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Archives: Plant Answer Line Q & A

Plant Answer Line questions and answers.

historical medicinal uses of asafetida

What can you tell me about asafetida? I know it is used in cooking (especially in India), but is it used medicinally?

 

The plant source of asafetida is Ferula assa-foetida, a perennial in the Apiaceae (carrot) family. As you mention, it is used in cooking, primarily the cooked leaves and shoots, but also the sap or gum which is extracted from the plant’s roots and dried as resin or pulverized into powder. It has a very pungent sulfurous odor, especially in resin form. In Africa, Ferula was a substitute for Silphium, whose extinction was recorded by Pliny the Elder in 77 C.E.

The plant resin is also used medicinally in other parts of the world, including the Middle East and Europe. Around the world, it has an array of common names, many of them variants on devil’s excrement, due to the odor.

According to Judith Taylor’s Plants in the Civil War, asafetida came to America with enslaved Africans who had multiple medicinal, magical, and apotropaic (protective, warding off evil) uses for it. Among enslaved people in this country, there was a tradition of wearing a red flannel bag containing the plant’s roots and additives like red pepper, sassafras, and snakeroot. Colin Fitzgerald’s “African American Slave Medicine of the 19th Century” (Bridgewater State University Undergraduate Review, 12, 44-50, 2016) goes into greater depth. Here is an excerpt:

“Victoria Adams, of Columbia, South Carolina, recalls using the plant as a preventive measure against diseases on her plantation,'[w]e dipped asafetida in turpentine and hung it ‘round our necks to keep off disease’ (Slave Narratives). Asafetida was used as preventative against a number of pulmonary diseases such as whooping cough, bronchitis, small pox, and influenza. It was usually placed in a bag around someone’s neck so that they could breathe in the fumes. Asafetida is found to have worked as an anti-flatulent by reducing the amount of indigenous microflora in the gut. Because of its close relation with the famed silphium of Cyrene (belonging to the same family, ferula), it has also been reported to contain naturally occurring organic contraceptive compounds.”

 

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are carnations and pinks edible?

Are carnation and pink flowers edible? I read (in a novel) about a 17th century beverage called “Water of Venus” that included carnations and cinnamon.

 

I could not find any information about a beverage of that name, which may be the author’s invention.  As long as the plants are grown without chemical fertilizers or pesticides, it should be safe to use spicy, clove-flavored Dianthus petals in drinks and edible concoctions, from cake and salad decoration to flavoring oils and vinegars. According to Edible Flowers: A Global History by Constance L. Kirker and Mary Newman (Reaktion Books, 2016), ancient Greeks and Romans used the petals in various dishes. The genus name is from Greek dios (god) and anthos (flower). The Romans called carnations Jupiter’s flower, to honor the god.

John Gerard’s 1597 Herball mentions that “a water distilled from Pinks has been commended as excellent for curing epilepsy,” and more generally, “a conserve made of the flowers with sugar is exceeding cordial, and wonderfully above measure doth comfort the heart, being eaten now and then.” In Carnation (Reaktion Books, 2016), author Twigs Way lists varieties of intensely fragrant pinks that are ideal for adding to food and drink: ‘Mrs. Sinkins,’ ‘Doris,’ Whatfield Can-can,’ ‘Betty Norton,’ as well as ‘Giant Chabaud’ carnations.

The article “History and Legend of Carnation to 1800” by W. D. Holley (editor for the Colorado Flower Grower’s Association) gives an idea of the wide-ranging presence of the plant, including its use in Elizabethan times for spicing wine and ale, called sop-in-wine or wine-sop.

Garden author Gayla Trail offers a recipe for Dianthus-infused vodka on her You Grow Girl blog. There are more recipes in the Herb Society of America‘s guide for using clove pinks, including instructions on how to prepare the flowers (discard the white base of the petals as well as the sepals and styles which can be bitter).

For more extensive historical information, Mary MacNicol’s Flower Cookery (Collier Books, 1972) is an excellent resource, with recipes from the 1600s to the 1900s. There is one recipe for Ratafia d’Oeillets from The Art of French Cookery (1814) by Antoine Beauvilliers. It calls for 24 pints of brandy and a pound of ratafia pinks (i.e., carnation flowers): “take nothing but the red of the flowers which is put into the brandy, with a drachm of bruised cloves; […] leave them a month in infusion; drain, and press the flowers well; dissolve two pounds of sugar in eight pints of water; mix it well with it; strain and bottle.” There is a second ratafia recipe using pinks with stamens removed, cinnamon sticks, saffron, strawberry juice, sugar, and brandy. Perhaps these beverages inspired the novelist’s Water of Venus.

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cultivars of native plants

I’m looking for information about whether cultivars of native plants are considered native. I work as a landscape designer and often have to use native plants around the county to follow regulations.

 

There is no definitive answer to your question, and the notion of what is native is fraught with complications. You may have encountered the recently coined term ‘nativar,’ used to describe cultivated varieties of native species. In the most recent edition of Arthur Kruckeberg’s Gardening With Native Plants of the Pacific Northwest, updated by Linda Chalker-Scott (2019), there is a useful explanation of the differences between natives, varieties, cultivars, and hybrids. In answer to the question of whether cultivars may be used in native gardens, Chalker-Scott says that cultivars can be “naturally occurring forms that are discovered and cultivated for nursery trade, or they may be developed through plant breeding programs.” As to whether cultivars should be used in native gardens, she states that “native purity may be important in special landscape situations such as ecological restoration,” but there is no reason not to use cultivars in home gardens.

Chalker-Scott has written extensively on the use of native plants compared with introduced ones. Her Garden Professors blog post “Native vs. nonnative – can’t we all just get along?” attempts to debunk the tendency “to demonize noninvasive, introduced plants in the absence of a robust body of evidence supporting that view.” Susan Harris of the  Garden Rant blog also discussed Chalker-Scott’s writing on the subject, “starting with definition of ‘native’. According to Linda, that here-before-the-Europeans thing isn’t as clear-cut as we think. For example, the Ginkgo biloba is considered an Asian plant, yet its fossils can be found in Washington State, where it grew millions of years ago. […] She lists the well-known benefits (see any source on the subject), but also the missing caveats in almost all discussions of native plants: ‘Unfortunately, many of us live in areas that no longer resemble the native landscapes that preceded development…The combination of urban soil problems, increased heat load, reduced water, and other stresses mean that many native species do not survive in urban landscapes. … When site conditions are such that many native plants are unsuitable, the choice is either to have a restricted plant palette of natives or expand the palette by including nonnative species.'”

The 2019 article “Native vs. ‘nativar’ – do cultivars of native plants have the same benefits?” (from the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Extension blog ) explores how we define native, and what the differences are for native pollinators when faced with cultivated varieties. The answer depends on the nature of the variation: plants bred for different colored foliage than the plain species, for instance, may affect whether or not insects will be attracted to it. Benjamin Vogt’s thoughtful and well-illustrated article, “Navigating Amid Nativars”  (Horticulture magazine, July/August 2022) encourages us to think in a nuanced way about native plant cultivars. Some may be good for pollinators, but “the more we alter a plant, the more we risk reducing its benefits to the fauna around us.” The benefits and deficits of nativars are not straightforward. He suggests keeping in mind that our home landscapes “are not actually restoring nature [..] in the same way we would in a prairie or forest. Those ecosystems require a larger set of more complex rules and goals.” If your aim is to do the most you can to make a garden function like an ecosystem, “use as many open-pollinated, straight species as you can and […] create thick layers with significant plant density that will prove more resilient to a variety of urban and climatic pressures.”

 

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growing willow-leaved pear

I am considering a weeping willow-leaved pear (Pyrus salicifolia ‘Pendula’) for a dry shade area in my yard.  How susceptible is this tree to fireblight in this area?  Should I avoid it? Are there mature specimens growing locally, so I can see how it might look in the landscape? Does it produce fruit?

 

The local website of Great Plant Picks lists the ornamental pear you are asking about, and though they say it’s susceptible to fireblight, they claim it’s not much of a problem in our area. Your shady spot may not be ideal, as this tree prefers full sun. It does best with well-drained or sandy soil, and will withstand drought once established. “It can be allowed to grow with little or no pruning to become a freeform mound of wild silvery growth or it can be carefully trained yearly to accentuate its angular growth. It is not a tree for beginning pruners.”

However, Washington State University’s HortSense website mentions fireblight, which suggests it’s not unheard of here (though they say it is “not a proven problem in western Washington”). If you are certain no plant has suffered from fireblight in the spot where you were thinking of planting Pyrus salicifolia ‘Pendula,’ you could try it and hope for the best (and practice good garden hygiene–collect fallen leaves, clean pruners between pruning cuts, etc.).

Arthur Lee Jacobson’s “Trees of Seattle” (2006 edition) lists just a few. He says the tree has only been available in Seattle since the 1980s, and they are top-grafted, growing into a shape that is wider than it is tall. He mentions that it produces pears, but they are tiny, under two inches in length, and not useful for human consumption. The City of Seattle’s Ballard Tree Walk map shows one growing at NW 60th Street at 28th Avenue NW.

If a sprawling form does not suit your aesthetic, you could consider Pyrus elaeagnifolia, described by the International Dendrological Society’s Trees and Shrubs Online (based on Bean’s Trees and Shrubs): “It is very curious that this beautiful tree was not given a full description by Bean (1976b), as it was introduced to horticulture in about 1800 and has been widely planted – and is hardy – throughout our area [Britain]. Its grey- or white-hairy foliage on upright stems makes it useful in the landscape. It is a much neater tree than the ubiquitous Pyrus salicifolia ‘Pendula’ with its often uncoordinated sprawl of limbs. White Sails is a selling name attached to the thornless subsp. kotschyana.”

For a pear that has good resistance to fireblight, you might also consider Pyrus ussuriensis. The Arboretum has one listed in fair condition, received in 1986 through the U.S. National Arboretum (from seed obtained in Korea); another was listed in poor condition and no longer shows up on the interactive map [so may have been removed]. It is considered ornamental, with attractive flowers in spring (though it can take a decade to reach full flowering).  It does produce edible fruit, but it is not especially known for its flavor.

what is manna?

What is the manna mentioned in the bible—animal, vegetable, or mineral??

 

In brief, all three: the substance called manna is the result of a insect-plant collaboration, and it’s possible the substance has mineral content. In Exodus Chapter 16, while the Israelites are traversing the desert after fleeing Egypt, God speaks to Moses of a substance that is revealed after the morning dew evaporates: “a fine, scale-like thing, fine as the hoar-frost on the ground” which is to be consumed like bread. The Israelites called it man (derived from the word ‘what,’ or ‘what is it’), “and it was like coriander seed, white; and the taste of it was like wafers made with honey.” According to the text, the manna sustained them for their forty years of dwelling in the desert. In Numbers Chapter 11, manna resembles coriander seed but also bdellium [b’dolach], which may or may not refer to an aromatic resin emitted by Commiphora [myrrh tree]. “The people went about, and gathered it, and ground it in mills, or beat it in mortars, and seethed it in pots, and made cakes of it; and the taste of it was as the taste of a cake baked with oil.”

Theories of manna’s identity have ranged from the improbable—a type of lichen not found in the Sinai Desert—to the plausible: a sweet exudation from a plant, caused by scale insects or aphids feeding on it. Possible plant sources include Anabasis setifera, Gomphocarpus sinaicus, Tamarix nilotica, Acacia raddiana, Capparis cartilaginea and C. spinosa v. aravensis, Pyrethrum santolinoides, and especially Haloxylon salicornicum, which grows commonly in the southern Sinai. The latter plant is called ‘man rimth’ by Bedouins, who collect the sweet resin from the stems in summer. According to Israeli botanist Avinoam Danin, Haloxylon (formerly called Hammada) is probably the most plentiful source of this sweet substance, but other less common plants in the Sinai may also be sources. Therefore, manna refers to the sweet white substance exuded by some or all of these plants.

The term manna has since been used in other parts of the world to refer to any sweet substance exuding from plants. In Northern Iraq, the sweet substance, possibly caused by insects feeding on the plants, is harvested from ash trees [Fraxinus ornus]. According to the authors of “Identification of Sugars in the Manna of Northern Iraq,” the substance “usually accumulates on the leaves until they fall to the ground. The sugars are extracted from the raw material with boiling water and mixed with eggs to make a popular dessert.” The nougat-like treat is called mann al-sama (manna of the heavens). There is a similar sweet in Iran called gaz, made with honeydew or resin from plants like Tamarix gallica and Astragalus adscendens. Plants upon which psyllid insects have been feeding exude this substance. The insects place their eggs “alongside the main vein of fully-grown leaves, which then curl up around the vein. The nymphs begin feeding inside the rolled-up leaves before they are scattered over the plant during flowering. They can be seen between the sepals and petals, but not inside the corolla. The white, sticky, segmented strings of gaz are mostly secreted in the last instar stage. The segments indicate multiple excretions. The soft exudates harden, eventually detach from the nymph’s body, and remain in the foliage, mixed with the nymphs and often with the plant debris as well.”

Ancient Greek scholar Pliny the Elder, describes manna in his Natural History: “Honey comes out of the air, and is chiefly formed at the rising of the stars, and especially when the Dogstar itself shines forth […] at early dawn the leaves of trees are found bedewed with honey, and any persons who have been out under the morning sky feel their clothes smeared with damp and their hair stuck together, whether this is the perspiration of the sky or a sort of saliva of the stars or the moisture of the air purging itself.” According to Edward Parker in his book Ash (Reaktion Books, 2021), Greco-Roman tradition called the exudate from ash trees manna, and the practice of giving it to infants as a first food spread to Europe.

Sicily also has a long history of  extracting manna from ash trees [Fraxinus ornus and F. angustifolia, primarily] for edible, medicinal, and cosmetic uses. There are ash plantations in the towns of Castelbuono, Pollina, and Cefalu. The tree bark is scored with a knife to harvest the liquid exudate, usually in summer to early autumn. The liquid solidifies rapidly when exposed to hot sun.

 

 

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which plant goes by the name winter cherry?

What can you tell me about a plant called winter cherry? It is supposed to have medicinal properties.

 

That common name corresponds to Withania somnifera, a plant in the nightshade family (Solanaceae). It sometimes goes by the common name Indian ginseng, though it is not botanically related to the plant ginseng. It is well-known in India by the name ashvagandha (also spelled ashwagandha). According to Naveen Patnaik’s The Garden of Life: An Introduction to the Healing Plants of India (Doubleday, 1993), the root and leaves of the plant are used in Ayurvedic medicine for a wide range of conditions. (The fruit is not used, and is poisonous.) It is considered an adaptogen, i.e., useful in adapting to various kinds of stress. The Sanskrit and Hindi names refer to the odor of the root, said to smell like the sweat of horses.

As the Latin species name indicates, the plant contains substances (alkaloids) that can induce drowsiness. The plant’s names in Hebrew (Vitania m’shakeret) and Arabic (saykaran, samm al ferakh) also indicate its soporific or intoxicating properties. [Sources: Flora of Israel Online, and A Herbal of Iraq, edited by Shahina A. Ghazanfar and Chris J. Thorogood] In fact, it has been studied as a sleep aid.

According to the Iraqi herbal cited above, human uses of Withania somnifera go as far back as ancient Egypt. Fruiting branches were found in the floral burial collar of Tutankhamun. Here is the Metropolitan Museum’s description of the object: “Among the most remarkable objects found in KV 54 are three astonishingly well preserved collars of plant leaves, berries, and flowers. The color scheme was derived from alternating rows of olive leaves with the silvery undersides showing and olive leaves with the dark green upper sides showing, orange-red berries of Withania somnifera, blue cornflowers, and tiny blue faience beads, as well as yellow flowers of oxtongue (Picris asplenoides).”

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stars in cottonwoods

I learned about the star shape inside cottonwood twigs from a Lakota story.  The stars were not always in the sky. They originated in the earth, seeking roots from which they could be born. The sound of water drew them to the cottonwood roots (since this tree often thrives near water). They traveled upward into the trees, waiting for wind to snap the branches, releasing the stars into the sky. The story made me wonder if other trees have this star shape inside their twigs and branches, and what purpose does the star pattern inside the twigs serve (other than cosmological)?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In exploring winter twig keys and a story by Deb Mowry of the Montana Natural History Center, I learned that this five-pointed (also called five-angled) star shape is common in Populus (aspen, poplar, cottonwood) and Salix species (members of the willow family) but is also found in oaks (Quercus), and chestnut (Castanea). The pith inside a stem is made of parenchyma (large, thin-walled cells), which are often a different color than surrounding wood (xylem). The pith’s function is to transport and store nutrients. Pith is usually lighter when new, but darkens with time (as seen in images like these of cottonwood “stars”).

Mowry’s story notes the importance of cottonwood to the belief systems of Native American tribes: the Lakota, the Cheyenne, the Arapaho, and the Oglala Sioux. Pacific Northwest naturalist and poet Robert Michael Pyle’s essay, “The Plains Cottonwood” (American Horticulturist, August 1993, pp.39-42),  describes an Arapaho version of the story of the stars that you told above: “They moved up through the roots and trunks of the cottonwoods to wait near the sky at the ends of the high branches. When the night spirit desired more stars, he asked the wind spirit to provide them. She then grew from a whisper to a gale. Many cottonwood twigs would break off, and each time they broke, they released stars from their nodes.” Cottonwood twigs sometimes snap off without the assistance of wind, a self-pruning phenomenon called cladoptosis. Pyle suggests looking for twigs that are neither too young nor too weathered if you want to observe the clearest stars: “The star is the darker heartwood contrasting with the paler sapwood and new growth.”

 

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identifying the plant source of an edible seed from Iraq

I know these salted nuts are called ‘sissi’ in Iraq, where they are a traditional snack, but what plant do they come from?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Because of the distinctive spiny tips on the husks, I think these are seeds of Gundelia tournefortii. The plant is native to rocky soils of the Middle East and the eastern Mediterranean, and is a type of thistle called ‘akkoub’ in Arabic, and ‘akuvit ha-galgal’ (possibly meaning wheeled thistle because it forms tumbleweeds, or perhaps thistle tough enough to ensnare wheels) in Hebrew. Its English common name is tumble thistle. The species is named for Joseph Pitton de Tournefort, author of the 1717 book Relation d’un voyage du Levant, fait par ordre du roy  An illustration from the book depicts it.

Not only are the seeds edible, but so too are the immature inflorescences (similar to artichoke). Over-harvesting of the unopened flowering heads by commercial enterprises can lead to broad swathes where plants are not given a chance to flower and produce seeds. Conservation efforts are underway in Jordan, Israel and Palestine, and elsewhere in the region to make sure this important seasonal food plant is cultivated and harvested sustainably.

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common name for Prunus mume

It’s a perennial controversy among friends who are docents in a local garden: what is the proper common name for Prunus mume? Is it Japanese apricot, or Japanese plum? Our interpretive materials go back and forth between the two over the years.

 

With common names, there are no definitive answers. Genetically, Prunus mume is closer to apricots, as this article in Curtis’s Botanical Magazine (v.39, no. 3, September 2022) indicates: “P. mume is classified within subgenus Amygdalus alongside almonds and peaches and sits within section Armeniaca, being most closely related to P. armeniaca and P. sibirica (Yazbek & Oh, 2013).” (Those species of Prunus are both types of apricot.)

However, cultural context is also important. Although the plant originated in China, it was introduced in Japan in the sixth century C.E. Since the garden is focused on plants that are traditional to Japan, you should probably include both plum and apricot in your interpretive materials, as this Seattle Japanese Garden blog post does. Japanese new year decoration includes sho-chiku-bai, a trio of plants which are pine-bamboo-plum or apricot, depending on the English translation. (In China, this same trio of plants is referred to as the Three Friends of Winter because of their resilience during this season.) Which common name you give primacy will be a judgment call. In their book, Garden Plants of Japan, Ran Levy-Yamamori and Gerard Taaffe refer to the English name as follows: “Japanese apricot (sometimes confusingly referred to as Japanese plum).”

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Rainier Valley streets named for plants

I was browsing a couple of older Seattle street maps (1969, and late 1990s) and came across a cluster of streets named for trees and shrubs (Escallonia, Viburnum, Locust, Chestnut, Sumac, Barberry, Heather, Tamarack, Abelia), all tucked in between the east slope of Beacon Hill and near Martin Luther King Jr. Way (or Empire Way on the earlier map). They don’t show up in current online map searches. I am curious about their history.

Before non-Indigenous people settled in the area in the 19th century, this particular area might have been crossed by Duwamish tribe trails that extended from Lake Washington to the Duwamish River along the south edge of Beacon Hill, as well as trails from Pioneer Square to Renton along the Rainier Valley, approximately where Rainier Avenue South is today. The area would have had a wealth of woody vegetation then.

In early 20th century maps of Seattle, I found that the general area you are asking about was at one time owned by Joshua Montgomery Sears, a prominent Bostonian. The area on the 1907 map looks undeveloped, but may have been logged (see Olmsted report below). Sears invested heavily in the King County area, and at one time owned a substantial part of Kirkland. He had a financial interest in the Kirkland Iron Works (as reported in the May 29, 1890 edition of the Seattle Post Intelligencer). I mention Sears because the map snippet you sent shows those streets fanning out around Sears Drive South (which runs from what is now Martin Luther King Jr. Way to S. Columbian Way). In 1930, the city of Seattle purchased the property from the J.M. Sears estate.

This area was part of a 1920s Olmsted plan for what was called the Jefferson Park tract, which included a suggested layout for lot development. A 1903-1905 Olmsted firm report on the Jefferson Park location says that “all of the original forest trees that had any market value have disappeared, and the stumps and logs [… ] are gradually being taken away for firewood […] The southern portion of the park should be made to contrast with the larger open northern part, by having little or no grass, the surface being clothed with low, ground-covering plants. There may be long winding masses of trees and shrubbery […] Some walks may be carried through under the groups of trees, but most of the paths should be carried through the openings between the masses of trees and shrubbery, so as to […] command the distant views of Lake Washington.”

I don’t know if the Olmsted firm ever extended their planting plans beyond Jefferson Park and the surrounding boulevards. There is still a densely forested area now known as Cheasty Greenspace which borders the area where these street names used to be. A photo from 1941 shows newly built houses in an expanse denuded of greenery. At the time, the Seattle Housing Authority had just been formed, headed by Jesse Epstein, a social reformer who championed the creation of affordable public housing. A Russian Jewish immigrant, he grew up in Montana, and began studying at the University of Washington in 1927. Rainier Vista was among his initial Seattle projects, along with Yesler Terrace, Holly Park, High Point, and Sand Point; in every case he lobbied successfully for racially integrated housing.

Work began in 1941 and starting in 1942, the project began serving the housing needs of workers (at Boeing and other industries contributing to the war effort) and later, World War II veterans. The woody plant street names date from the early 1940s. (Some of these plants are classic mid-century stalwarts that are still growing in Seattle neighborhoods.) The names were unusual enough to catch the attention of the Seattle Times in August 17, 1943 [p. 4]. This article discusses their origins: “In the Rainier Vista homes project, for example, a botany expert glorified his enthusiasm by dealing out such monickers as Tamarack Drive, Kinnikinick [sic] Place, Sumac Court, Abelia Court, Viburnum Court and Escalonia [sic] Court. […] The names selected are subject to the approval of Jesse Epstein, housing director.” We don’t know who the botanist was, but naming the streets after trees and shrubs is a gesture toward the idea of a garden community accessible to all, regardless of income, and would have appealed to Epstein. Residents of Rainier Vista and the other housing developments did have gardens, and starting in 1955, the Seattle Housing Authority held an annual Better Yards Roundup competition, sponsored by the Snoqualmie Federation of Garden Clubs.

Your maps show how the streets are cul de sacs, set apart from the more grid-like arrangement of surrounding roads. This design was altered in the 2002 redevelopment, when the previous dwellings were leveled, and construction began. The idea was that streets should connect more directly to the rest of the neighborhood, so as not to isolate the residents from the community. It is a shame to lose the distinctive street names in the process of redevelopment—all except Kinnikinick Place South, east of MLK Jr. Way, which is now an alley with garages facing onto it. Tamarack Drive is gone, but the name lives on in Tamarack Place, an affordable apartment complex on MLK Jr. Way next to the Columbia City light rail station. Interestingly, a 2002 Seattle Times article about the redevelopment mentions a group of black locust trees at the edge of Rainier Vista—a living reminder of Locust Court South. Today, Rainier Vista’s streets encircle a small green space, Central Park, and most blocks are lined with trees in the parking strips. There are also several nearby community gardens that are part of Seattle’s P-Patch program.

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