In Search Of The Folklore Of St. Johnswort

St. Johnswort of course is known as an antidepressant and has many other medicinal uses. It has also been believed to hold magical powers through the centuries such as foretelling one's longevity, conjuring up evil spirits or protecting one from evil spirits.

But the legend I wanted to pursue was that of the plant's sap on the day of St. John's beheading. The way I originally heard it, the sap of St. Johnswort would turn red on that day, which is usually observed on August 29. Many years ago I checked and found that the sap was actually sort of red, which fueled my curiosity. This year I promised myself I'd try again as we got close to August 29.

I went out to the ditch along the county road to check for myself and was amazed at the abundance of colorful wildflowers. In this photo alone, I see Goldenrod, Butter-and-Eggs, Orpine (our wild Sedum) and Deptford Pinks. Of course there are many other plants without flowers too:

 Another angle, showing Queen Anne's Lace, Opine, Goldenrod, Deptford Pink and Butter-and-Eggs:

 It was all fascinating and photogenic, but I was after St. Johnswort, and I knew there was some nearby:

 I found a plant and broke off a stem. Alas, I couldn't find any sap at all. Perhaps our drought had left the interior of the plants low on sap this summer. I read one account saying that St. Johnswort sap turns red when it contacts air, which would explain my earlier experience, but of course that would only work when the plant has enough sap to ooze out:

 I went out again later, this time to the far south field fence line. It was filled with Joe-Pye-Weed and Jewelweed, another wildflower rich in folklore:

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 There is an orange flowered species and a yellow flowered species. Mine appeared to be a hybrid. I know that's possible, but I wonder if it's likely:

 The fence line was also abloom with Blue Vervain;

 But again, I was there to check the sap of St. Johnswort. I found another plant and broke the stem in search of sap. Again I couldn't find any, not even a micro-drop. Perhaps the next time I check, it will have to be in June, when St. John's birth is celebrated. Maybe they'll have more sap then. So I never got proof or disproof of the legend, but I did enjoy being outdoors on a beautiful August afternoon:

A Nostalgic Drive To Mount Greylock

On a hot, hot, hot Sunday afternoon I decided to leave the dogs at home because I feared that Seamus couldn't handle the heat and humidity if we hiked. And, to be honest, I didn't much want to be climbing uphill in such weather either. So I decided to drive, without dogs, to Mount Greylock in western Massachusetts. I used to live and work in the area, so this would be a nostalgic tour for me. But as I crossed the state line I saw, for the first time in my life, a giant windmill situated atop a green hill:

A bit further along, I spotted another hill with many of these windmills (click to enlarge):

As I got closer, I decided that there must be about 10 of them on top of Brodie Mountain. Apparently, the Brodie Mountain Ski Area is supplementing its income by hosting a wind farm. Jiminy Peak was still open though I never saw the Brodie Mountain signs. I couldn't decide if the windmills were a horrific blight on the natural landscape or kind of pretty in their own way - perhaps a bit of both:

I used to drive over Brodie Mountain on my way to work in Pittsfield, Massachusetts every morning for many years. Shortly after I moved to the area, perhaps 35 years ago, I got the job in Pittsfield and stayed in New Ashford, Massachusetts at a tiny motel consisting of a row of cabins while I searched for a house. The cabins were right behind this white shop which, at the time, was a Bible Book Store. A very sweet older lady ran it and lived in the house on the left with her husband. I stayed there for many weeks and she became a sort of surrogate mother to me. I was filled with emotion to view the old place, now abandoned and with the cabins now long gone. I'd kept in touch with this woman for many years, but of course now she is gone and her place is for sale:

I had some difficulty finding the road which would lead me up to Mount Greylock, but once I'd found it I began winding my way up, up, up. I caught glimpses of the surrounding Berkshire Mountains every so often as the road skirted the edge of the mountain. And what was that interesting purple wildflower? I've searched my field guide and decided it was Blue Vervain, Camassia scilloides:

The scenery was, of course, beautiful and it brought back a flood of memories from when I used to drive up here frequently:

I pulled off the road at a scenic overlook and had a nice talk with this handsome and friendly biker. He too had been driving up Mount Greylock for many decades and he too associated it with many powerful memories:

My little red car performed marvelously as it climbed higher and higher. I stopped every now and then for a nice view. I was almost to the summit, but I'll post more about that tomorrow: