Osha Root

I remember back when I worked in a fair trade store and we sold osha root from a Native American producer group.  The fragrance of osha root, perfumy, earthy, slightly sweet and pungent as a rare incense, would overpower me whenever I opened one of the mason jars where it was stored.  In the midst of so many other wonderful scents: smudge sticks, incense, sheshem wood, palm leaf and kaisa grass baskets, oils, resins, pine needle and beargrass Tarahumara baskets, dream pillows and handmade paper, the pungent aroma of osha root would seduce me like a rare flower.  Osha, truly a queen among herbs!  As a tea or infusion or tincture, osha root is comfort for the sick.  One of the names given to it is bear root, because Native peoples observed that bears would seek it out when they were ill.  Osha root is used to treat colds, ’flu, and other respiratory infections, as well as gastrointestinal disturbances and sore throat.  Though it tastes a little strong (a bit like fresh parsnips to me), it is also somehow wonderfully soothing.  It is not safe for use during pregnancy.  The root is used both fresh and dry.

     Osha (Ligusticum porteri) is found in the mountain areas of the American Southwest, as well as the mountains of northern Mexico.  It is generally found in rich, partially-shaded soils.  It has been very seriously overharvested in the wild, as it is difficult (some would say nearly impossible) to artificially cultivate.  Though not considered endangered, it is definitely threatened in many areas.  Some commercial interests have cleaned out whole ranges.  It is important to obtain osha root from small, environmentally-conscious sources; or if harvesting in the wild, care must be used to leave plenty behind.  It is against the law to harvest osha on some public or tribal lands, so know what the law is before you harvest.  Actually, osha foraging is a matter best left to those who are experienced at it, as it is very easy to mistake poisonous water hemlock for osha (a mistake that you’ll make, as they say, only once).  There are some good books and sites on the internet that explain how to tell these two plants apart, but a knowledgeable herbalist is your best bet if you have any doubts.  And remember, always ask about the harvesting methods that suppliers use, and if you have any doubt about whether their emphasis is on sustainability when they harvest this sacred plant, just say no.  

Rouault’s Autumn ou Nazareth

I am moved by Georges Rouault’s Autumn ou Nazareth (1948) as by few other paintings.  Jesus stands in a serene, dreamy, radiant--yet slightly melancholy--little French village with a group of women and children.  The landscape surrounding them seems timeless: old trees, soft hills, water, all under a warm late afternoon sun.  There is so much serenity, so much of eternity and peace, in the colors, the images, the Expressionist brushwork.  Rouault gave us this work.  Rouault, who could paint human misery like no other, whose Miserere et Guerre was one of the most powerful artistic outcries against war, injustice, and the hard-heartedness of the bourgeoisie ever created.  Autumn ou Nazareth inspires me to remember that in the midst of daily hardships, especially those associated with caring for our children, and all our other endless domestic responsibilities, in the midst of the inevitable loss of family and friends, in the midst of the frustrations and difficulties of living in a society whose economy is based on greed and individual self-interest instead of cooperation and caring for one another, we can find (and fashion among ourselves, amongst our brother and sisters of the whole human family) the glowing serenity and beauty that is at the heart of life and of the journey to the East.  I stand looking out at Sunset Heights and the great jade elms of Dunn Park on the near horizon, and the blue mountains weathered by wind and rain and by the magician Time rising in the distance, with the crows laughing and finches singing overhead in the ash and crab apple and orange and peach trees, and children shouting and playing in the morning's bright absterging sunlight, and I know that Rouault’s Autumn ou Nazareth is everywhere.

Saturday Afternoon Part Two

August traced with a touch the black spiral that is the primordial and universal symbol of the sun.  It was painted on the searing days that always ended in rain, a coil with a tiny barb on its end like the scorpion’s tail.  White peaches were almost (or perhaps already) ripe, and the grapes were turning dark, slowly shifting from the ghostly tea color that was the chrysalis of their successful development in the searing mist of San Carlos to a rich royal magenta, imago for must.  The hands and hearts that had planted the vines and trees, those daughters of Helios, beset, yearning, were now old women, invisible as the Samaritan, bent and burnt by the years.  No golden cormorant rises out of the water, but the parrots and bee-eaters, caracaras and kites, all cloud and hunt and fill the arboreal atmosphere of palms, ceibas, parasitic vines and orchids—the continuously encroaching jungle.  The confinement of August has passed, as all labor does, and soon the rains will begin to thin.  Only the newborn will see the month for what it is, a cycle that begins with the uncoiling of life itself.  The white hawk carries meat and skin to its young.

This passage begins the excerpt from my novel, Before the Rains, found in the latest issue of The Mayo Review.  (Yes, I finally received a contributor’s copy!)  It is exceptionally satisfying to see at least a little portion of this book I have worked on for over a decade finally in print.  I really couldn’t be happier with how well the story, “Saturday Afternoon,” made up of two separate but related vignettes in the book, actually reads.  Hopefully, the rest of the book will someday (soon!) see the light of day as well.

The Mayo Review

The Mayo Review, Texas A & M University - Commerce