What you will need to make a sun-infused essence:
•Fresh pure water or distilled water, 3 quarts
•Clear glass 2 ½-quart mixing bowl
•A dark green, blue, or green glass 8-ounce sealable bottle
•Organic brandy or vodka
•Freshly picked flowers specific to the malady being treated
•Clean, dry cheesecloth for straining
Ideally, you begin early in the morning, with your chosen flowers picked by nine o’clock at the latest. This ensures three hours of sunlight before the noon hour, after which the sunlight is less effective and can even drain the energy.
Fill the bowl with the fresh water. To avoid touching them, gingerly place the flowers on the surface of the water, using tweezers or chopsticks very carefully, and add until the surface is covered. Let the bowl sit in the sun for three to four hours or until the flowers begin to fade.
Now, delicately remove the flowers, being careful not to touch the water. Half-fill your colored-glass bottle with the strained flower essence water and top the other half off with the organic brandy or vodka (40 percent/80 proof is advised to prolong the shelf life to three months if stored in a cool, dark cupboard). This is your mother tincture; label it with the date and the name of the flower, such as “Rose Water, July 14, 2018.” Use any remaining essence water, and murmur a prayer of gratitude for their beauty and healing power.
To make a stock bottle from your mother tincture, fill a 30-ml dropper bottle ¾ with brandy and ¼ with spring water, then add three drops of the mother tincture. This will last at least three months and enable you to make lots of dosage bottles, which contain the solutions you actually take.
To make the dosage bottle for any flower essence, just add two or three drops from the stock bottle to another 30-ml dropper bottle of ¼ brandy and ¾ distilled water. Any time you need some of this gentle medicine, place four drops of this solution under your tongue or sip it in a glass of water four times a day or as often as you feel the need. You can’t overdose on flower remedies, though more frequent, rather than larger, doses are much more effective.
Flower essences mixed with 30 milliliters distilled water can also be used as the following remedies:
•Addiction: skullcap, agrimony
•Anger: nettle, blue flag, chamomile
•Anxiety: garlic, rosemary, aspen, periwinkle, lemon balm, white chestnut, gentian
•Bereavement: honeysuckle
•Depression: borage, sunflower, larch, chamomile, geranium, yerba santa, black cohosh, lavender, mustard
•Exhaustion: aloe, yarrow, olive, sweet chestnut
•Fear: poppy, mallow, ginger, peony, water lily, basil, datura
•Heartbreak: heartsease, hawthorn, borage
•Lethargy: aloe, thyme, peppermint
•Stress: dill, echinacea, thyme, mistletoe, lemon balm
•Spiritual blocks: oak, ginseng, lady’s slipper
The Garden of Earthly Delights
I have always been extremely sensitive to smells. Blessed (or cursed) by a finely tuned sense of smell, I find I am often led around by my nose. I have fallen in love because of the way a man smelled; when I was a child and my parents were away on a trip, I used to steal into their bedroom and smell their robes hanging on the back of the door. One of my favorite books is Perfume, the story of a man so affected by scents he can smell them from hundreds of miles away.
Naturally enough, I am attracted to flowers primarily for their scent. All my roses are chosen for odor—spicy sweet, musky, peppery—if they don’t smell good, I don’t want them. My current favorite is a climber called Angel Face. I also love the heady smell of lavender, the spiciness of daffodils, the romance of lilacs and lilies of the valley, and the subtlety of certain bearded irises. I particularly love the elusiveness of fragrance. You catch a scent in the garden and follow your nose to…where? Now it’s here; then it’s gone. That’s why I love the sweet olive tree that blooms in Southern California in the early spring. The fragrance is strong in the early evening as you walk down the street, but press your nose against a blossom and the scent diminishes.
My husband, who knows of my fragrance passion, surprised me last spring by planting me a huge patch of multicolored sweet peas and an entire bed of rubrum and Casablanca lilies. Batches of sweet peas perfumed my office throughout the spring. Extremely long-lasting as cut flowers, the lilies bloomed for two solid months during the summer and, all that time, the house was full of their heady scent. I don’t think any gift has ever pleased me more.
And because the breath of flowers is far sweeter In the air (where it comes and goes, like the warbling of music) than in the hand, therefore, nothing is more fit for that delight than to know what be the flowers and plants that do best perfume the air.
—Francis Bacon
Fragrant Plants
Smell is so individual—I love narcissus, but know many people who can’t stand it, and folks wax eloquent about wisteria, the smell of which makes me sick. So, in creating a fragrant garden, let your nose be your guide. Here are some suggestions: jasmine, honeysuckle, sweet autumn clematis, mimosa, hosta, stock, evening primrose, nicotiana, angel’s trumpet (especially the white), moonflower, sweet pea, ginger, lily of the valley, peony, and pinks.
DIY Inspired Idea: The Scent of Happiness
The minute you walk into someone’s home, you can almost immediately tell how happy a household it is. Much of that is determined by the smell. A home with the fragrance of sugar cookies or a freshly baked pumpkin pie is one you may well want to visit often. Similarly, a space redolent of the bouquet of lilies or tea roses is one where the residents take care to make their home beautiful to both the eye and the other senses. There are lots of small things we can do in regard to “energy maintenance” for our home. To sweeten any mood, this recipe works wonders on you or anyone in your environment who might need a lift. Combine the following essential oils in a quart spray bottle filled with water:
•Two drops Neroli
•Four drops bergamot
•Four drops lavender
•Two drops rosemary
Working in the garden gives me something beyond the enjoyment of senses. It gives me a profound feeling of inner peace.
—Ruth Stout
Painterly Primroses
As a young girl, I was particularly taken by a row of primroses my mother had in a border planting. The colors were deep and pure like my favorite crayons—purplish blues, intense red-orange, and buttery yellows. I loved that such beauty came up out of rather commonplace and cabbagey foliage. When Mom showed me how to carefully separate the “babies” from the established adult primroses, I planted my very own, in my favorite mysterious blue, in “my” part of the garden. Mom, who ran a small but busy dairy farm, also showed me her secrets of accelerating plant growth without the blue hormone-filled potions you could buy at the hardware store. (That was cheating in her book.) She would take well-“cured” cow dung and mix it into the soil around her plants. I took her cue, and by the next spring, I had a prim little row of primroses that had all sprung from the baby I