When Aunt Bett helped me gather witch hazel branches for a bedside bouquet, she neglected to mention one crucial detail: the seed pods explode with a loud pop when warmed. There's nothing quite like being jolted from deep sleep by what sounds like gunfire, only to discover you're being showered with tiny black seeds. Since my bedroom was upstairs with the window right beside my bed, I consider myself lucky to have survived the experience.
Looking back, I must have had nine lives like a cat. So many of my childhood scrapes involved Aunt Bett as my willing accomplice. The witch hazel adventure happened around Thanksgiving, when we set out to collect twigs and bark from Hamamelis virginiana. Let me provide some background first—call it the teacher in me taking over.
I knew witch hazel from the clear liquid in my mother's medicine cabinet, though I was forbidden to touch her lotions and creams. The plant itself grew as a large, multi-branched shrub—almost a small tree—in the mountains of southeast Kentucky. Its forked branches, Aunt Bett told me, were used for "witching" water (divining rods). She had bigger plans for our harvest, though, which she shared as we climbed the north slope of the mountain.
We found the bush on a crisp November morning, its yellow spider-like blossoms glowing against the gray-brown landscape. The scent was heavenly, nearly taking my breath away in the cold air. We cut several branches, Aunt Bett handling the knife while I held upper branches aside. We stuffed the fragrant bounty into a burlap bag larger than myself, which I helped carry down the mountain.
At a resting spot, we shared hot chocolate from a thermos. Aunt Bett explained her plans: Native Americans used a bark decoction for skin ulcers, sores, and tumors; she'd make the same for dysentery, colds, coughs, and as a blood purifier. (I insisted my blood was already pure.) We'd also create a salve for insect bites and a skin lotion. Back at her house, we boiled the branches three times, adding fresh water each time, then strained the liquid for salves, syrups, and lotions.
I asked to keep a few branches for my room. She agreed, and I carried home a beautiful bundle of yellow blossoms—complete with last season's seed pods still attached. I placed them in a vase of water on a small table beside my bed, which sat next to a chimney that ran through my room from the new coal furnace.
That night, Dad stoked the furnace for warmth. In the darkness, loud popping sounds erupted, and small objects rained onto my face and covers. I screamed, "The house is on fire!"—exactly as I'd been taught to do if the chimney overheated. The whole family came running. Dad turned on the light. No fire. Just me, covered in shiny black seeds.
My schoolteacher mother finally laughed. "Your vase of flowers has erupted," she said. Witch hazel seed pods burst open when warm, flinging seeds remarkable distances. I spent the rest of the night picking seeds from my bedding and hair, and the next day gathering more as pods continued to pop in the heated house. I saved them all for Aunt Bett, who enjoyed eating them. Once the last pod had exploded, I could finally enjoy the flowers—but it was the last time I ever brought witch hazel branches indoors.
Modern research confirms witch hazel's value. It's one of few medicinal plants approved by the FDA for over-the-counter drugs. High in tannins, it checks internal and external bleeding and serves as an astringent in deodorants, creams, and soaps. Studies show antiviral activity against herpes simplex, plus antioxidant and anti-inflammatory properties. Perhaps most appealing: it's effective for anti-aging and anti-wrinkling. Purse on shoulder, keys in hand—I'm off to stock up!
All photos from Plant Files. Thanks to photographers: Gabrielle, Viburnum Valley, Snapperdesigns, and Willmetge.
Resources: Aunt Bett's writings, Dr. Stuart Urbach, Brooklyn Botanic Garden, Steven Foster, USDA Plants Database.
(Editor's Note: Originally published November 4, 2008.)
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