My harvest in the garden this September has been the humble calendula. For centuries she was known among herbalists as marigold or pot marigold, a charming homage to the Great Mother of Christianity, pairing her with that most precious of metals. In the oldest herbals she is referred to in the plural simply as Goldes.
Marigold has a long history as medicine going back to Roman times. In the mid-12th century the flower was recorded in Macer’s Herbal as being a cure for inappropriate lust, anxiety about gossip, or defense against thieves. It must be remembered that in those days medicine was mixed with magic, and an amulet to wear around the neck might be made with marigold petals combined with laurel leaves and wrapped around a wolf’s tooth, having been gathered when the moon and Jupiter were in the right phases and the harvester had recited the proper number of pater nosters and aves. Flowers were also cultivated for cookery in such archaic foods as pottages and possets as well as puddings and porridges, the petals so common as a culinary ingredient they were often stored in big barrels. The page below is from Gerard’s Herbal, published in 1597, and shows the rarer double marigold, which I only see once in a great while. The scientific community has taken respectful notice of this plant’s beneficial properties now, but old wives just smile, having known it for a long time without their help.
Nowadays, marigold commonly refers to Tagetes, a genus of flower native to the Americas, but long ago the name meant this flower. The botanical name, Calendula officinalis, derives from the Latin word kalends, from which our word “calendar” comes, meaning the first day of each month. The flower was seen to bloom in every calendar month of the year, quite likely in the warm Mediterranean climate of Roman Italy and also here in middle California. This young September marigold is blooming next to the summer plants which have all gone to seed now.
I most often dry the flowers for a while after I have picked them, particularly in the spring when they are full of our winter rains. Just a week on flat baskets in my sunroom will do it, or for extra love I’ll separate out the blossoms on clean white paper for their photo opportunity as shown above. Then I put the partially dried flowers into a glass jar and cover them with a mild almond oil; drying the blossoms keeps the infused oil from sending out bubbles and making a mess. I label my brew with the date, put it in a sunny window, and wait at least six weeks, sometimes more.
When it is time I decant it, bringing this beautiful golden colored oil, like the sun arriving in my measuring cup.
In a double boiler I warm the oil and add beeswax to thicken it. Through trial and error over the years, I have found an 8:1 ratio of oil to beeswax makes a good salve. I use beeswax pellets because they are easy to measure and well filtered. Mountain Rose Herbs is my favorite online source for all things herbal and sure enough, they have these too. I have used chunks of beeswax saved by my honey vendor at the farmer’s market too. Finding the right amount of beeswax involves the drip test onto wax paper after it has melted in the warm oil in the double boiler. Let it cool and you will know if it is the consistency you like.
I usually add the oil from a Vitamin E gelcap for its antioxidant property to help prolong the shelf life of my oil-based salve, but there is debate if it actually acts as a preservative. I’ve not had a batch go rancid.
These photos are gathered from several times I have put marigold by like this. The salve will vary from a bright yellow to a mellow golden hue, probably depending on how many orange blossoms I gather in with the yellow ones.
A finished jar of calendula salve rests in a basket of this season’s harvest of blossoms. The spring blooms are rich with petals; the fall blooms rich with seed, the petals shorter and the centers bigger.
Because this salve is especially gentle and soothing for skin, I use it all over my face, sometimes even rubbing it over my closed eyelids to soothe the most delicate skin there. My hairdresser was pleased to have some when it helped clear up some nasty irritation from a special eye cream she had bought to moisturize her lids. Her salon has a big poster of Sophia Loren and I remembered that long ago I read a Life magazine feature about her in which she said she only ever used olive oil on her skin. The simplest ingredients are best.
I’m fond of following the old ways when I can. I am pretty deeply invested in western allopathic medicine, but making herbal salves, tinctures and teas centers me when the world in all its “too muchness” feels hard to keep up with or drives me around the bend. I return to something old and essential in myself with my herbwifery, a traditional matron busy with the green world to keep my family healthy.
I love books about herbs nearly as much as I love the herbs themselves. For a peek at my herbal library and a few of my favorite herbals, including those I consulted to write this post, visit my Prose and Letters newsletter. I try to include some book love in every issue, and other musings on the season and how all of its threads weave together.
The next newsletter will go out as I prepare my hearth for the great festival of the ancestors at Samhain at the end of October.
