It may be mid-April, but this year, true Spring is yet to open here in the foothills of the Adirondacks. Snow still lies deep in the frozen woodlands; cold winds and icy paths are a daily reminder that winter is holding on. So we dream. We dream of the first wild plants that emerge here in the Northeast, once a hint of spring rides in on the air. And one of the earliest and wildest herbs I know, in her sensual flowering and hardy stance is Skunk Cabbage, so named for its pungent, skunk- like odor when her leaves are crushed. Unfolding the meaning of this species of the Arum family ( think Jack-in- the- pulpit) Symplocarpus foetidus~ implies a coming together ( around) the carpus, or fruit of this plant that exudes an unpleasant odor.
The maroon hooded spathe holds the cylinder of flowers within, protecting them from the elements. Carrion flies and gnats are attracted to the fetid smell along with the warmth generated by this ancient plant species. Skunk cabbage has the rare ability to generate heat as it rises from the cold ground, melting the snow and ice and warming the air around itself. This phenomenon is known as thermogenesis. This early-rising plant calls the first spring insects to pollinate the flowers within. Amazing!
One early spring day, in the early years of my obsession with all wild plants, I felt drawn to stop by a stream of clear running water and entered the nearby grove of trees whose bare branches were radiant with morning sunlight. Crunching through the few patches of snow still lying about, I came to a stand of newly emerged prehistoric, reddish-brown plants that tickled my wondering mind- my first meeting with Skunk cabbage! The life force was so present- in the shape, color, heat and intensity of this early spring ephemeral. No dainty fairy flower, this wild and earthy plant captured my attention and imagination.
I remembered reading that the dried root could be prepared to help those with constriction of the respiratory tract, including asthma. After spending some time with the large group of the “cabbage that is not a cabbage”, I thought it would be fine to dig a few roots to experiment with. I had no shovel, but perhaps the metal spoon I had in the car would do the trick? Oh, fun and folly! Mud and an earnest hand. Nature certainly had a good laugh that morning as I tried to dig around a root of a smaller plant. These roots were so large and deep, even with a long handled shovel I would have had my work cut out for me! Humbled once again by the wild, and what I did not know, I patted the wet earth back around the plant, mumbling my apologies and thanks for another lesson learned. After a good laugh at myself, I stepped closer to the stream to wash mud from my hands and trusty spoon, and to my astonishment and delight came across a Skunk cabbage plant that had been almost fully washed away at the edge of the water, and simply by tugging a bit, the roots came free into my hands. With the mud washed away by the stream, they were perfect for gathering up! With a song in my heart and smile on my lips I gladly brought this wild medicine home to prepare for my growing herbal apothecary.
Though I rarely use Skunk cabbage as a medicine, I treasure its bold, beautiful nature and the gift of hope it offers in the early days of spring!
