#prickly ash

[amerasdreams]

I finally found out what the numb tongue berries are! Prickly ash

They are in the citrus family.

[realneverever]

Chilivel pirított szecsuáni borsot főztem a kókusztejes zöldségraguba, így most nem érzem a szám.

[vandaliatraveler]

Found growing in Appalachia’s forest margins and fields in full sun to part shade, devil’s walking stick (Aralia spinosa) is a pioneer of disturbed areas and will adapt to a wide variety of soils and moisture conditions. A perennial shrub or small tree in the same family as ginseng, devil’s walking stick produces an umbrella-like canopy of long, compound leaves - reminiscent of drooping palm fronds - and is occasionally grown as an ornamental shrub in native plant gardens. In mid to late summer, an enormous plume of white flowers rises several feet above the leaf canopy and is replaced in the fall by a gorgeous spray of black drupes arranged in dense clusters on pink, fruiting stalks. The fruit attracts a variety of birds. As a bonus, the plant’s leaves turn a striking shade of maroon, often tinged with yellow, from September through October. Also known as prickly ash, Hercules’ club, and angelica tree, devil’s walking stick was highly coveted by Native American tribes and early white settlers, who boiled and ate its young shoots and made various decoctions from its aromatic roots and berries to alleviate the pain from toothache and sore throat. The plant’s common name relates to the orange prickles on its stem. 

[aspelladay]

Prickly Ash

(Zanthoxylum americanum, Z. herculis) Do not use the bark if pregnant.

Gender: Masculine. Planet: Mars. Element: Fire. Powers: Love.

Magical Uses: Use the fruits of the prickly ash as a perfume to attract love.

(from Cunningham’s Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs by Scott Cunningham)

[lovecraftsgarden]

Aralia spinosa

Devil’s Walkingstick, Angelica Tree, Prickly Ash

(via)

[txwitchery]

Texas Hercules’ Club

Zanthoxylum hirsutum

This remarkable tree is closely related to the source of the Sichuan pepper-- not a true pepper or peppercorn, but rather a boreal fruit, the genus belonging to the citrus family Rutaceae. It too carries the distinctive scent and flavour of the Sichuan pepper. The tree is easy to identify-- thorny, with ruffly orange-tree-like leaves that, when crushed, smell strongly of citrus peel. As the genus name, Zanthoxylum, implies (Greek for ‘yellow wood’), it, like the agarita and prickly poppy, contains berberine, an alkaloid of significant pharmacological interest.

Both the leaves and bark contain a rather strong local anaesthetic. A common name for this tree is ‘toothache tree’, referring to the use of a chunk of the tree’s bark to soothe the pain of a toothache by numbing the gums. This action comes from one of the tree’s most interesting and unique chemical components, a compound called hydroxy alpha sanshool, an agonist at pain-integrating cation channels TRPV1 (burning pain) and TRPA1 (itching pain). 

Since this tree is mainly limited to Texas, there is more ethnobotanical data on its close relative, Z. americanum. The Alabama used a decoction of the bark as a wash for itch, and packed the inner bark around a painful or cavity-filled tooth to numb the area before removing said tooth. The Cherokee used an infusion of the plant as a wash for swollen joints. The Chippewa used a bark infusion for cough, cold, and other respiratory ailments; gargled a decoction of the root for sore throat; and used a similar root decoction as a wash to strengthen the legs of a weak child. The Comanche applied the powdered root to burns, and used a bark infusion for fever. The Creek rubbed an infusion of the bark on a dog’s nose to sharpen its sense of smell before a hunt. The Delaware used an infusion of the inner bark for heart trouble. The Iroquois took a decoction of bark as an abortifacient, to treat cramps, and as an anthelmintic, and an infusion of the root for when urine stops due to gonorrhoea infection. The Menominee used an infusion of the berries as a flavouring agent in medicines, a poultice of the pounded inner bark for rheumatism and sharp pains, a decoction of the inner bark for a chest cold, and spit an infusion of the berries onto sores or onto the chest for bronchial ailments. The Meskwaki used the bark and berries to make an expectorant cough syrup and to treat tuberculosis. The Mohegans used an infusion of the bark three days on and three days off to treat heart disease. The Ojibwa applied an infusion of the berries to the chest for bronchial congestion and treated tonsillitis and sore throat with a bark decoction. The Pawnee used the fruits as a diuretic for horses. The Potawomi used the root bark to treat gonorrhoea.

To make a tea, boil two grams dried inner bark per one cup boiling water, steep fifteen minutes, and strain. For a tincture, add one part powdered bark to five parts whiskey or brandy, and take 1/2 to 1 teaspoon three times a day.

The small red berries may be picked and dried until the thin skins split to reveal the seeds-- those may then be discarded, as they are tough and inedible. The husks may then be ground coarsely to yield a Sichuan pepper-like spice which may be used to make a five-spice blend or on its own. If you desire a smokier, roasted flavour, you may toast the husks lightly in a frying pan before grinding. 

Not much data on magical uses is available, though I see the Texas Hercules’ club being a great symbol of invincibility. Carrying pieces of it with you as an amulet may help you get through a difficult task, just as Hercules was protected by his lion skin and club. I associate it with the god Hercules, the element Fire, the Sun, and the astrological sign Sagittarius.

[indefenseofplants]

Taxonomic Discoveries: My Version of the Butterfly Effect

Witnessing a giant swallowtail (Papilio cresphontes) in flight is an incredible experience. It is the largest species of butterfly found in the US and Canada and with its yellow and black wings, it is impossible not to take pause and watch it flutter around the canopy. I will never forget the first time I saw one as a child. It was one of those moments that solidified my obsession with the natural world. Fast forward a few decades and now I can't help but ponder what kind of gardening I would need to do to attract these incredible insects to my yard. What I discovered surprised me to say the least. I had to plant something in the citrus family.  We are all familiar with the fruits of various Rutaceae. This family contains the genus Citrus, providing humanity with oranges (C. × sinensis), lemons (C. × limon), grapefruits (C. × paradisi), and limes (mostly C. aurantifolia). These are largely tropical and subtropical trees, struggling to hang on anywhere temperatures dip below freezing regularly. How on Earth was a butterfly whose larva specialize on this family flitting around in temperate North America? What's more, reports place this species as far north as southern Quebec. I was obviously out of the loop on the taxonomic affinities of this family.

A little detective work turned up some surprising results. Temperate North America does in fact have some representatives of the citrus family. They are a far cry from an orange tree but they are nonetheless relatives. This inquiry actually solved a bit of trouble I was having with some riparian trees in my neck of the woods. As some of you probably know, trees are not a strong point of mine. I had encountered a few small woody things with compound leaves of three and dense clusters of greenish flowers. At first I thought I had found a rather robust poison ivy specimen but closer inspection revealed that wasn't the case. Instead I had stumbled across something new for me - a common hoptree (Ptelea trifoliata). This cool looking tree is one of the giant swallowtails larval host trees, making it a member of -(you guessed it)- the citrus family. More often this small tree grows like a shrub with its tangle of multiple branches but they can reach some impressive heights, relatively speaking of course. Trees topping out at a height of 5 meters are not unheard of. Another common name of this tree - wafer ash - hints at its superficial similarity to a Fraxinus. Its compound leaves and wafer-like samaras are a bit of a curve ball for northerners like myself. It has a rather wide and patchy distribution throughout North America, and many subspecies/varieties have been named.

The other bit of this taxonomic journey involves another small tree, although this time I was better acquainted. Another host for the giant swallowtail is the prickly ash (Zanthoxylum americanum). It is interesting to note that both of these northern host trees superficially resemble ashes but I digress. The prickly ash is also small in stature and is most often found in thickets consisting of its own kind. As its common name suggests, you wouldn't want to go barreling through said thickets unless you wanted to donate some blood. It is well defended by sharp prickles on its stems. It does produce fruit but they are rather small and berry-like (technically follicles) and are distributed far and wide by birds.

Both trees are rather aromatic. They produce volatile oily compounds like most of the family, making them smell quite pleasant. Their small size makes them interesting specimen trees for anyone looking for something unique to put in a native landscape. What's more, they host a variety of other larvae as well, including those of the spicebush swallowtail butterfly (P. troilus).

Together, these two species are the most northerly representatives of the citrus family, making them quite special indeed. I am happy that my interest in attracting giant swallowtails to my property resulted in a fascinating dive into the geography of this interesting family.

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3]

Further Reading: [1] [2]

[appalachianfuturism]

Making Relatives — Diane Wilson

Endeavoring to restore balance between the native and invasive plants around her home, Diane Wilson makes a relationship with the most aggre

“As a result, I have come to regard prickly ash with an intense feeling akin to loathing. Even though I understood that every plant has teachings and gifts that might be shared with the patient observer, and that its presence on this land was no coincidence, I was a reluctant student with a bad attitude. The plant reminded me of my shortcomings, the disconnect between the words I speak and my inability to achieve balance in my own backyard.

As the old trees have given way—often surrounded by prickly ash and buckthorn—the land has come to mirror the loss of identity that has affected generations of Native families, including my own. My mother and aunts grew up in South Dakota boarding schools run by Jesuit priests where Native language and spirituality was forbidden. Other assimilation policies, including land allotment and reservations, were invested with a darker subtext of separating Native people from the land, from the water, from our food. To me, the prickly ash hill was the equivalent of unbridled colonization forces at work, creating a new narrative that has displaced this land’s original story. And yet, this metaphor could not explain the natural laws of this place that I would need to learn in order to be of any real use.

As the Dakota historian David Larson once said, “When you know what was taken away, then you can reclaim it.” His words gave me a place to begin.

Focusing first on controlling the prickly ash, I consulted the internet, that vast oracle of plant knowledge. Experts generally recommended removing the shrubs and spraying the stumps with an herbicide such as Roundup to prevent regrowth. I also read: raindrops in the Midwest now contain glyphosate, a key ingredient in Roundup.

Other experts, who opposed the use of chemicals, suggested cutting the slender trunks in late spring when the plant was at its lowest ebb, and recutting until it was subdued enough to reintroduce other native species. In the book Wilding: Returning Nature to Our Farm, a couple successfully restored native plants to a conventional farm with severely depleted soil. The introduction stated, “Lately the news about our relationship with nature has been grim and apocalyptic.”

Elsewhere I read: One million plant and animal species are now at risk of extinction. This includes the monarch butterfly.

Had I followed the advice of these well-intentioned gardeners, I might have written a detailed account of my reclamation of prickly ash hill, of storming the bunker with my lopper and restoring the land to its pregrazed nature. An epic tale of gardener as hero.

This is not that essay. As a Dakota grandmother, I have a responsibility to reach for a deeper understanding. I refuse to accept a relationship with nature that is grim and apocalyptic. The challenges on my land and these expert answers come from a Western mindset that sees the land as a commodity, as natural capital. For the sake of my grandchildren, I need to relearn how to listen for the silenced voices of my ancestors, for the plants and land to speak.”