Lovage

Levisticum officinale, livèche, Liebstöckel, apio de monte, luáiste

Lovage… I first grew this in London and was happy that it grew so easily from seed, then reached a height of about 7 feet. I can’t remember using it in its first year, and then moved away from home. But it grew, and grew well.

Years later, I bought a plant in Adelaide and expected it to do equally well. It grew, but barely touched 45cm (I’m more metric these days), and this seemed to be the same for another lovage lover I know. . Hmm… I persisted, and my current plant (or group of plants, more likely) has grown to about 60cm with flowering spikes up to 1.80m and provided a fair harvest of both leaves and seeds in its third year. It’s also in a part of the garden where herbs do unsurprisingly well. Rocky soil, slightly moist and afternoon sun.

So what did I do with the harvest? Dried it. Have a look at this YouTube. Meka dries the leaves in the oven, then grinds to a powder in the blender. Easy! When I first tried drying the leaves naturally, they turned an unappetising shade of khaki. It’s still summer here, so I tried another bunch, this time grinding them when they were crisp.

Success! The powder is an attractive shade of lime (better than in the photo), like Meka’s, and extremely aromatic. I’ve used it once already, and should have enough to last until next season.

What does it taste like? If you’ve never fondled this herb before, the pungent aroma of celery is the giveaway. Strong celery. I find that some of the strength dissipates with cooking, but it’s still one to use in moderation until your experiments result in the right amount.

What’s next on the list? Spring onion greens…

Pisolithus arhizus 2

Here are the results of this autumn’s pisolithus dyes (note that we’re coming into spring here at the moment). The changing weather made the fungi appear, then disappear, then reappear with enough to harvest some sizeable specimens and leave enough to reproduce.

All eleven balls of yarn are different shades, ranging from black – thine eyes deceive thee not – to beige. How did I manage to get so many shades? Mostly without trying.

I have no explanation for how I “achieved” black, and jet black it is. The gold was also a surprise, but the beige was as exhaust bath. The latter reminds me of the shade I obtained from hawthorn berries some time ago.

The intermediate shades could have been to do with optimal harvesting time, length of time between harvest and dyeing (no longer than a day), size and all the usual variables (soil, aspect, etc.).

One thing to note, as mentioned in the previous post, is that the yarn in most cases darkened when lifted out of the pot. Oxidisation, I reckon. One skein I didn’t pay much attention to came out with a woodgrain/ mottled effect; I hadn’t spent much time hovering over the dyepot, gently prodding this one down, and the oxidisation effect became permanent in patches.

These will be periodically brought out and admired until the right project for them is chosen (and all the ones currently on the go are finished).

Brass rubbing scarves

Trying to find translations of “brass rubbing” was fruitless – other than ending up with different ways of saying “rubbing brass” (meaning with a cloth, elbow grease and a bottle of Brasso). I’ll search through the paper dictionaries at a later date.

These scarves were woven on the table loom, the first two in gold and silver, then the latter three in gold (was given a commission for a second one), copper and slate – all tencel with a black warp. The draft came from Alice Schlein’s website Weaverly and I’ve since noticed it posted on other blogs. Popular. Alice has posted a significant number of amalgamated drafts; the combination of two drafts in one (my simplified definition) really does add a lot of interest to the finished item in that the eye is constantly drawn from one pattern to the other.

The diagonal lines and “metallic” yarns (in shade rather than content) give these a real burnished look in the right light.

Keeshond

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Olive and pecan leaves

Olea europaea et carrye illinoiensis, feuilles d’olivier et de pacanier, Oliven- und Pekannuss-blätter, hojas de olivo y nuez, duilleoga olóige is pecan

When I see an abundance of flora yet not much evidence of its use as a dye plant, I wonder if it’s because people have tried in the past and found it fruitless. Alexanders, Smyrnium olusatum, is something that pops up in great numbers at this time of year, and after weighing up the urge to try it against the logic that if the ancient Greek sand Romans didn’t use it for colour, they’d probably tried it and rubbed it off the tablet, the urge was still there.

I got the palest yellow.

Then there is Yggdrasil, my pet name for the huge, spreading pecan tree nearby. Walnut leaves produce such a wealthy colour, so surely their cousin must. I was also hoping to find some nuts, but the local wildlife had already feasted, leaving just a few scalpings of fruit here and there. Fair enough. I took some leaves, which were moderate in size, then some from a sapling growing beside its parent in a drainage ditch. The leaves were much larger even though the ditch was dry. Perhaps because it had less chance of photosynthesizing? Anyway, there were enough that I could take some without doing damage to the sapling’s future.

The result was a range of strong browns and yellows that reminded me of a 1970’s dyebook. Any different to other yellows and browns? Different enough to record this as a local dye source.

Next came the olives. Apart from being an important crop here as in other parts of the world, they’re also a very common weed. Taking a few small branches home from the local national park was therefore a service. Again, not a lot of evidence that they’ve been used as a dye. Perhaps because they were too important for oil and fruit production while weld wasn’t?

The results were however amazing: Easter yellows to a bronzy-green! The latter I would usually describe as “olive”, but in the circumstances… I decided to repeat the experiment to see if the green was easily achievable and not just a fluke, and also to try out the copper modifier. Unfortunately, neither turned out anything to shout about… maybe not enough plant material? I’ll try again…

Pisolithus arhizus

Dyer’s puffball, Erbsensteinpilz

It’s not easy to find names of this one in other languages, and many of the common names are not very complimentary, referring to the appearance of the puffball when it opens and turns brown and scungy. Say no more. It appears to be rare in the British Isles, and to prefer southern Europe; with our Mediterranean climate here in South Australia it’s not difficult to find in autumn. I haven’t posted a picture as I wouldn’t want to be responsible for any unfortunate misidentification. I was always told that all fungi/toadstools are poisonous and to avoid them. Good, general safety advice for kids, but what about adventurous natural dyers? Some sources say it’s poisonous, others not, others that it “may be”. Well, I’m not going to eat it anyway, and handle it with care. Regarding the common names, ironic enough that I carried it home in a doggy bag (and not the sort you ask for in a restaurant).

I sliced a portion off one end and made several slits in it rather than cutting it into chunks. Why? To avoid any mess. The section was then simmered for about 40 minutes. The water didn’t take long to turn opaque dark brown. The chunk of fungus was then removed and the yarn dropped in. Half of the skeins immediately took on a dark brown, while the others remained pale. I didn’t bother fishing them out to find out, but just assumed that the mordanted ones were the darker.

About half-an-hour later (maybe less), the water had turned translucent dark yellow, and the skeins dark and light orange, a bit like a dahlia dyebath both before and after an alkaline mordant. This was going to be interesting…

As if those colours weren’t fascinating enough, when they came out of the dyepot there was further transformation. The non-modified skeins, when rinsed, turned shades of chestnut brown. Was this due to oxidisation?

Adding bicarb turned the next pair of skeins a deep plum brown, a colour I’ve never achieved before. Definitely one to repeat, and I’ll be scouring some more yarn later.

Vinegar turned the third pair two shades of honey brown. Like all the other skeins, the shades are deep and strong.

The iron modifier produced two shades of dark brown. And finally the copper modifier, which I’ve only just made and started using. Chestnut brown again, but brighter than the first pair.

I read that the dye is substantive, but using a mordant clearly deepened the colours. They aren’t quite as bright as this in real life, but I’m really not good at colour manipulation. Now, off to wind some more skeins for scouring…

Dried English walnut and fresh black walnuts

Juglans regia et Juglans nigra, getrocknete echte Walnüsse u. frische Schwarznüsse, nogales secos y nogales negros frescos, gallchnónna triomaithe is gallchnónna dubh úr

We came across a couple of nut trees whilst out walking doggie, and I (mis-)took them to be pecans. Why? We have not so far away a huge pecan that I had (mis-)taken for an ash. Confused? Well, I’d only ever seen one pecan tree, in the Adelaide Botanic Gardens and hadn’t really retained an image of its leaves. The aforementioned pecan tree nearby is however a real specimen – tall and spreading and grand. Just like a large ash, but different. Back to the nut trees… looking at the fruits I’d managed to collect, they were clearly a different shape to pecans, and when I cut them open, that confirmed what they were. They were left in a bag for a few days and started to go mouldy, but were still full of potential. All three went into the dyepot at once and produced some beautiful, deep shades. One fruit would probably have been ample for the small amount of yarn, but it was only an experiment (this time).

These colours reminded me of a previous experiment with J. regia leaves: rich browns and deeper shades on the unmordanted yarn.

The next dyepot involved some dried English walnuts that has fallen from the tree prematurely last summer, or maybe the summer before, or the one before that. Whichever, it was in much hotter weather. The fruits were still whole, but dried and had not grown to full size. Four or five of them were thrown in to soak for a few days, then boiled for a bit before the yarn was added to simmer (the colour of the liquour suggested it was ready).

A different range of shades, and different again to the earlier experiment with leaves. Worth repeating, but I’ll be wanting to try some fresh J. regia next year.

Yerba Mate

Ilex paraguariensis

My other half having used this in a soap recipe and commenting on the yellow it turned, I had to try it on wool. I have a fair stock as this is one of my favourite drinks, when I remember that maybe I shouldn’t drink so much coffee.

Unfortunately I have been unable to get a photo of the true shades. I’m not very savvy with image manipulation, granted.

I’ve tried to zap up the greens a bit, as in the original photo they appeared very yellow, but have gone a little overboard. Maybe an indication of what they become? Or refraction at its most mirage-inducing?

Second down on the right – mordanted + bicarb modifier: this actually came out a lighter moss-green (i.e. not so limey) with brownish tones. It’s counterpart on the left, unmodified, is a pale grey-green. Bottom-left, unmordanted and unmodified is just grey, although a grey that you don’t find naturally in fibre, and on the right, a more greenish grey. Worth repeating? Definitely, for the greens and greys if required in a project.

Cobra’s saffron

Mesua ferrea, bois de fer / nagas de Ceylan, Nagasbaum, palo de hierro

Another find in an Indian spice shop. This one looks like Szechuan pepper, but a saffron colour and not spiky. There just had to be some dye potential in this one…

When I first goolged the name, I didn’t come up with much info. A recent bit of research however revealed that it’s not only a culinary spice, but also an ingredient of nag champa incense. Nice.

It wasn’t long before the water in the dye pan had turned a golden yellow, so I expected to get yarn of a similar colour. The hue deepened as time progressed, and when the experiment was finished it showed more pinkish tones, mainly from non-mordanted, NM + vinegar modifier and mordanted + vinegar modifier. Acid to bring out the red (pink)?

A worthwhile experiment? Yep, as he colours are sufficiently different from other yellows. I now have to try some of the spice in cooking…

Borage flowers

Borago officinalis, fleurs de bourrache, Borretschblumen, flores de borraja, bláthanna borráiste gorm

And another Persian deli (while I was on my way to the Indian spice shop and the Indonesian supermarket), and I was glad to find one nearer to home, i.e. on the same side of the city. If you’re from elsewhere and are familiar with the dimensions of Adelaide, that last comment may raise a laugh, but it’s all relative. I once moved from a large apartment to a bedsit. Walking from one side to the other seemed to require the same effort, if not time.

So, the spice aisle, or rather wall. It wasn’t long before I’d come across a packet of borage flowers – a packet of blue. These were somewhat more expensive than the myrobalan, and the packet only contained 30g, but I just couldn’t resist. There’s at least half left over for their original purpose – herbal tea.

The colours aren’t so deep, but subtle and not ones you get from the majority of plants. They remind me of woad seeds (but paler), and of course there’s some resemblance to alkanet (same family). Try as I might, I couldn’t get a photo with their true shades, but this one is the closest. The Fe-modified skeins are pure grey in real life.