The First Harvest
Every year, before the thaw but well within the hopeful glimpses of returning light, I visit the towering giants that stand like sentinels along the flowing waterways. Populus trichocarpa, our native Cottonwood, is a welcomed friend, and I am greeted by the resinous honey-sweet scent of swelling buds. The deeply furrowed trunks rise like skyscrapers, some many feet wide, and I run my hands over their craggy bark tenderly.
To harvest cottonwood is to receive a most generous gift. There is no need to pluck buds from the trees themselves, when an abundance of medicine surrounds the river banks. This offering is one of kinship, and solidifies the relationship between the people and the land. We, in need of medicine after a long winter, and the Tree, who has stored enough energy from summers past to have buds to spare.
I wander along the river taking note of the just budding nettles and beaver tracks through the squishing mud. I tend not to bother with the small twigs of buds that lay whimsically here and there. Instead I look for a large enough branch where I can fill my basket easily.
Pulling up water from the boggy banks where they thrive, rapidly growing branches fall and break during winter storms or amidst high winds. I listen to goose song overhead, enjoying the rare February sun on my skin. Ahead I see what I’ve come for. A large branch recently fallen that is laden with fresh buds.
When harvesting buds, I am meticulous about ensuring each bud is bright and lively, not showing any signs of brown rot. The butt of each bud should look white and green; if you see brown it’s a sign that fungal rot has begun within the bud. The branch has most likely been broken off for some time, or occasionally buds will rot when the branch was still attached to the tree.
Too cold of a day and your fingers will become numb, too warm and the resin oozing out of the buds coats your fingers in an ever thickening layer of balsamic stickiness. An important note; jars, pans, or any processing equipment will become coated with resin. I don’t recommend using your brand new Vitamix or your grandmothers measuring bowl. Dedicate tools you won’t mind getting gummed up. To remove resin from your hands, high proof alcohol or oil works best. Soap and water won’t even make a dent. If you have neither with you in the field, rub some dirt on your hands to at least remove the stickiness until you make it home or to the salve waiting for you in the glovebox of your car.
I tend to put up with the stick as it smells heavenly, and I'm the tactile sort of human that likes to knead dough with their hands and is frequently elbow deep in soil while tending to the garden. Besides, the resin is why I’m here.
Cottonwood’s are native to Turtle Island, and our variety runs along the west coast and up through B.C. to Alaska. In Oregon, they grow alongside rivers and streams where sunlight is plentiful and are a keystone species west of the cascades where they form gallery forests (forests that run long and narrow, usually along waterways) along floodplains where soil is rich and fertile.
Cottonwoods are in the Salicaceae family which includes many species of aspen, willow, and poplars. All the Salix plants contain varying amounts of Salicin (Salicin being the precursor of Salicylic Acid - pain reliever & inflammation modulator) in their leaves, bark and buds. The buds of cottonwoods when infused into oil or alcohol, create potent medicine that can treat many maladies.
The oil is highly anti-inflammatory and is helpful for swollen joints, aching muscles, and arthritis. Cottonwood’s branches even look like the gnarled hands of an elder grandmother, and the oil or salve brings relief to aching fingers. The anti-microbial properties help heal infections, and can be used on really any sort of skin irritation be it a rash, burn, fungal infection, insect bite, or eczema.
I make an internal preparation by soaking the fresh buds in honey and alcohol to be used as a cough syrup. Cottonwood makes for an excellent expectorant for thick unmoving bronchial mucous. Analgesic and anti-inflammatory properties can soothe the lung conditions and spasms. The longer the extraction, the stronger the medicine, and I'm partial to letting them sit for six months or more. If you harvest in early spring and let them sit until autumn, you’ll have potent medicine to support you through the winter.
Cottonwood is a prolific sort of grower, so much so that if you take a recently broken stick and squish it into the mud, they will root down and grow right where you’ve planted them.
Some gardeners use willow twigs to brew a tea that can then be used to encourage rooting in propagating plant cuttings due to the high levels of rooting hormone. I prefer to use Cottonwood, collected during my annual early spring harvest, and available to use during the spring growing season.
You can prepare this as one would with willow, cutting small stems into smaller pieces, bringing to a boil and steeping overnight. I soak the cuttings for a few hours before planting to give them a good, long drink. You can water delicate seedlings with the same brew. Keep in the fridge for up to two months.
Cottonwood Oil
There are a few things to remember in crafting cottonwood oil. Some have been mentioned previously, which deserve to be mentioned again.
Firstly, use fresh buds. They are far superior to dried, and gathering them yourself is the best way to get the strongest oil. Be diligent about rot, and seek buds that are closed and have not started to open yet. You’re looking to fill a jar ⅔ full of buds.
Secondly, warm your oil. There is a contradiction about infusing fresh plant material into oil, because this also increases water content, increasing the risk of mold. By warming the oil for a period of days with the lid off, water content is able to evaporate. The heat also helps in pulling the resin out of the buds and into the oil. This can be done on a wood-stove or near a heater. I keep mine on a ledge near the woodstove, or will do a double boiler method with hot water. Keep the temperature around 115-120 degrees F. Stir multiple times a day if you can, really whenever you remember.
I like to add a splash of high proof alcohol before adding the oil, just enough to coat the buds. This works to break down and extract the resin, resulting in a very potent oil, and most of the alcohol is evaporated off during the heating. I oscillate between using organic olive or sunflower oil, or grass fed tallow as my preferred menstruums.
The more time you give your oil, the more potent it becomes. After a solid week or so of heating and stirring, I let the buds sit for a lunar cycle. Continue to keep the oil in a warm place in your house. Some folks leave for longer and that’s fine too.
Before straining your oil, make sure the oil has rested unstirred for a few days. Carefully pour the infused oil into a clean glass jar, (make sure it is sanitized and completely dry). I do not press the buds at this point. Cap, label, and store away this first press of medicine. I will then either add more oil over the half spent buds and allow to sit awhile longer or press right away. I am careful not to combine the first round of decanted oil with the second as the goal is to make an oil free of water (creating a shelf stable product for many years) and avoid rancidity. I will warm the pressed second round of oil on the stove to ensure there are no lingering water droplets, (droplets will linger visibly at the bottom of the jar). After I’m sure the oil is completely dry, I will cap, label and store.
Cottonwood oil is high in antioxidants and if done correctly, will last for many years. Small amounts can even be added to other herbal oils that you might make to enhance shelf life.
The swelling late winter buds bring me great comfort after a winter where most of my kin pull their energy deep into roots. The sticky unfurling is a milestone of my year and marks the beginning of the harvest season. It is an opportunity to give thanks, to begin the season in right relationship, and celebrate the return of spring.
I admire poplars for their focus. They do one thing at a time, completely. Whether it be growing roots, branches, or buds, there is a steadfastness to their energy. Poplars are beings of presence. They are not fazed or worried by the winds and their medicine is that of embodiment.
In the winter, their song is low and deep, the stillness of roots anchoring them to the riverbank. In spring, it is balsamic and swelling, hopeful, yet ever so patient. And in summer, it is the swish-swish of heart shaped leaves that echo like a rushing stream.
With the return of spring, especially those of us who tend gardens or land may feel the frenetic pull to do, do, do. The slowness of winter feels crippling as the pulse of spring brings us up and out into the world. If you find yourself in this untethered place, I recommend sitting at the base of an especially large Cottonwood, and offering the gift of your presence.
