RIVER MEDICINE
Our lymph are the rivers of our body. When there is stagnation, or a dam in the river, it affects every other ecosystem in our body. All of life depends on this cyclical, uninterrupted flow, and lymphatic congestion is often the first or root cause of larger imbalances that unfold within the body.
What is lymph? A fluid mixture made up of plasma and white blood cells that runs through an extensive network of vessels through our entire body. Unlike the blood, lymph needs movement to encourage the flow and keep things running smoothly. Stagnant lymph is similar to a clogged drain, where toxins and waste are no longer able to be moved to the liver or excreted out, they instead pool and fester in various systems of the body.
Lymphatic congestion looks differently for everyone and is dependent upon an individual's constitution. Those who run cold/dry may have congestion show up as constipation, aching joints, or chills. Conversely, those who run hot may have widespread inflammation, diarrhea, painful swollen lymph nodes, or autoimmune reactions. This is why there is no one formula or protocol, and treating the individual is necessary.
Our lymph performs a myriad of roles every day. Lymph maintains fluid balance between blood and tissues, is responsible for the absorption of fats and fat soluble nutrients, the movement of hormones, and is the part of the immune system responsible for fighting infection and warding off bacteria and viruses.
We cannot speak about lymph without acknowledging its connection to our emotional waters. Strong boundaries, self-compassion, empathy and the ability to express our emotions in a healthy way all contribute to a flowing lymphatic system. When our lymph is free of stagnation, our emotions feel balanced and life has a sense of fluidity. We are grounded and in control of our emotions.
I often ask folks to look at their emotional health and lymphatic health together. Is there something or someone you are still holding on to, unable to let go? Do you feel stuck in the mud, or in a rut about where you’re going in life? Do you struggle with keeping boundaries, burnout and victimhood? What is your relationship to water? How do you connect with the waters of your body?
While TCM assigns the element of wood to Spring, I also see Spring through the element of water, giver of all life. Rain falls, rivers rise, and the frozen earth becomes malleable, soft and moist
Spring is an opening for grief. Every year as water flows with more ease around us, I find my emotions stirring. It is liberating to experience grief and let it flow through you unfettered. To dance wildly in the rain, to let the tears fall down past your cheeks and into the moist earth. All of the things I haven’t allowed myself to feel, all of the unexpressed emotions and hidden wounds seem to sprout up like eager seeds in the spring rain. After a long winter, the body craves movement. The waters of our body seek regeneration, like a river flowing towards the ocean, we aren’t made to hold on to everything.
Spring is a season of letting go so we can let more in. Honoring who’ve we been and who we are now. Grief can also be praise, and in grieving we celebrate life, wholly.
Red Alder
There are many allies we can turn to when seeking a deeper relationship with our inner rivers, but there is none as ubiquitous in my life as Red Alder.
Alder is river medicine. This humble tree makes their home in riparian zones, often curving over creeks from either side to form shaded sanctuaries from summer’s heat.
Where I live they are considered a weed tree, which I believe is rather ignorant given their exceptional ability to fix nitrogen into the soil and their role as a “pioneer” in forest succession. Alders are the first trees to return after clear cuts or fires, and their roots eagerly create a symbiotic relationship with bacteria that are able to draw up more nutrients from the bedrock.
Alders are trees with a mission. I admire their tenacity and strength as they grow rapidly, up to three feet a year, nourishing and rebuilding the soil and providing much needed habitat for animals and insects. As quickly as they grow, they fall, and are a short lived species of 60-70 years. Alder does not seek to be anyone but themselves, and they grow and live joyously until their body becomes life for the next succession of longer lived conifers. Alders are healers, and can teach us about what it means to tend disturbed and damaged land, how to live in right relationship, and how to devote ourselves fully.
Red Alder looks like any other alder except for the bright red inner bark. The outer bark is greyish-white with splotches of silver and rust and puffs of lichen and moss. They are deciduous and their leaves are serrated and straight veined. Their energetics are mildly cooling, drying and bitter.
We can look to Alders relationship with waterways as a mirror for how they support our own bodies. Transformers of waste, increased fluidity, and supporters of native ecology.
I work with Alder most in the transformation of damaged ecosystems of the gut and the lymph. Alder is indicated for those with eczema or skin inflammation, poor fat digestion and bloating with food allergies. Dysbiois in the gut can be healed with Alders innate ability to restore microbial balance; and lymphatic stagnation is alleviated by gently moving waste and harmonizing the emotional waters. Alder can relieve boggy tissues that are a result of chronic inflammation and waste buildup.
By clearing and removing waste products, they increase the body's ability to absorb nutrients. Alder cleans and purifies the blood by increasing the flow of lymphatic fluids. The bitter bark stimulates digestive juices to prepare the body to receive nourishment, and astringent tannins improve tissue tone throughout the digestive tract and lymphatic tissue. The bitterness increases bile production which then releases stagnant fluids from the body. Alder also contains salicin (a constituent similar to aspirin) that reduces pain and inflammation throughout the digestive tract.
I like combining Alder with Red Root, Cleavers, Calendula or Ocotillo for alterative/lymph support. Oregon Grape root or other bitters are good allies when focusing on skin and liver support. For those with a colder constitution I recommend adding ginger or a warming herb to balance the coolness.
The bark, leaves, cones and catkins are all medicinal. In early spring when the sap is running is the ideal time to harvest the bark and the hanging male catkins before they open. Some folks use twigs, but I do harvest the bark from the tree itself as I find the medicine to be the strongest. I do not harvest bark from living trees. Given that all of our heat comes from wood stoves, every year we choose a few trees to harvest. Usually the alder chosen would be near the end of its life, and often leaning in a precarious way. After the tree is felled I harvest the fresh bark with an ax, collect catkins and tincture them in alcohol. This process could also work with fallen branches or any recently fallen trees you might find as long as they’re fresh. You can absolutely tincture smaller fresh twigs as well, the end result may be less concentrated. Different herbalists will have preferences on using fresh or dried. I like fresh, but that’s just me. (Note: fresh alder bark is emetic if drunk in tea or eaten, however it is not if processed in tincture)
Mature leaves can be harvested in early summer and dried for tea or infused for salves. Linaments or compresses of the leaves are also effective for pain and inflammation. An alder salve is broadly healing and works very well for joints when accompanied by arnica or cottonwood. The bark can be used to make a deep rich natural dye.
I will not wax poetic about the role of Alder in my own internal healing, but I will say that they were invaluable. Often when in the throes of a healing crisis, we are looking everywhere for a remedy, and it’s easy to overlook allies that grow right in our backyard. I believe it’s less important to know a lot of plants, and more important to be in deep relationship with a few. Alder can be used in the place of various other more “popular” plants and I use them frequently simply because they surround me abundantly (I am nearly never out of sight of an Alder on the coast). They are not trendy nor are they endangered. They are old medicine, forgotten but no less potent. They are healers invisible except to those who pull back the curtain.
