Wild & Free: Yarrow

by By Sarajoy Van Boven, Newsletter Volunteer, from the August 2007 Newsletter

"You belong among the wildflowers…
You belong somewhere you feel free."
–Tom Petty

"Well, there is time left-
Fields everywhere invite you into them."
-Mary Oliver, from "Part 3" of west wind

Several years ago, on Judy's birthday, Sarah told me the plant which I'd bouqueted was not, in fact, Queen Anne's Lace, but Yarrow; news which I received with reverence and awe. Behold, in my unknowing hand, was the Legendary Medicinal Wildflower Goddess, Yarrow, whose reputation had preceded. To meet a being, a goddess, a plant, in all the many known and unknown dimensions, is a royal introduction, indeed.

Books impart only so much, reducing the many dimensions to two, to flat pages. Identification books help jog a sluggish memory, but a first identification is best, surest, and most potent, cara-a-cara. Especially in the case of Yarrow, sure identification is a must, as many plants with similar descriptions are poisonous, even deadly.

Only two dimensions of Yarrow spread before you today. And today, I attempt to accurately distill this mighty and graceful goddess onto thin newsprint.

Unless the heat rushes them through their season, the Yarrow will bloom into August. Yarrow is tall and thin, airy and hardy all at once. For such a dainty looking thing, it's an aggressive lover of harsh living. Take a look at a rocky hot hillside, not fit for human life, a la Mars, and you'll spot several stalks of this frilly wildflower. Look for a 1-3' tall plant, with alternating feathery dark green leaves up the stem. It will be topped with a domed hat of lacey flowers, called a floret. Wild Yarrow flowers are commonly white, though sometimes pink, red, or yellow.

Mythologically, the powerful and beautiful Yarrow, with her million healing leaves, stood by the Greek warrior, Achilles, during the battle of Troy. Legend claims that Achilles saved many Greek lives (who presumably went on to take Troy lives) by packing wounds with Yarrow leaves (Edible and Medicinal Plants of the Rockies). The story fossilized into Yarrow's Latin name, Achillea millefolium: Achille's thousand leaves. Slang for Yarrow is, "soldier's woundwort." Healing the wounds of war is powerful work; now if only there were a wildflower to prevent war. The word "Yarrow" itself, is a convoluted Anglo-Saxon descendent having once meant "to prepare:" a testament to the many and frequent uses of this herb. (Growing and Using the Healing Herbs by Weiss and Weiss)

Having providentially blown into my life, I have welcomed the Goddess of Wildflowers with profound respect, eager for new adventures in healing.

Lacking dental insurance, when pain strikes my mouth, I turn to Yarrow (and re-dedicate myself to flossing). An ancient, well-used painkiller, masticated fresh Yarrow leaves and roots packed into my aching tooth works as well as Vicodin, without the drowsy side-effects.

I soak dried Yarrow into my home-made facial toner and steep it in tea when my family faces colds and fevers.

To dry, cut Yarrow when in full bloom. Remove the delicate leaves and dry them separately as they dry very quickly, then store them in a dark, dry place. The flower-tipped stalks can be dried upside down and then stored. We dry herbs upside down so that the potent oils sink into the leaves and flowers, rather than uselessly drip onto the floor.

Yarrow is also thought to be a garden guardian, repelling insects. This assertion flies in the face of recent experience, as Yarrow stood by uselessly during the Great Apricot-tree Slaughter of '07, perpetrated by indomitable leaf-curlers invading our garden. The Sepwepemc burned the European invader to deter mosquitoes (Plants of Southern Interior British Columbia and the Inland Northwest by Lone Pine). Fresh Yarrow is a reputed mosquito repellent when rubbed on skin.

Yarrow propagates through root rhizomes and a proliferation of seeds. We've harnessed both methods for our own domesticating purposes: yard. When mown early in spring, and couple times through summer, Yarrow spreads a royal lawn. Soft and lush, it collects dew and needs no watering. I've read that Yarrow tires the soil, however in four years, we haven't encountered problems.

I hope these slavish rows of black font on newsprint [or on the Web] have imparted a semblance of the power and beauty of the Goddess of Wildflowers. I hope Yarrow's soft feather-leaves tickle us from pain and her filigree of flowers enthrall us with the authority of beauty.

Copyright: Copyright on articles, recipes and images are jointly held by the Moscow Food Co-op and the respective contributors, except were otherwise noted.

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