendant swarm of tiny flies, but it does point to an interesting fact. In the higher altitudes of the Alps, nearly all the plants are pollinated by flies, rather than by bees and butterflies.

Lots of plants grow in cushions once we start to get into the moraine itself – the big danger here is desiccation, and being close together helps to preserve water. This Moss Campion was actually much pinker than it appears in the photo here – many of the flowers are intense in colour, almost as if reacting to the UV rays.

Moss Campion (Silene acualis)

And here is a real find. Remember Ivy-leaved Toadflax from the Wednesday Weed? Here is the Alpine version. In shades of violet and orange, it’s a delight, hiding amongst all the grey rocks. The flower is exactly the same shape as that of its urban cousin.

Reluctantly, we head for home. It’s important to pace yourself when you’re middle-aged and out of shape, and the walk back to the hotel has some horrible downhills on service roads before we can get our Almdudler (a herbal brew that we’ve become rather fond of over the years).

The way home.

But there is one last small treasure. Just coming into flower at the edge of the bog are some Spring Gentians. They are the bluest things I have ever seen, so blue that they almost hurt to look at. No photo will ever do them justice.

Spring Gentian (Gentiana verna)

Bugwoman on Location – The Meadows of Obergurgl

The Grey Cows of the Tyrol

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Dear Readers, I was awoken this morning by the sound of cow bells. I looked out of the window to see this small herd of Tyrolean Grey Cattle being driven out to pasture. During the night, they live in this barn, right in the middle of the village.

Then, every morning they return to the pastures that at this time of year are full of wild geranium and birdsfoot trefoil, buttercups and daisies. They are a most handsome breed, and an endangered one: there are only 4000 Tyrolean Grey Cattle left, which is unfortunate as they are hardy and self-sufficient creatures, and can thrive during the short season and extreme conditions of the Alps. Furthermore, they have been around for over a thousand years, grazing these very pastures.

They are phlegmatic beasts, and if they are sitting in the middle of a path chewing the cud you will most certainly have to tiptoe around them, as there is no way that they are getting up. Indeed, why should they? They are too busy making milk and putting on weight, for these cattle are used both for the dairy products that they provide, and for their meat.

The calves come in a variety of colours, from darkest charcoal to cream, but all have a rather attractive ginger topknot.

I can’t help but think that the life that these cattle lead is as close to ideal as it can be for a domestic animal – the freedom to wander, the company of others, a warm place to sleep and a fine herbal pasture to graze. I only wish that the other creatures that we eat could enjoy the same conditions, rather than the hell of a factory farm or a feedlot. If we choose to kill in order to eat, it seems to me that the least that we owe those who feed us is a decent life, even if it costs us more financially. After all, the cost to the animal is everything that they have.

Bugwoman on Location – Obergurgl, Austria

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Dear Readers, I wonder if you would like to come on holiday with me? Today I am off to Obergurgl in the Austrian Tyrol, a place I’ve been visiting since the 1990’s. It’s the highest parish in Austria, at 6,330 feet above sea level, and every year we spend a day or two feeling slightly breathless and light-headed as we acclimatise. Half a dozen valleys spread out from here, and the flora and fauna are spectacular.

It’s so high up the weather can be very unpredictable – it started to snow shortly after I took the photo of the marmots. On the other hand, you can be sunburned very quickly with the high UV light. You never know what you’re going to get, so you need to pack for everything from blizzards to heatwaves. And the three real essentials are some good books, some knitting and the travel scrabble, because this is not a place with a lively night-scene. For that, you can head down to the strip clubs of Solden if you don’t mind walking eleven miles 🙂

The locals are mostly friendly…

Though it can get a bit crowded.

But mostly, it is the place that I love most in the world (next to London and East Finchley, of course).

Sadly, the village feels to me as if it is gradually closing down as a summer destination. In winter, it’s a popular ski resort and this is the time when the family-run hotels make most of their money. As the proprietor of our favourite hotel told us, during ski-season people will drink a couple of bottles of wine per table at dinnertime, but in the summer it’s a glass of beer and an early night. The hotel that we usually stay at is closed this year, and so is the biggest hotel, the Edelweiss. After all, who would want to work all year round if they could make enough money in six months? So, this year could be our last visit to this enchanted place. I would love to share it with you over the next few weeks, so that you can see why it means so much to me. I will try to make the Wednesday Weed a plant that it’s possible to see in the UK (even if not in East Finchley) but I also want to show you what makes this place so unique.

Of course, if there are technical difficulties when I get to Austria you might have to wait for the photos when I get back :-). I’ve been promised WiFi at the hotel, but who can say what will actually be available? This is the mountains, after all.

Normal East Finchley service will be resumed with the Wednesday Weed on Wednesday July 22nd.

Wednesday Weed – Redshank

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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…..

Redshank (Persicaria maculosa)

Dear Readers, this is a plant that most people would automatically think of as a ‘weed’. I found it growing at the base of a tree on my road in north London, and recognised it by the black blotches in the middle of the leaves (‘maculosa’ means ‘spotted’), and by the little hairs on the ochrea. I love learning new botanical words, and so I am glad to share with you that the ochrea is the tube that surrounds the stem where the new leaves emerge.

Note the black ‘thumb-marks’ in the middle of each leaf, and the slightly hairy ochreae (my favourite new word!)

Some of the stems are red, hence the common name for the plant. This is a native perennial and a member of the same family as Japanese Knotweed (the Polygonaceae). It is rarely found far from human activity, and seems to flourish on our footpaths, by the sides of canals, and on cultivated land. It is said to hate lime, and to prefer acid peaty soils, but the one growing on the London clay that I saw seemed to be doing well regardless of what my plant book says.

So, what uses have been made of this inoffensive little plant? It is said to be good for treating rheumatism and, although not native to the US, the Iroquois tribe soon discovered its properties and used concoctions of Redshank for joint pain. They also rubbed the plant on their horses because it was believed to keep flies at bay. The Cherokee used it to treat pain and some urinary complaints, and, closer to home, it has also been used as a source of a yellow dye. In Ukrainian medicine, the plant is used for haemorrhoids and uterine bleeding, and also for colitis. It seems to me to punch above its weight in terms of benefits to humankind. So why, I wondered, does the plant have the alternative name of Useless? I found the answer on the ever-informative Plant Lives website. Here is what the author, Sue Eland, has to say:

‘In Christian lore one of the popular legends tells how Christ’s blood fell on the leaves of the plant as it grew at the foot of the Cross and this caused the dark triangular marks on the leaves. Another accounts for this marking by a very sad little story in which it was described how the Virgin Mary habitually prepared a special ointment from redshank and could not find any of the plant when she needed it. Later she came across some when her need was no longer urgent and in her annoyance not only relegated redshank to the status of a weed but also left an impression of her finger on the leaf. It was said that from then on the plant was the only one for which there was no use.’

I do wonder if this story was also the source of another alternative name for Redshank, which is Lady’s Thumb.

Redshank is said to be edible, but bland. However, it is a rich source of vitamins and minerals, as most wild plants are. There are apparently reports that eating it can cause photosensitivity (i.e. a tendency to burn in even moderate sunlight), and as it contains oxalic acid, like all the rest of its family, I would beware if you have a tendency to kidney stones. I personally won’t be picking any Redshank from my road, where the bottoms of the trees are regularly sprayed with weedkiller and visited by dogs, but in case you fancy a recipe, here is one from the rather wonderful Eatweeds website: Redshank and aubergine spring rolls. Bon Appetit!

A Summer Walk in Coldfall Wood

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Dear Readers, it has been a difficult couple of weeks. A fortnight ago, my Dad was rushed into hospital with a suspected heart attack and chest infection, which turned into blood poisoning. For a few days he was delirious and didn’t even know who my Mum was, after 58 years of marriage. It is so hard to watch the people that you love suffer, and to feel so helpless, and my heart went out to my Mum, who is not well herself. But praise be for antibiotics, because after ten days in hospital my Dad was well enough to come home, and is now gradually getting back to his usual wry, patient self.

And so it was a rather wrung-out, raw Bugwoman who took herself off to Coldfall Wood to see what had been going on in her absence. And after about fifteen minutes, I started to notice the extraordinary mix of flora that is coming into bloom along by the stream. First of all, there was this plant.

Himalayan Honeysuckle (Leycesteri formosa)

Himalayan Honeysuckle (Leycesteria formosa)

This is Himalayan Honeysuckle which, as the name suggests, is native to the Himalayas and south west China. I’ve noticed it a few times, not just in Coldfall but in Highgate Wood as well. It is also known as Flowering Nutmeg, and is considered invasive in Australia. Here, it doesn’t seem to be a particular problem, though it does grow to about 8 feet tall, and has bamboo-like stems that could, at a pinch, be mistaken for old friend Japanese Knotweed. Further along by the stream, the whole plant had collapsed, and I wondered if it had been unmercifully attacked. In fact, my plant books tell me that when the plant reaches a certain height, it faints away like a Victorian Lady who has glimpsed some naked male pectorals, and then regrows from the roots.

Raspberry (Rubus idaeus)

Right opposite the Himalayan Honeysuckle there was an unexpected snack, in the form of a little stand of Raspberries. It’s easy to forget that these plants are natives, and indeed the only time that I ever contracted a tick was when I was standing up to my armpits in a patch of wild yellow raspberries in Scotland. I assume that the plants here have been transported from the gardens on the road above by the stream. At any rate, I have to say that the one in the middle of the photo was absolutely delicious, and that there is something about sun-warmed fruit that does wonders for the spirit.

Onwards!

It surprises me how quiet it can be in the wood during the day, when most people are at work, the dog walkers have largely been and gone, and the children are all in school. The only bird song came from the Song Thrush, which is sad, because it means that he hasn’t been successful in finding a mate this year – Song Thrushes stop singing when they are paired up, unlike most birds who will continue to defend their territory with sound.

A Capsid Bug

There were lots of insects about: a tiny capsid bug stayed long enough to get a photograph before flying away. Capsid bugs are ‘true’ bugs, insects that use tubular mouthparts to bore into a plant and suck its sap. Aphids are the best known ‘real’ bugs, but most go about their business unremarked, doing little damage and living out their life cycles without us even knowing what they are. If I looked hard enough, I would be willing to bet that there are insect species here that are unknown to science, as there are in most suburban gardens. For a great insight into the sheer biodiversity that is all around us, I recommend ‘Wildlife of a Garden – A Thirty Year Study’ by Jennifer Owen.

Woody Nightshade (Solanum dulcamara)

Entangled with the other plants was that distinctive scrambler, Woody Nightshade, or Bittersweet. Later in the year, it will have bright-red berries that are extremely poisonous, but also very bitter – the author of the Poison Garden website, John Robertson, has bravely tasted a couple, just so that we don’t have to . One look at the flowers will tell a gardener that this is a member of the same family that gives us tomatoes, potatoes and peppers, the Solanaceae. This family also provides us with Deadly Nightshade, but that is a small price to pay for chips and pasta al arrabiata.

Now, what would you think if you saw the plant below?

Garden Escape, or Native Plant?

There are several bushes with bright yellow flowers and rather attractive blushing berries along by the stream. I took one look, and thought ‘these have escaped from nearby gardens’. And indeed, maybe they have, but the story is a little more complicated than this.

Tutsan, or Sweet Amber (Hypericum androsaenum)

Tutsan is actually a native plant, a member of the St John’s Wort family. Its name is said to come from toute saine meaning ‘all-healthy’, and it is mentioned in Culpeper’s 1653 Herbal as being useful for gout and sciatica, and for healing burns. So, while these individual plants might have escaped, this is a plant with a long and venerable wild history. Which just goes to show how much there is to learn every time I step outside, and how things are never exactly as they seem.

I turn for home.

But what’s this?

Hedge Woundwort (Stachys sylvatica)

What a delicate and yet upright little plant this is, another favourite of herbalists, particularly John Gerard, the seventeenth-century plant healer. This is a common plant but I had never noticed it before, so I was delighted to add another species to my list of Deadnettles. A large bumblebee was obviously enjoying it as I arrived, and it reminded me that plants don’t have to have large, showy flowers to be full of nectar.

I was nearly out of the wood when it gave me another gift.

Black and Yellow Longhorn Beetle (Rutpela maculata)

When this insect first landed, I thought that it was an ichneumon wasp or somesuch, but in fact it is a very handsome beetle. The larvae spend up to three years maturing in rotting wood, and then emerge, fresh-minted like this one. The beetle visits the flowers of cow parsley and Queen Anne’s lace (and helps to pollinate these plants in the process), finds a mate and the cycle begins all over again. And indeed, I managed to get just this single shot before the beetle lurched into the air again and headed off on his reproductive quest.

So, I headed back home, renewed by more than just my filched raspberry. There is something about walking in familiar places and deepening our knowledge of them that reminds me of the process of building a friendship, or even a marriage. We see the loved one in all moods and all weathers. Sometimes, as today, the whole wood feels open and generous. Other days, the wood seems closed and morose, and I need to be patient until I see what it is she needs me to see. I have never had such a relationship with a place before, and yet it feels as true as many human partnerships that I’ve had, and truer than some. I would recommend the slow burn of getting to know somewhere profoundly, over years or decades, especially in our fast-paced, easily-distracted, superficial society. We should all have a place that has become part of our heart.

Wednesday Weed – Opium Poppy

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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…..

Opium poppy (Papaver somniferum)

Dear Readers, the streets of East Finchley are currently populated by a most exotic invader, and not a recent one either. Opium Poppy has been grown in the UK since at least the Bronze Age, and is widely naturalised in our towns and villages.The ‘wild’ plant has a lilac flower, as in the photo above, but garden varietals include blooms in red, pink and white, and even double-flowered varieties. However, Opium Poppy It is easily recognised by its greyish, waxy (glaucous) foliage, its heavy-headed buds and its distinctive seed capsule, which is a wonder in itself.

The Opium poppy is the root source of all the opiate drugs, including morphine, heroin, and codeine. It is the most effective painkiller for extreme pain that we have, and also one of the most addictive. Its very name means ‘sleep-giving poppy’. The drug is harvested both by making slits in the seed-case and extracting the latex, and via ‘poppy straw’, which is the dried plant minus the seeds. Very little of the active ingredient is produced in the UK climate, but I did once have a boyfriend who optimistically grew a patch of the plants, lovingly harvested the sap, smoked it and then threw up for two days, so let that be a lesson to us all. Please note that it is also ambiguously illegal to grow it in the USA (for an interesting story about Michael Pollan’s 1997 experience with Papaver somniferum click here ), and totally illegal in Canada, Austria, Switzerland, Germany and the UAE.

What a complicated history this plant has! The ancient Sumerian and Minoan peoples both knew of the medicinal and psychoactive properties of the plant. Much later, during the period 1830-1860, Britain flooded China with Indian-grown opium during the Opium Wars. This happened because Britain had a hunger for Chinese silks, porcelain and tea, but the Chinese were largely self-sufficient and needed no British goods. The balance of payments deficit alarmed the British, and so they started to export the drug into China. As the number of addicts grew, the Chinese Government started to impound the opium without compensation to the British. This quickly escalated into war, by the end of which the Chinese markets had been ratcheted open, there were an estimated 12 million opium addicts in China, and the British had much improved their trade deficit.

Cultivation of the plant worldwide is complicated by the fact that it can be grown either for the illegal narcotics trade, or for the legal pharmaceutical trade. Indeed, a recent initiative by the International Council for Security and Development, called ‘Poppy for Medicine’ has suggested that poppies could be grown by Afghan villagers for medicinal purposes. Afghanistan is historically reliant on the income from opium generated by drug-trafficking, and also, ironically, has a shortage of opiate medicines for its own population. If controlled properly, the growth and harvest of poppies could help to alleviate both these problems, as it has done in areas of India and Turkey where the same strategy has been implemented.

Opium poppies also have less contentious uses. They produce the poppy-seeds for rolls and loaves, and for some truly delicious Eastern European confections, such as this Polish poppyseed cake. However, beware: a television programme called Mythbusters illustrated that someone could fail a drugs test after only two poppyseed bagels, even though the seeds have no narcotic effect. Certainly something to watch if you are a sportsperson.

Makowiec (Polish Poppy Seed cake) (By Silar (Own work) [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)

As you might expect, a plant as powerful as the Opium Poppy has a wealth of folklore, and the wonderful Poison Garden website is a treasure-trove of facts. Here, I shall just pick a couple of my favourites:

Vampires are compelled to count poppyseeds if they come across them, so if you are ever pursued by such a creature just scatter a handful of seeds about to ensure you can make your getaway.
The phrase ‘hip’ (as in ‘cool’) is not so ‘hip’ anymore, but it came from the phrase ‘being on the hip’, i.e. lying on one’s side smoking opium in an opium den.
Hiding poppyseeds in a bride’s shoe will make her infertile
Scattering poppyseeds around the bed on St Andrew’s night would ensure a dream of one’s future husband
Eating a cake made with poppyseeds on New Year’s Eve would provide abundance for the year to come.

It interests me that the sedative effects of morphine on humans are not shared with other members of the animal kingdom. Cats in particular can become more excited rather than less when treated with the drug, and it is used with caution by vets with other creatures too. For people, though, the drug seems to fit our chemistry like a key to a lock, and this is what causes the dependency that can be such a terrible curse. Few plants that I’ve written about have such a capacity to help us, or to destroy us, according to the wisdom with which we use it. It is an unexpectedly powerful plant to find growing on a suburban street in North London.

A Knotty Problem

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Japanese Knotweed (Fallopia japonica)

Dear Readers, a few weeks ago I was alerted to the presence of Japanese Knotweed growing beside the playing fields which border Coldfall Wood. A worried person had reported the plant to Haringey Council, because he was concerned that it would spread into the wood itself. It was reported that children were using its stems as swords, and that ‘Japanese’ ladies were taking cuttings. Naturally, I had to see this botanical phenomenon for myself.

Once I’d found it, I could not believe that I’d missed it. There are two stands of the plant, one bordering the cemetery, the other close to some houses on the other side of the playing fields. Each stand is about three metres tall, but what amazes me is how dense it is – the bamboo-like stems erupt within centimetres of one another, forming something that resembles a panda’s breakfast. Nothing can grow where Japanese Knotweed grows, I’m sure.

How can you identify Japanese Knotweed? Its leaves are described as ‘shield-shaped with a flat base’.

The stem is hollow, and flecked purple-red. Older stems become very clearly striped, which perhaps accounts for its name in Chinese Medicine (Huzhang – Tiger Stick).

It flowers in late summer, and has tiny spikes of white flowers. These are the female flowers – male flowers are unknown in the UK. This does not stop the plant from spreading, however, as we shall see.

Japanese Knotweed in flower (By MdE (de) (own photo) [CC BY-SA 3.0 de (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/de/deed.en)], via Wikimedia Commons)

The most distinctive feature of Japanese Knotweed, however, is its rhizome, which is a kind of root which sends out new stems and stalks. If you dig some up, it looks a little like ginger, but the inside is orange, and it is said to snap like a carrot. It is this rhizome which enables the plant to form thickets, and which means that it is so tenacious – it can regenerate from any tiny piece which is left behind.

Someone having fun with a Japanese Knotweed rhizome (Klarerwiki [CC BY-SA 2.0 de (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/de/deed.en)], via Wikimedia Commons)

As I stood and looked up at the Japanese Knotweed ‘forest’ that was growing, I could easily see how it could block waterways, out-compete all other plants and be a nightmare to get rid of. The rhizomes can also occasionally cause structural damage, which led to a period of hysteria by mortgage companies who refused to lend to home-owners with the plant in their garden, or in a neighbouring garden. This prompted the following response in a 2012 report by the Royal Institute of Chartered Surveyors, who described Japanese Knotweed as ‘being treatable and rarely causing severe damage to the property”:

“There is a real lack of information and understanding of what Japanese knotweed is and the actual damage it can cause. Without actual advice and guidance, surveyors have been unsure of how to assess the risk of Japanese knotweed, which can result in inconsistent reporting of the plant in mortgage valuations. RICS hopes that this advice will provide the industry with the tools it needs to measure the risk effectively, and provide banks with the information they require to identify who and how much to lend to at a time when it is essential to keep the housing market moving.”

—Philip Santo, RICS Residential Professional Group ( 05 Jul 2013 (2013-07-05). “RICS targets the root of Japanese Knotweed risk to property”. Rics.org.)

As a result of this, many lenders relaxed their criteria, and are now mainly concerned with the plant if it is growing within 7 metres of the property. If so, it will ask for a guarantee of elimination. Many companies are now offering ‘Knotweed Solutions’ and a warranty to vouch for the extermination of the plant.Property Care Association chief executive Steve Hodgson, whose trade body has set up a task force to deal with the issue, said:

“Japanese knotweed is not ‘house cancer’ and could be dealt with in the same way qualified contractors dealt with faulty wiring or damp.”

By the way, I suspect that trying to get rid of a well-established plot of Japanese Knotweed by yourself would be back-breaking and probably ineffective, plus the remains of the plant are classified as ‘Controlled Waste’, which requires disposal at registered Landfill sites.

The normal way to get rid of Japanese Knotweed involves a massive dose of herbicide, followed by lots and lots and lots of digging and sieving. However, there are alternatives. In Haida Gwaii, islands to the extreme north-west of Canada with a rare and beautiful flora, they have been experimenting with the application of sea-water to the plant, which is said to be showing promising results. Here in the UK, a Japanese aphid (Aphalora itadori) which preys specifically on Japanese Knotweed was released back in 2010. It seems to be establishing itself well, and although I am nervous about ‘fighting fire with fire’ in this way, so far there seem to have been no detrimental side-effects.

Japanese Knotweed is not new to the UK – it was first introduced in 1825 as a garden plant, and was first recorded in the wild in 1886. As I turn to my trusty Flora Britannica by Richard Mabey, I discover that it was a great favourite with Victorian gardeners, although they tended to plant it in their plantations and by their streams as it was too vigorous for any smaller space. Alas, it was a plant with ambition, and by 1900 was growing wild in London. By the 1960’s it was everywhere, from Lands End to the northern tip of the Isle of Lewis. In Cornwall it is known as ‘Hancock’s Curse’ because it was originally planted in the garden of a Mr Hancock. Everywhere it is discovered it seems to generate a frisson of alarm, much as if John Wyndham’s Triffids had turned up. And yet, like all plants, Japanese Knotweed is not an unalloyed monster, just a plant that has found itself in a habitat that is to its liking, and which is taking advantage of the fact.

One way of keeping it under better control might be to do what the Japanese ladies who selected some ‘cuttings’ were probably doing, and that is to eat it. The plant is in the same family as sorrel and rhubarb, and the young shoots can be used to make pies or jam (though it is recommended that the shoots are under a foot tall when picked, so you’ll need to be quick!) In Dyfed in Wales, the leaves are used like spinach, and in Swansea the children suck the sap from the stems, and call the plant ‘Sally Rhubarb’. There is a fine selection of recipes for Knotweed here but if you are foraging, do take care not to spread the plant in anyway, and to make sure that any waste parts of the plant are disposed of properly (i.e not thrown into your compost bin 🙂 )

It should not be forgotten that Japanese Knotweed is also a valuable plant for pollinators, and is useful for beekeepers because it flowers late into the year, when many other plants have past their prime. The honey is said to taste like a mild form of Buckwheat honey, which is not surprising as Buckwheat is another member of the family that includes the Japanese Knotweed.

In Chinese traditional medicine. the plant is used for treating some heart conditions, as a laxative (let’s not forget that it is a cousin to rhubarb), and as a tonic. Some research has shown that it may be useful in treating Alzheimer’s disease, and it is a useful source of vitamins A and D. Like rhubarb, it also contains a lot of oxalic acid, which can aggravate rheumatism and kidney stones, so it should be used with discretion.

So Japanese Knotweed, like any plant, is not a thug without any redeeming features. In its original habitat, I suspect that it was a graceful, useful plant, and maybe it could be here, too.Few organisms are entirely heroes or villains, and it is often our lack of knowledge that makes us consider them so. There is no substitute for a little research, and for taking a deep breath before demonising anything, plant or animal.

Wednesday Weed – Scented Mayweed

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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…..

Scented Mayweed (Matricaria chamomilla)

Dear Readers, there are a large number of white daisy-like plants in flower at the moment, but the combination of a faint pineapple-scent and a ‘squashy’ receptacle (the round yellow bit) tells me that this is Scented Mayweed. It is one of a large family of plants which have the word ‘chamomile’ included in either their common or Latin names – ‘Chamomile’ comes from the Greek for ‘Earth-Apple’, which seems to be a reference to its fruity scent. Scented Mayweed is also known as German Chamomile, and is an annual plant of bright, open places, often with disturbed soil. ‘True’ or Roman Chamomile (Chamaemelum nobile) has a stronger scent, and is a rare perennial plant of damp turf and sandy, mildly acid soils. There has been a lot of confusion about these plants, but both have been used for their extensive medicinal and cosmetic applications. I was pleased to see Scented Mayweed in the Unadopted Road in East Finchley last week for another reason – its open flowers are very popular with pollinators such as hoverflies.

Scented Mayweed is described as an ‘Ancient Introduction’, which means that it arrived before 1500 (in this case from the warmer parts of mainland Europe and northern Asia). It has a venerable history: garlands of this flower were found in the tomb of Tutankhamun, and it is included in the herbal traditions of no less than 26 countries. It has been used for many things: as a tea for relaxation, as an insecticide, as an anti-inflammatory and for digestive disorders. No wonder it arrived in the UK – it sounds as if it would have been an indispensable part of any healer’s medicine kit. It does contain a small amount of a poisonous chemical called coumarin, which could cause nausea and vomiting, and on the Plant Lives website it warns that this is what will happen if the flowers are boiled for ‘more than seven minutes’. It can also be an allergen for those susceptible to hay fever, which is one reason why my husband doesn’t drink chamomile tea – he finds it sets him to sneezing.

Scented Mayweed produces a yellow dye, which is used in many cosmetic products for blonde hair. It is also a perfumery ingredient: the oil which contains the distinctive pineappley smell is dark blue, and is called Azulene. I am indebted to the Fragrantica website for this information, which also contains the interesting fact that Chamomile is a keynote in Dior’s Fahrenheit for Men.

In the book by Beatrix Potter,Peter Rabbit’s mother gave him a cup of chamomile tea to help him after his ordeal on Farmer MacGregor’s farm, and what a wise thing this was. When I’m feeling anxious, I find that chamomile tea helps me too. What I had never done was make the link with Scented Mayweed. Plants have such a lot to teach us, if we have ears to hear, and curiosity, and that most wonderful resource, the Internet.

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