Author: Suzannah Kolbeck

Walking

Ceci n’est pas une weed.

So Maryland is now under a “stay-at-home” order, which doesn’t do much extra except to restrict travel in and out of the state and to make it a crime to linger, loiter, or otherwise hang outside of your house in groups larger than ten, closer than six feet. You can still go get food, and you can still walk around outside. You can be arrested and fined for breaking these rules, and you have to be quarantined when you come into Maryland (and you are urged not to leave).

KWeeks and I have been walking.

We have been walking around the neighborhood, talking about how surreal it all feels, except it’s not actually surreal it’s just a normal day except that we have this other information about this terrible virus, and KWeeks is not working on a Monday and we can have drinks in the middle of the day when it’s not the weekend.

KWeeks and I have been walking.

We have been stopping a lot to look at what’s coming up from the ground and to pick up various pieces of interesting wood. I am supposed to be writing a book about foraging, due for publication in 2021, but this feels uncertain, much like every day that we wake up, but it also feels right to look for ways to be sustained and nourished by the earth anyway right now, and did you know that most of the weeds in your yard are not only edible but are also delicious?

KWeeks and I have been walking.

We have been discussing that there’s no guidance in a “stay-at-home” order for how to deal with children of divorce, especially those with joint custody of their parents, and what’s best, safest, and most supportive for child(ren) and parents alike. Is returning a child to the other parent “necessary” travel? Is it safe? Wise?

KWeeks and I have been walking.

We have noticed that young children from families all across the neighborhood are not really observing social distancing, and then I have been noticing what a judgemental fuck I can be when I look at groups of people who are close together but I am pretty sure they are not living in the same house, which is the only acceptable time that you should be closer than six feet, but then I look at those children, laughing and happy and really only see them as the carriers of disease that they are.

KWeeks and I have been walking.

I don’t know how much longer we can exist in this state of trembling attention.

Sunday Poetry

Photo credit: me, of one of the iterations of The Quiet Show, by KWeeks, who is also featured below.

So I put a lovely poem up here last Sunday, and I thought I would continue, only this time with one of my own.

This was published in February in Put Into Words, My Love: Poetry & Prose: A Petite Pomme. This little journal (available on Amazon) is the second publication from Pomme Journal, and it is a pocket-sized compendium of poems about love. Each poem is accompanied by a simple line drawing, and the book is beautiful.

Here is my contribution.

Tracts of longing

And I am loving you in this morning’s rainy strangeness,
Filled as it is with dark clouds and sunshine,
Both.

Birdsongs at 5 a.m.
And the dawn chorus of your upstairs neighbor’s footsteps,
Too early.

Your skin cool above the covers and warm below,
Fuzzy blanket and flannel sheets
Tangled around our legs
Tangled around each other.

Soon you will rise and make
Coffee sounds.
Leaving sounds.

And this lovingness of ours will linger,
In the sweetness of our scents,
Mingled in the bed,
And the way my heart’s longing reaches yours,
Even as we part.

Men Behaving Badly, Subtitled: A Day That Ends In “y”

A sheer slope of peanut buttery excellence.

Sigh.

For your edification, shock, and awe, a few links today. Take what you need, want, or like, and leave all the rest.

Start with the execrable Ernest Hemingway who spent a quarantined summer with his wife, his mistress, a sick toddler, and a nanny.

Take a break with Pale Horse, Pale Rider, Katherine Anne Porter’s novel about the 1918 Spanish flu.

Keep going with Luy Irvine’s memoir Castaway (here’s just a sample) or E.M Forster’s short story “The Machine Stops” about a society where people live underground in individual cells and communicate only by screens. Written in 1909.

Console yourself with this one-bowl chocolate sheet cake with fluffy peanut butter frosting (pictured above). CAUTION: This cake requires more than a 9″ x 13″ pan. It overflowed my entire oven and required many minutes of frantic fanning to avoid setting off the smoke detector. The dip in the middle indicates this interrupted baking time (you cannot open the oven mid-bake without consequences), but we are none of us perfect.

But it was, in the end, slathered with frosting and FUCKING DELICIOUS. I made changes, of course. I used my gluten-free flour blend, and the frosting was one stick of butter (really soft), 1/2 cup of peanut butter, a splash of vanilla, some salt, and enough powdered sugar, added a cup at a time. Really, you could use any cake and just add the frosting. Jesus. So good.

And also, before you go, listen to this lovely little song: “I Wish You Love.” The singer might surprise you.

Anyway. Today is Friday, in a long string of what have now become meaningless name markers of days.

What was interesting, infuriating, or rather lovely about your week?

Taking The Sting Out Of Self-Quarantine: Stinging Nettle

Baby stinging nettle.

So I am definitely in self-quarantine due to possible exposure to COVID-19. It is only a slight possibility, but I feel like acting from an abundance of caution is the move here.

Side note: if you have ever wondered what the Baltimore accent sounds like, you could either come talk to my neighbor Clarence, who is Hampden born-and-raised, or you could simply say these two words out loud: corn teen. That’s what happens when you get the COVID, hon. You go inna corn teen.

As it was rainy and cold on Wednesday (the day of this missive), I asked KWeeks if he might like to meet me at Lake Roland for a no-contact social distancing hike in search of stinging nettle. We found some on our last walk there, but I was not prepared to harvest. Now, any excuse to walk around at a safe distance from all other bipeds was enticing.

Side note, part deux: There was only one empty car in the parking lot when I arrived, and although we did pass a total of four people on our way into the woods, I stepped way aside and held my breath. #SafetyFirst

If you are an herbalist or have even a passing fancy for plant medicine, you know that I should have started tincture making back in January, or last March when everything was popping out of the ground, well in advance of a time when I might actually need them. But today I am thinking of the Chinese proverb:

The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago. The second best time is now.

So consider my wildcrafted tincture product the second-best time to plant a tree.

Stinging nettle is a powerhouse of a wild plant. If you forage only one plant, let it be this one. Just be careful – wear gloves to protect yourself during harvest.

KWeeks and I walked in the damp, empty woods and talked about how awful everything is. I found massive patches of nettle, which is great because I will return to harvest more for nettle pesto the next time it rains.

Another bonus of rainy woods is the lack of danger noodles. KWeeks and I saw two on our last foray to Lake Roland, a big one and a smaller one, and I am not a fan. So cold and damp + no people + no snek = fear-free foraging.

When we parted ways, I returned home and cleaned and roughly chopped most of the stinging nettle, packing it in a pint jar before covering it with an assortment of whiskeys.

This lovely human I found on the YouTube validated my choice of lower-proof whiskey but did point out that it will take six to eight weeks to fully extract the medicine of the plant – double what my last post said.

It’s ok. I am a learning robot and can make changes accordingly.

I started to dry the remaining handful of stinging nettle dry in the oven on a rack and will let it finish in my studio. Stinging nettle is good for wheezing and lung issues – perfect timing for a pandemic. It’s good for tea, but you can also smoke it – an excellent choice for the wavering former smoker that is me.

In nine days, with no symptoms, I can hold the hand of KWeeks again and walk in the sunshine. Until then, it’s rainy walks for me only.

Rosemary Tincture

Small jar filled with chopped rosemary and whiskey sits on a wooden cutting board in front of a bottle of Maryland Club whiskey and a brick wall.
Rosemary is the most best, and you can, too!

Oh, nothing to see here. Just whipping up some rosemary tincture.

It’s easy: take lots of fresh rosemary (enough to pack the vessel of your choice – I used a squatty 1/2 pint jar), chop roughly, pack said vessel, and cover with booze that is at least 80 proof (I used 95 proof Maryland Club whiskey because YAY, MARYLAND, and also it’s what I had to use up).

Place cap on vessel and store in dark, quiet place. Intrude every other day or so to give it a shake.

Do this for two to four weeks. Then you could strain the tincture and repeat with more fresh rosemary for a sort-of-cheating double tincture, or you could strain and store forever in a dark glass bottle, preferably with a dropper.

So what the hell is rosemary tincture good for? Besides this delicious cocktail from the effervescent Jane Danger?

Uses up fresh rosemary that would otherwise go to waste, eases headache and indigestion, has antioxidant properties, enhances memory, may fight cancer, and is an antioxidant.

Your dose may vary. Some people say that for headache, take a full dropper (or a teaspoon), wait 30 minutes, and repeat if you still have a headache.

Yes, pregnant women can take this, but as always, use your brainpan and check with your doctor if you aren’t sure about taking herbal tinctures, especially the kind you made yourself.

I am looking forward to building more of an herbal medicine chest this year. Any suggestions?